Inspired by a song by Liverpool University's band The Loose Hearts (formerly Amy in the White Coat).
About a dream girl who is a tantilising combination of unobtainable and uncontrollable...and the power she holds over mere men...

I stand alone in the corner of the dancehall, drink in hand, wondering why I had even come at all: why I had ever let my hopelessly naive mind swallow every sugar-coated word that siren had said to me.
They told me that she was bad news when I first laid eyes on her, but I didn't listen.

I'd first seen her in my dreams: my very own creation. A free spirit, running down the wet streets of our town with bare feet and wild red hair, the colour of a deep crimson rose. She didn't need to adhere; she simply was who she was, and that, in my eyes, was perfection.

Her reality standing before me in this dancehall was beautiful - more so than any other girl I had seen, more so than I'd ever imagined. The way she threw her head back when she laughed; the way she'd touch your hand as she talked to you; the way she simply owned the room without any effort whatsoever. They all entranced me. I just had to have her. After all, she was mine - borne out of my dreams.

Eventually, she made her way over to me, eyes bedazzlingly black, smiling so confidently. Without a word, she took my hand and led me out into the limelight. Words seemed useless - meaningless - worthless in her presence, and the mere scent of her heavenly body so close to mine was making me weak yet strong with anticipation. She knew all this, and whispered in my ear as she held me tight, "I'll give it all to you", then before I could respond, the music began to play as if under her command. Never before in my life had I been able to dance, but suddenly with her, I was released from my bodily constrictions.

Our combination was sensational. She stepped this way and that, and I followed close behind. I held her so tenderly as she bent like a rag doll backwards and curved round, then lifted her leg and wrapped it around me. Every beat of the music bore into me like nails hammering my fate deep into me. Every note, she owned; she was. She didn't become the music; it became her. I could feel the awe and jealousy with which we were being watched, and it made me for the first time in my life proud to be who I was. This beautiful girl that I had conjured up was now breathing life into me, and I loved her all the more for it. 

The music finished all too early, and my runaway girl threw me a carefree smile before disappearing into the crowds. I was left, bereft and pathetic, exposed in the middle of the dancefloor.

Since then, I would be seen in this haunt every Saturday, ever-hopeful that she would enter my life once more, take me dancing, and make me feel like a man. That's how I came to be here. No one talks to me: they all know my game, for it's theirs too. This hall is full of unfulfilled men, longing for another taste of this feeling called adequacy that she had given us so cruelly but for a moment.

I watch her once more take the hands of another victim; I see his eyes light up; I see him rapidly become overwhelmed by her undulating power, and I can bear it no longer. In some attempt to grasp at power once more, I slam my glass down onto the table next to me, and fly off into the harsh cold of the night.

I make my way through these old back streets, passing jolly strangers and star-crossed lovers, cursing their fortune as I go. Those icy winds blow in from the river and the sea beyond it, and I am chilled to the bone but I keep walking on. I have no direction; no destination, but I walk for hours through the night until I find myself outside her window, calling up in desperacy. The sun shouldn't be long, I think to myself. It will rise from behind those docks on the river, and shine right down this rain-soaked street. She appears, hair loose and knotted, no make-up on her face, yet still the most beautiful woman in the world. I reach out to her, and beg her to come down.

"Be my one!" I shout. I long to hold her like a child, give her all my love, all for a kiss from those tempting lips.

She only smiles, that coy smile that twists my heart every time, and says nothing as if pretending to be a different person: one who has never met me before. It breaks my heart, yet her siren looks still leave me transfixed to the spot.

"Must you love?" I shout, "Must you please? Only I could love you truly, not any of those other boys. You said - you promised - you'd give it all to me." My voice is raw from the cold, my anger and the alcohol. My heart is thumping in my chest from my anger; from my love, yet there is still a silence that makes me sick. I am a ruined man: all money and emotion spent, all for this.

Slowly, that smile curls its way up the sides of her cold, untouched mouth, and from it exits a deep and vain cackle. As the cold sunlight of a winter morning suddenly hits me, piercing mercilessly into my alcohol-soaked body, only now do I realise how much of a fool she has made of me.

Oh vain girl. Sweet roses won't fool me.

The End

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