annasky
I think I've outwitted him, but once again find myself on the losing end. "Checkmate," he whispers softly in my ear as I am forced to acknowledge his dominance and my defeat. I lower my gaze and reply "Yes, sir". A wicked grin appears on his face and that familiar glint flashes across his eyes.
It's a rat race, squashing and piling on to the metro. You're just a number, a face in the crowd if you're lucky. Just one of thousands trying to get from A to B, a curse of the modern age.
I stand shyly in the corner, barely daring to say what I need to say. I mumble something vaguely coherently and you cough, asking me whether I've spoken. I blurt out "yes" and you ask me to repeat myself. It's hard making such a request and and I struggle to make myself heard above the nay-saying voices in my head.
I am anchored to the spot, unable to move. Hyperaware of my surroundings but unable to make any decision, overwhelmed by the circumstances and trying to stay calm. What to do, where to go. I am crippled by my indecision...
I look at the array of lights on the dashboard, a veritable feast of information about the vehicle. Too much information, that I need the manual to even begin to decipher all the messages, represented by little glowing icons of modern culture.
Oh, when Sir is angry, I know I am to be punished. It's the way his voice drops, his eyes darken, his whole posture changes. When I see the signs, I have butterflies inside and wonder what he has in store for me. Is it a spanking? The naughty corner?
Vines. Creeping tendrils. Damp tangy smell of earth. Green in spring, bursting forth, leafy goodness. Fruits of vines, left to ripen, sweet, fermenting, decay until death for winter. Then only the brittle bones left, like an old man's skeleton.
The bagel was smeared with cream cheese, oozing over the sides, beckoning me to take a bite of its luscious, doughy goodness. I salivated, reaching forward, my
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