Thursday, April 7, 2011

Lame writing attempt

She took a sip from her peach and lime daiquiri, her fingers tapping continuously on the table. No one can recognize the face behind the glittered mask. The ebony-hued hair and the garnet lips— they’re so not her. But the scent, yes, the scent of freshly cut grass, lime and lavender, it’s her. “Only he can recognize me”, she mumbled, eyes fixed on a man in tuxedo with an unfixed tie, walking towards her direction. Heartbeat check: rapid.