Obsession

He checked the time on the lower right corner of the computer screen. It was one-thirty in the afternoon, and for whatever reason, she walked by the cubicle day at that time every day. Today, she seemed to be late, and he was about to give up when he heard the sound of feet brushing against carpet, coming closer and closer.

Suddenly, his midsection came to life like an aviary full of butterflies. He felt her presence. The scent of her luscious perfume filled his nose, his whole being. He closed his eyes tightly. She was like no other – languid, sophisticated, graceful. She turned easily like a sheer curtain disturbed and twisted by a sudden breeze. He knew he shouldn’t, but when the time came, he pushed his open palms against the edge of the table, and with one great push, shot backwards. The chair stopped at the edge of the cubicle.

Slowly, he leaned back, and cast a glance out beyond the barrier. He felt his insides fall like someone who yearns for a sunset to last for hours. Lusting, yet his throat constricted with the hard lump of falling in love, he watched the back of her shoulders go back and forth in a tight, but fluid 1-2-1-2 rhythm, the rest of her body following. Arms, back, hips, curvaceous bottom, legs and feet, flowed into one smooth form that transfixed him even after she disappeared out of view. It was only when a passing co-worker asked if he was alright that he snapped out of his daydream. He replied that he was, and he pedaled himself back to his desk.

The Rabbit's Death

She felt it like a stray bullet grazes flesh - suddenly, strangely, as if it never happened at all. She stared at the images on the screen. They seemed meaningless like they had no connection to her life. The words that came from the actor's mouths sounded foreign. They were garbled, jumbled, twirling and tumbling about her head like thick pink blobs inside a lava lamp. She had wondered how she would feel, often questioned herself about what she would do the moment it happened. Would she break down and cry or would she feel numb? Yet, nothing had happened that she knew of. It could be a trick of her mind, a projected fear. She'd felt that before, and when she'd go to check, all was well.

She looked ahead at the staircase that led up. The bare bulb on ceiling of the second floor cast a murky, feverish light on the runners. It seemed to bleed like a seeping wound down to the landing by the front door. Van Gogh, the Night Cafe, she thought. In a twisted way, it beckoned her to go up and see. Life sucks, she thought. It's far from pretty. There's always something to overcome, to recover from. Just when it seems that things have found their levels, something comes along to smash the balance. When she thought she was over Buddy, some little snatch of him would shimmer in her mind like a mirage, and he and his ridiculous presence would overtake her. For whatever reason, here he was again. She imaged what he might be thinking. Of course, he'd say nothing, but that smirk would say it all - that damned, stupid smirk. Asshole, it's not just a rabbit. It's meant so much more.

The anger propelled her up the stairs