Searching for sparks

When I look at her I feel a jolt. You know that hyper-caffeinated drink that Panera sold, that was killing people? That's her/that's me. Every time I drink her in everything in my chest arrests.

A little bit of her eyelids sliding my way, open, closed, green eyes exposed, she's a shot of expresso, and too much makes me quiver. I have to sip her image carefully, just delicately put a few drops of her voice on my tongue, .

Because if I don't, my heart will stop. Dead in its tracks. Jumpstart me so I can breathe.

Jitters. I've got the jitters today. I haven't had my shot; my demitasse is empty. I look up from my table in the library, watching for her green covered books. I walk through the park that she loves, searching for blooming crocuses, but only beagles race across the lawn. I wander on the boardwalk from candy cotton stand to rooted binoculars, but she's nowhere to be seen.

I'm aware I can only glimpse her sideways if I find her because then the jitters will steroid up. But I need a little bit, you know? To get me through the day.

The sun begins to set; I sigh in disappointment. Tomorrow is the workweek, which means I'll only have a moment here or there to look for her. For five days, I'll hope she calls or sends a picture, hope I'll bump into her without trying. Maybe she'll bump into me? Could I hear her voice in the mirror? Could I see her scent on the glass? Maybe. Maybe I'll call her name three times at midnight and her sparkle will appear to replace my dull image.

But no, the entire week I don't get as much as a text or a hiccup. I tap my empty mental demitasse three times on the table each time I wake up. Empty. Empty. Empty.

This week I try another place, a new place, an old place, a place I'd forgotten I'd first seen her face. I walk down a trail to a Terabithia long gone. I run my fingers along bark, tips brushing new growth. I think about that book and how it stoked my sense of wonder as a child. I think about how, when I became an adult, it made so much more sense as a warning. Stray too far, imagine too hard, take too many risks: the rope will snap and you'll be left mourning your friends. Or yourself.

I step to the edge of the easy, shallow bank. A new vine has grown from the trees to my hips. How long has it been? I grasp its thickness and give two sturdy tugs. I know she's around here somewhere. I can feel her in my chest. I close my eyes, give a one-two-three, then swing with everything I've got, my toes somehow landing lightly on the flat broad stone in the middle of the wild brook.

And there she is. I look down, and there she is in the water. I kneel and reach for her face. She kneels and reaches for mine. Strands of brown hair fall across her mouth and flutter across her shoulder. Strands of mine do the same. I smile, she smiles. I blink, she blinks. I feel that jolt of energy. That shot of caffeine. I've found her again and I can breathe. I run my hands through the water, rippling her image away. I pull the drops up and tuck them into my chest. Then I grab the vine and swing to the bank.

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599 words per Vocal's word counter

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About the Challenge

This piece was written for L.C. Schäfer's Dollar Challenge - Dead Inside But Caffeinated (October/November edition) which is an unofficial microfiction challenge. Basically this means the regular every-day-joe vocal contributor (not vocal staff) L.C. Schäfer gives a prompt from their own brain/crowdsourcing to challenge other writers to answer, and then we do, if we want. This challenge for November provides a quote prompt:

She was like a shot of espresso

-Andrew Garfield

You can enter one microfiction or poetry piece (this is my microfiction entry) of 300-600 words, by 11:59PM GMT, Saturday 30th November 2024, which, if my math is right (but don't trust me) is 7 pm November 29th EST.

About me

I'm a long time lurker, recently popped up to do a little creative writing after having only two pieces up for a ridiculously long time.

They are my favorite pieces and you can find them here and here if you'd like to take a gander:

Butter Cream: https://shopping-feedback.today/poets/butter-cream%3C/a%3E

When we were young: https://shopping-feedback.today/poets/when-we-were-young-m7bv010dxa%3C/a%3E

Mostly I focus on unofficial challenges by other vocal contributors, (I'm not happy with the terms of Vocal Challenges, so I will not be participating in them. You should read the terms of each one you want to enter carefully) though I am revising and putting up some stuff that had been in my draft folder forever.