Challenge #49 - Colours of emotion
(This be my first challenge thingy - I hope I’ve entered into it correctly, and with the right spirit.)
Her hands are definitely pinker then they should be, and that can't be good, right? I mean, look at her, the bronze goddess. Sunbaked to golden perfection, an elegant cut from the most exquisitely firm block, dressed lightly with a few slips of air stolen from pastel clouds. She's a dream plucked from the lush, fertile green gardens where nature keeps a jealous guard over all of her potential beauty.
But her hands are totally too pink for all that. Sure, the way she leans forward, her eyes trapping mine, her posture and presence demanding that the entire room fade from brilliance to dull background grey, seems to promise something in the way of an explanation. It says, Jee-wiiz mister, I'm so sorry about my hands, hehe, silly me… but there's a red bolt running hot through me like fire and it's pooling in my hands, where I'm closest to you. I'm literally burning to touch you, suffocating under this cold blue shroud of social convention. That's why my hands are pink, they're being stained with frustration and scant, jealous, violet restraint.
And well that's fine and everything, but it doesn't change the fact that too pink is too pink, and a flaw. Thank christ for that, because without a flaw I'd be wondering what the hell I was doing sitting here with this radiant beauty and looking constantly over my shoulder for the neon yellow sign flashing “You're totally out of your league, mate, go home".
And I also might be worried about my mind disintegrating under the thrumming, pulsating thrill of electric indigo that’s shot through my every nerve with every beat. Worried about losing my cool and tumbling into that velvet smooth, raven black, flower scented pit I can feel opening beneath me.
But her hands are pink.
My knuckles are white.