A PICNIC WIHT JUDAS ISCARIOT IS GOING FANTASTIC AND VAMPIRE LETTERS ARE IN ROUTE AGAIN.
ITS GONNA BE A GREAT SUMMER FOR WRITING. and i pulled through my semester from hell with 5 A's and one b+. I am invincible. but lets please not do this again. Also my philosophy teacher gave me an a- and is gonna read koshchei. i have seen him for the last time and it is sad because I lvoe him dearly. but in theory i'll get his feedback soon.
oh the world is beautiful today.
who rememers ave maria? this is the most recent draft of it. sry i can't make it not double spaced. too lazy.
Ave Maria
Ave Maria lifted her head from the marble table.
She lifted her eyes to meet those of the young waiter in the white jacket. He smiled and walked away. She was used to the reaction. She had gotten it from hundreds of different young waiters hundreds of different times. As he disappeared into the kitchen she looked back down at her plate.
Her desert was bright fruit upon a tiny scoop of soft ice cream in a heart-shaped chocolate shell.
She broke the chocolate skin with the edge of her spoon and the juice poured out in streams, pulsing around the ice cream. She ate the soft, cool inside first, licking the bright liquid from her lips. Some of the juice escaped and trickled down her chin. Ave Maria wiped the red away with a napkin.
On the cream-colored stucco wall to her left there was a painting of the holy Madonna. There were lines of a thick brassy color all around her to show the radiance in which she had appeared to Juan Diego in a vision almost five hundred years before.
Ave Maria cared little for such things.
She used the spoon to try and cut the remaining chocolate, pressing down with the tip. The chocolate spilt into a three pieces with a loud crack. Ave Maria winced at the sound and looked up.
The older man at the table across from hers smiled, and eyes met momentarily by mistake. She smiled back at him. His suit was pressed, his cufflinks bullion, and he had a gold watch with Rolex printed subtly across the face. He was much older than she was, but not an old man. Of all of them she disliked the old men the most. “Do you speak English?”
She looked up. Her eyes were darker than his, the lashes thicker, the eyebrows more tapered and arched.
“Yes.”
“May I join you?” His smile was confident.
The old anxiety came back for a moment. I’m much younger than you think. She wanted to say. She forced a smile. Such lies will build reality.
He sat and they talked about nothing. He was businessman from New York; he liked jazz and old rock and roll. He did not say if he was married, but she saw no ring. They discussed a price. He was much older than she was, she thought.
He invited her up to his room to have a drink. It was not necessary, but Ave Maria did not remind him.
She wondered if it was his first time.
His hands shook as he shut the door. She filled them with her own and brought his palms up on either side of her heart. He told her a story about a woman who did not love him back. But Ave Maria only pretended to listen to his noble speech. She did not believe in such things anymore.
She smiled to herself and helped him remove his necktie.
There were no more silly things like words.
Ave Maria stared at the white ceiling.
When she lay in his arms she could feel nothing other than the arms of a man, holding a woman.
The world was perfect.