Twelfth Night Masquerade Flash Fiction Contest #No.2

On seeing this second picture on the Pinterst Board the eyes spoke to me and I had to write about him.

I hope you enjoy my second entry.

He blinked but you couldn’t miss those eyes, not even in the half light of the woodland; they flashed and sparkled, marking him out.

He danced quickly away, but I wasn’t going to lose track of him. My eyes were locked on his figure, which flickered in and out amongst the shadows of the trees and the others who pranced around with him.

The display was heart felt; they all wanted to be taken home that night, bearing their all – or at least their half naked bodies. The dance was full of hope edged with desperation, with a few dancing as close as they were permitted, to attract the attention of the best owners. But he teased, which made me smile, and he acknowledged my gaze upon him.

He drew nearer each time he cycled daring to meet my eyes - a risky endeavour at this stage and one that could get him pulled out. But I didn’t mind, I wanted those eyes on me, I yearned to see the face free of the smudged mask, I wanted him to be mine.

As the music escalated and the dancing became more frenzied, I held my breath, making sure I would be in time with my vote, not wanting to risk losing him and never seeing those eyes again.

The drums rolled and the dancers froze and the master took his place. The moment the gravel came down on the block hands went up in the air showing the numbers they wanted. I daren't look at any others, only looking at the master’s eyes, waiting for him to acknowledge me and give me my vote.

It felt like time slowed down as I waited for his movement to show in my direction. I saw him nod at others his head slowly turning, and then finally it came, a fraction of a nod, and I almost collapsed with relief breathing freely at last.

I queued with the others eager to sign, eager to become an owner. When he saw me his eyes flashed in surprised and he resisted a smile. I didn’t and beamed at him, taking little notice of the pad I had to scrawl on to claim him.

He followed behind me as I led him away to my home, careful to follow protocol; no talking, no touching. But as soon as the door was shut behind us I spun round and clasped his face in my hands, staring into those eyes that I had missed for so many years. His hands covered mine with as much speed, his lips seeking my fingers to kiss tenderly, as he returned the gaze of longing.

“I found you at last! I won’t ever let them take you again.”

And a single teardrop drew a line through the black painted mask.

468 Words

(for my first entry go here, and for details of the contest go to From Darcy to Dionysus,)