Killing me softly

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I heard he had a good song so I came to see him and listen for a while. He strummed the strings ever so lightly, caressing the instrument till it purred in ecstasy. I looked at his fingers and imagined them on my body. His inky blackness marking the spaces they traversed on my yellow skin; drawing patterns not meant for spying eyes. He clears his throat and hums a little to set the mood. I close my eyes and think about the gorgeous velvety voice whispering words in my ears that heated my skin.

His eyes searched the people gathered around, pleased that a loud crowd had turned up to hear him. It was time to perform and boy, was he going to give them something to wonder! Then he saw me standing there at the edge, waiting for him do just that. He had stolen my heart, my hopes and my words without any remorse. I wondered now why his eyes stole away from my face…

Written for Flash Fiction for the Practitioner.