I stare into his eyes. How can something so animated be so still? So
plastic? How I want to embrace him warmly, and have him embrace me back.
But no. He is but hollow plastic, painted to my pleasure.. Oh, so much
pleasure!
I feel his smooth crevices. He is perfect in every way. I can caress his red belly, gray beard, and point, oh so pointy red hat with such temptation and passion.. I can only lust over him.
"Sam!" I hear the dreaded name. My own, but it lingers on the lips of a woman. A woman I am married to. A woman I fear.
Fear. He often tells me not to feel it. In his hollow body, it echoes. He is so wise.. So very wise.. I am tempted to kiss every wise paint stroke. But no, in time. In time I shall be alone with him again.. We shall stare into each other's eyes longingly (I painted his like that) and we'll know that life will not tear us apart. He may be inanimate, but I love every inanimate word he speaks. Or rather, doesn't speak. I lovingly stroke him as she approached.
"Honey, can you drive Matt to soccer practice?," She questioned, rummaging through the mail. My eyes widened. Separate me from him?? I clutched his gentle plastic protectively at the very thought.
"Uh, no, honey," I said, surprisingly smooth. "I can't." I gave her a quick, goofy grin and continued caressing him. She eyed my actions, her glasses at the tip of her nose.
"Can't you leave your..crafts for two seconds?," She said coolly, placing the mail down. My grip on him tightened. "Please, honey?" No, I thought fiercely. If I gave in, she'd take him! And then..and then she'd kiss me! No! Don't!
"Uh, I'm just, busy," I cleared my throat. Her hands seemed to lunge at him, almost knocking my arms off. But no, Ah ha! She fails. Her eyes are either full of fire or curiosity..no, fire! She tries to steal him!
She lunges again..and succeeds. I've failed him. She holds him like he is made of bricks..no, wait, that would be heavy. something really strong! He is so delicate.. Before I can even warn her..
He slips from her palms. NO!! I dive... but it is too late. The cheap plastic is in shards on the floor, revealing his hollow insides. They float in the air with the rest of the nothingness.
It is proof. I have always known he is hollow, but deep down, I thought my love filled him. But my love does not come out of his remains. It stays in my heart, loading it down with despair.
On my knees, all I can see is the remains of his eyes. The ones I stared into for hours, thinking something was there. But there was NOTHING. I was nothing.
"You- you did that on purpose!," I exclaimed to her, towering over me. I felt loathe rush to very inch of my body. She killed him. She killed the love of my life, thinking she was it.
"Oh, Sam, it was an accident," She said, exasperated. "Just get another on." Get another one..GET ANOTHER ONE?!
"You are going to hell, Jo McGuire," I sobbed. "You are damned to hell!!" And then.. She LAUGHED. She laughed at her damnation. And then, I knew. She. Is. Satan.
And I am cursed. Cursed to be alone. Until the next lawn gnome comes along to catch my tears...
~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~
A/N: I know my sensitive group is still teary eyed, but I just wanted to give my dedication.
This story is dedicated to Marcy, whose brilliant idea lead me to this fiction. Thank you, Marcy!!! ::hands tin can to Marcy:: There's your prize!!!!
I feel his smooth crevices. He is perfect in every way. I can caress his red belly, gray beard, and point, oh so pointy red hat with such temptation and passion.. I can only lust over him.
"Sam!" I hear the dreaded name. My own, but it lingers on the lips of a woman. A woman I am married to. A woman I fear.
Fear. He often tells me not to feel it. In his hollow body, it echoes. He is so wise.. So very wise.. I am tempted to kiss every wise paint stroke. But no, in time. In time I shall be alone with him again.. We shall stare into each other's eyes longingly (I painted his like that) and we'll know that life will not tear us apart. He may be inanimate, but I love every inanimate word he speaks. Or rather, doesn't speak. I lovingly stroke him as she approached.
"Honey, can you drive Matt to soccer practice?," She questioned, rummaging through the mail. My eyes widened. Separate me from him?? I clutched his gentle plastic protectively at the very thought.
"Uh, no, honey," I said, surprisingly smooth. "I can't." I gave her a quick, goofy grin and continued caressing him. She eyed my actions, her glasses at the tip of her nose.
"Can't you leave your..crafts for two seconds?," She said coolly, placing the mail down. My grip on him tightened. "Please, honey?" No, I thought fiercely. If I gave in, she'd take him! And then..and then she'd kiss me! No! Don't!
"Uh, I'm just, busy," I cleared my throat. Her hands seemed to lunge at him, almost knocking my arms off. But no, Ah ha! She fails. Her eyes are either full of fire or curiosity..no, fire! She tries to steal him!
She lunges again..and succeeds. I've failed him. She holds him like he is made of bricks..no, wait, that would be heavy. something really strong! He is so delicate.. Before I can even warn her..
He slips from her palms. NO!! I dive... but it is too late. The cheap plastic is in shards on the floor, revealing his hollow insides. They float in the air with the rest of the nothingness.
It is proof. I have always known he is hollow, but deep down, I thought my love filled him. But my love does not come out of his remains. It stays in my heart, loading it down with despair.
On my knees, all I can see is the remains of his eyes. The ones I stared into for hours, thinking something was there. But there was NOTHING. I was nothing.
"You- you did that on purpose!," I exclaimed to her, towering over me. I felt loathe rush to very inch of my body. She killed him. She killed the love of my life, thinking she was it.
"Oh, Sam, it was an accident," She said, exasperated. "Just get another on." Get another one..GET ANOTHER ONE?!
"You are going to hell, Jo McGuire," I sobbed. "You are damned to hell!!" And then.. She LAUGHED. She laughed at her damnation. And then, I knew. She. Is. Satan.
And I am cursed. Cursed to be alone. Until the next lawn gnome comes along to catch my tears...
~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~
A/N: I know my sensitive group is still teary eyed, but I just wanted to give my dedication.
This story is dedicated to Marcy, whose brilliant idea lead me to this fiction. Thank you, Marcy!!! ::hands tin can to Marcy:: There's your prize!!!!