Fanny Mae

It was the first time I had been attracted since before the war. She reminded me of Helen. The way she flung her beautiful and springy curls over her shoulder. The way she smiled, exposing her bright and flawlessly aligned teeth. I became a victim of infatuation very quickly. She looked wounded, both internally and externally. The skin on her wrist was a dark purple and her cheeks were blood red. Scars ran up the front of her legs, varying in size, form, and color. Eyes and head focused down on her feet. Tears began to form in the corner of her eye, flowing and eventually dropping on to the floor beneath. She looked up at me in desperation, she looked up at me in agony, she looked up and smiled. I can't remember the last time someone smiled at me. Her plush lips cracked, uncovering her rejuvenating smile. I smiled back, hoping that I would get a chance to taste those wet lips. A chance to tussle tongues with this immaculate being. As I thought this, she approached me, hand extended and said, "Hi, ma name is Fanny Mae, who are you?" All I could muster was an ugly broken and suppressed smile and the word, "Ronald," in a severely cracked voice. 

She comforted me by saying, don't worry about your voice being cracked, it beats the hell out of a cracked life." She vocalized my thought. Did she know what I was thinking? With her eyes alone she could move the stone in front of the tomb. Those eyes remained in my mind until I finally went to sleep feeling satisfied, with a huge grin on my face.