The forge glowed red hot, casting a hellish glow. Kira pulled her quenched metal from the oil bath. The piece blazed to life as residual oil ignited from the heat still encapsulated in the metal’s heart. Kira had beaten that heart into the piece, using a piece of hers as the model. She took a rasp and dragged it along the edge of the metal. The rasp danced and so did Kira’s heart. It was hard.
Later that evening she left the smithy behind and went in search of Pablo. She knew her parents would love to have her marry the boy, but Kira wasn’t happy about it. He was the baker’s boy, and while she thought he was cute he was a bit pudgy.
She found him entertaining his friends. She hung back watching him while nervously shifting her metal creation in her hands. That’s when she saw her opportunity. With a flick of her wrist, she sent the disc flying, cutting Cupid’s bow in half as the imp had been aiming at her.
Cupid’s look would have broken many a heart, but Kira smiled. She might still fall for the boy, but it would be under her terms.
Always it was a new problem for Ingrid
God was crapping on her for some sin or not being pious enough
Nigel would just laugh at the whole thing
Only a zealot would be so focused on what a supreme being would do
So much was there for the individual to do about their lot in life
To think that a divine being would purposely make things harder…
It didn’t make sense to Nigel one bit
Could it be more doing and less praying might be a good business model?
Marty couldn’t believe that he was just propositioned by this beautiful blond model standing in front of him. Olga was six foot four, without her heals, six foot whatever with them, and she had a body that would have made Michelangelo forget all about carving David. Yet here she was hitting on little old Marty.
“Are you sure you haven’t been drinking too much?” asked Marty in his head, but he didn’t have the nerve to ask it out loud. Instead he just sort of shrugged his shoulders and faintly gestured with his rum and coke, hold the rum.
Olga gave him a pouty look. Damn, that look had to be trademarked by some company. “So what do you say? We can talk more in my room,” she said.
Marty’s left thumb drifted to where his wedding band had been. It had been over a year, and yet… “Sorry, not tonight. I’ve got to get ready for a meeting in the morning. Maybe tomorrow?” he asked.
Olga let the pout evaporate and replaced it with a heaping helping of I can’t believe you just did that. Without saying a word she left the reception and headed off into the bowels of the hotel, alone.
Marty drifted out into the night. The glare of the manmade neon from the strip hid the heavens above, but still Marty looked up and stared into the emptiness which matched what he felt inside. “I love you Brenda,” he said before going back inside. He did have a meeting in the morning after all.