Dancing Near the Fire: Part Three

This collection of gothic poems is under copyright protection by the author.

The story so far: Armand and Juliet met in the wood, late at night. Their meeting seemed magical, and both felt instant connection. Armand has asked Juliet to follow him down a path through the woods.

Dancing Near the Fire: Part 3

I followed Armand like a blind beggar, following a seer.
He held my hand.
A light rain fell. Dark clouds filled the sky.
The path led into blackness.
Armand tugged at my hand, and I followed, meek as a mouse, asking no questions as we walked the dark twisting path.
I felt warm. My stomach fluttered, as if brushed by a hundred butterflies.
I was still spinning as I remembered our kiss.
I wondered if my warm blush could be called an “afterglow.”

The path ended at the bottom of a small hill, near a well lit parking lot.
As we walked towards the streetlights, I slowly returned to my sanity.
I trusted Armand. At any point, he could have hurt me back on the path.
Instead, he had led me to safety.
I was willing to follow him a bit further…but how far was I willing to go?
I half expected Armand to lead me to a sleek limousine, or a long black hearse.
To my surprise, he led me to a tiny green car.
“Is this your car?” I asked, disbelief in my voice.
“Yes. It’s a 1966 Volkswagen Beetle. My first car. Get in.” He said, opening the door. “It was a gift from my parents.”
“Cool.” I said politely, “Antique cars make excellent gifts.”
Armand’s face look puzzled for a moment.
“Antique…yeah, something like that.”

We drove down the deserted highway.
“Dear Prudence” played on the car’s tape deck.
“… greet the brand new day…”
Armand sped like a madman chasing elusive demons.
I think he tried to impress me.
It stopped raining. I rolled down the window, letting the cold, night air whip across my face. My hair blew around me like a soft cloud.
“…the sun is up, the sky is blue, it’s beautiful and so are you...”
“So are you.” Armand repeated, glancing at me.
The butterflies in my stomach fluttered.
“Would you like to get a cup of coffee?” he asked.
A big smile played across my face. What do you say to a guy you barely knew…who danced in the rain?
“I’d love a cup of joe.”
“…dear Prudence…wouldn’t come out to play…”

We pulled up to the local diner. The sign said “The Ratt open 24 hours.”
The Ratt was notorious for its shady hygiene, and eccentric crowd.
It was the only restaurant still open.
It looked like a typical pancake house, except for the huge painting of a gray rat which hung off it’s roof.
Since it was nearly Christmas, the outside was decorated with silver and red tinsel.
When we walked in, several people turned to stare.
Our clothes were wet. Our shoes were muddy, and Armand was still wearing his robes.
I forgot how odd it was to see a man dressed in robes.

“I like the way you dance.”
That was the first thing Armand said after we found our seats.
I blushed.
“You dance like a graceful bird…”
“Yeah, more like a chicken.” I joked.
“No, you were…are…really amazing.”
“Thank you.”
I didn’t know what else to say. The conversation dropped. I looked up to see Armand staring at me.
Embarrassed, I looked down at my black fingernails.
Then, feeling bolder I looked into his eyes.
They were black like the night sky.
He held my stare.
My heart beat faster.
“Your eyes are beautiful. They are like tiny green oceans.” He said softly.
Suddenly the waitress appeared. She was a tiny woman with blond hair, only her black hairs showed at the roots.
“Hey honey, can I get you some coffee?” she asked, handing us two menus.
“Yes …” Armand started.
“Black” she said, finishing his sentence. “It’s always black. What can I bring you?” she asked me with a smile.
“I’d like coffee with cream and sugar.”
“Ok. Two coffees. Would ya’ like anything to eat? She asked.
“No, thanks.” I answered.
“I know, nothing for you” she said to Armand. “Ya’ll let me know if you need anything. I’ll be back with your coffee.” She smiled, then walked back to the diner’s kitchen.
We sat in silence.
“You know, drinking coffee is known to make people dead sexy.” Armand said with a mischievous grin.
I laughed. “Do you drink much coffee?”
“Yes, I do. Coffee ups my sex appeal.” He grinned, then
reached across the table and covered my left hand with his hand.
I was lost.
We sat, holding hands.
I asked playfully, “So, why are you dressed in those brown robes?”


