25. disguise
Guy, Turnbull; Arch To The Sky (Nipawin, probably '94); G; 331 words; 25. disguise.
I have always enjoyed Halloween.
It isn't that I'm usually one to dress up. It's that the women tend to come in the most fascinating flavors on this day, and one would be foolish not to open that particular box of chocolates. If I do say so myself, I'm well-suited to gold and white. Now and again I catch a glint from the gold that tints my cheeks. This toga makes aspects of my anatomy feel surprisingly free. These sandals are uncomfortable. And I wear makeup far better than a straight man should.
I've outdone myself this year. The only hint that I haven't fallen from the heavens, aside the wire that bears my halo, is my sunglasses. The bar is packed; even Renfield has come, to my surprise. I wasn't aware he was off. Perhaps he is humoring me. I like it when he humors me; attempting to figure out why is always a fascinating venture. He doesn't look as though he's been here long, and doesn't look at all like he is going to stay.
I catch his eye, and he does the Renfield equivalent of a double-take. Blinking rapidly at me, as though what he sees is the trick of a speck of dust.
Yes, Mountie. I am an angel for the evening. And I have yet to find my devil.
I weave my way through the room toward the door where Renfield lingers. I pull a set of devil's horns from my pocket and offer them out, notched between two fingers, along with a lazy grin.
"Opposite night?"
Renfield is blinking again, this time at my offering. It's a moment before he takes them, though he makes no move to put them on.
"Perhaps," he answers with the smallest huff of a laugh.
Over my sunglasses, I wink at him before I slip back into the crowd. He is gone, when next I look.
I have always enjoyed Halloween.
It isn't that I'm usually one to dress up. It's that the women tend to come in the most fascinating flavors on this day, and one would be foolish not to open that particular box of chocolates. If I do say so myself, I'm well-suited to gold and white. Now and again I catch a glint from the gold that tints my cheeks. This toga makes aspects of my anatomy feel surprisingly free. These sandals are uncomfortable. And I wear makeup far better than a straight man should.
I've outdone myself this year. The only hint that I haven't fallen from the heavens, aside the wire that bears my halo, is my sunglasses. The bar is packed; even Renfield has come, to my surprise. I wasn't aware he was off. Perhaps he is humoring me. I like it when he humors me; attempting to figure out why is always a fascinating venture. He doesn't look as though he's been here long, and doesn't look at all like he is going to stay.
I catch his eye, and he does the Renfield equivalent of a double-take. Blinking rapidly at me, as though what he sees is the trick of a speck of dust.
Yes, Mountie. I am an angel for the evening. And I have yet to find my devil.
I weave my way through the room toward the door where Renfield lingers. I pull a set of devil's horns from my pocket and offer them out, notched between two fingers, along with a lazy grin.
"Opposite night?"
Renfield is blinking again, this time at my offering. It's a moment before he takes them, though he makes no move to put them on.
"Perhaps," he answers with the smallest huff of a laugh.
Over my sunglasses, I wink at him before I slip back into the crowd. He is gone, when next I look.