Being ErikMature

Erik Mulligan

I rose from the deep depths of my fitful sleep, red lines dancing in front of my eyes like worms working their way around the Earth's crust. Eventually the darkness melted away under the light's glare, and my eyes were wide open, the red lines focusing into figures on my clock face.


I flopped over to avoid watching time pass, as though turning my back on it would somehow make the passage of time pause while I found the will to stand. As I was lost in my thoughts, I found it. Her. I allowed her to cross my mind for a moment and, before I could stop myself, I became lost in my mind, within myself. I remembered how it felt to hold her in my arms, the occasional desire I had to creep quietly behind her before draping my arms over her shoulders and chest, feeling the firm undulations beneath my biceps, before kissing her, my eyes closed, on her left temple. I thought on the scents which moved within her hair, and how soft it felt in my fingertips. Her mouth mesmerised me, with its gentle curves and soft texture, like strawberry cheesecake after a heavy Sunday roast; she tasted better. With echoes of her coursing through my veins, I arose and half-heartedly made my bed, and went to open my bedroom door. As I reached for the handle, I saw my face in my mirror, hazy and trimmed with limescale, and reached for the t-shirt which hung on my leather armchair. If my mother was waiting to wish me a good morning downstairs, I would need to wear more than my Calvin Klein's. I pulled it over my head, pushed my jet black fringe back with my fingers, and winked with a pair of Cambridge-blue eyes before heading downstairs for hash browns and and a bagel.

As I munched on my breakfast, she remained in my mind like a crime in the mind of a prisoner. I felt guilty when I thought of her, although my thoughts were (mostly) innocent. Being a sixteen year old male, it was impossible to think of her in a respectful way the whole time. Although I was on the football team and worked out four times a week, I flirted with poetry almost as much as I did with her. The Bard himself resonated through my inward ears;

And yet, by Heaven, I think my love as rare, as any she belied with false compare.

I smiled helplessly to myself when I remembered I would see her at the party. I looked forward to holding her in my arms as we danced, to breathing in the scent of her 'Diesel: Fuel for Life.'

She was my fuel for life. Before everything changed.

The End

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