A Christmas song played on the jukebox. A country song about snow and lost lovers.
“I do everything in these robes.” He grinned. “I wear them to keep warm.”
Before I could say anything further, he asked me a question.
“What were you doing out in the woods?”
“I was…well…” I stammered.
“I was…” I started, then stopped midsentence.
Armand’s mouth had opened, and his attention was focused across the room, near the front door.
I turned to look.
A beautiful woman had walked in.
Her complexion was flawless. She was the color of coffee ice cream.
She wore long purple robes.



Dear Prudence is a song by The Beatles

Dancing Near the Fire: Part Two

This is part of a Vampire Challenge. For more details follow this link: http://alucardsrose.blogspot.com/2009/09/vampire-challenge-2009.html

This collection of inter-connected gothic poems is under copyright protection by the author.


Dancing Near the Fire: Part 2

Juliet. I whisper her name with satisfaction, savoring the sound.
Juliet.
I ask myself, am I her Romeo?
When I had my arms around her, I could feel the warmth of her breath, the fiery heat of her skin, the moist, warm sweetness that was the inside of her mouth.
She almost drove me into a blood lust.
Juliet... am I your Romeo?
Me. Armand…well Arnold Fisher to be precise. Arnold … a
name now lost to me.
Silly me. I laugh.
Who ever heard of a Romeo already dead?

I have not been called Arnold, my Christian name, in several years.
That part of my life is now a distant memory.
How silly I was.
I remember staring into my bathroom mirror, wishing my pimples would go away.
Now my skin is flawless, although I may never glaze upon my reflection in a mirror again.
To see my own image, I must look upon the still pool of rainwater, collecting in a puddle.
I am like foolish Narcissus, happy to see my own reflection by the waters of the river.

I remember how foolishly romantic I was.
I wanted to be John Lennon, loved by my own Yoko.
Make love, not war! Give peace a chance!
In my old life, I was obsessed with non-violence.
It was more than an idea, or a passing fancy, it was a life choice I embrace with my heart.
Ahimsa.
I considered myself friend to all animals.
I refused to eat meat, even going so far as to boycott leather.
Most days you could find me, passing out flyers in my rubber sandals.
Fight the power!
I even refused the wild honey regurgitated by the flower-loving bees.
I was a hopeless romantic.
Now I am a predator.
I hunt to survive.
I hunger for the fresh, salty taste of blood.

I almost bit Juliet.
She was so soft. I wanted to kiss every inch of her skin, feeling the faint pulse of
blood flowing beneath it.

I smelled her first.
I was hungry.
I was hunting.
I was unaffected by the cold rain,
or the winds that shook the trees.
I started a fire, not out of need, but out of loneliness.
I watched the untamed fire lick the small branches.
I watched the blue and orange flames
dance.
I wanted to feel human again,
lulled by warmth,
and the beauty of fire.

Then I smelled her.
I caught the scent of lilac soap,
mingled with sweat, rain and her
unmistakable human scent.
I didn't want to scare her.
so I kept my face turned towards the fire.
But I entered her mind.

It was deep like the color Indigo.
I could feel sadness, love and passion.
Her emotions were wild and hot,
like the fire burning,
or the wind blowing the rain.
In the darkness of her mind, I could
feel poetry.
I drew it out, strand by strand, until
it became a tapestry of sound,
her soul's music, mingled with my own.

I bewitched her.
I helped her embrace her wilder emotions,
dissolving her inhibitions, one by one,
letting her slip into a more primal state.
I let her enact her dreams.
As she danced near my fire
I was enchanted. It was I who was captured
by her shaking hips.
I felt more than hunger, strong in me.
She was beauty,
she was energy,
she was free.

I joined her dancing.
I celebrated her freedom.
I was enticed by her green eyes.
I loved her black hair, stained with blue hair dye,
bluish whenever she tossed her hair.
As she twirled, and stomped,
my eyes caressed her curves,
lingering upon her firm breast,
her shapely hips, her long white neck.
She wore wet blue jeans
and a v-neck sweater.
A pentagram hung from a chain around her neck.
I knew it was not silver,
I hate silver.