What more could she want…

She was alive. I mean really, really alive. Well, she had proof after all. Her heart beat. Air flowed in and out of her lungs. She could feel the blood surge at each of her pulse points. What more was there to being alive?

Oh right, touch, smell, taste, sound and sight. Well, yeah, she had all those too. What more could she ever want?

That was the question, wasn’t it?

What more could she ever want?

Oh there were lots of things she could want, but those were only things. Things that reminded her through touch, smell, taste, sound and sight, that by all appearances, she was alive.

Why then did she feel so dead inside?

Often times, she could stand at her window, looking out over the valley, and never see, never touch, never smell, never taste, never hear a single thing.

Then some times, something would get through. Sometimes it was the shock of not seeing what was always there, like the fog obscuring the mountains from view that made her realize she hadn’t looked, hadn’t seen the mountains in a long time even though they were there every time she opened her eyes.

Sometimes it was the strong nauseating smell of treated cow manure used to fertilize the fields that shocked her into submitting to her senses and notice another season had passed and she hadn’t smelled the flowers bloom or the rains fall, or the winter snows.

Sometimes it was the rattle of gunfire echoing across the valley that told her, she had been deaf for far too long to the sounds of the forest and the eagles flying overhead.

Sometimes it was the sweetest taste bursting on her tongue for her to realize she couldn’t remember anything she tasted for months on end.

But it wasn’t until her neighbor accidentally touched her hand when she reached to take the stick of butter for her to see the years which had gone by since she felt the touch of a lover.

Yes, what more could she want?

She hadn’t done anything special for herself in a very long time. This had never bothered her. Not until she had read something someone had written. An obvious recipe for self-indulgence. Which she could not get out of her mind.

Maybe, just maybe this weekend, she would give it a try. But first, a shopping trip was required.

(to be continued)

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About Kate Spyder

I'm a creative individual finding her way in her writing. I enjoy expressing my deep thoughts through poetry and stories. I hope you enjoy them as much as I enjoy writing them.
This entry was posted in Erotic Fiction and tagged , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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