Author's note: I blame the Coyote reference on Charles de Lint. I was
reading his novel the Onion Girl when I wrote this. If my allusion seems
odd, think Native American myth. *grins*.
~Coyote~
There's a man standing down that alleyway. Nobody seems to notice him even though everything about him should draw the eye. He has this incredible, impossible flaming red hair that he doesn't bother to hide. I can't see his eyes but I can imagine what they would look like. I can tell just by the way that he's standing that he knows I'm looking at him. Something about him makes me shiver even though I'm intrigued. There's this feeling to him. He's the strike of the match, I think. He's that crisp, dangerous, beautiful sound that pops and then burns oh so slowly. Have you ever just listened to a match burn? It has this faint, tiny hissing noise that you could almost miss unless you were listening for it. It's easy to imagine that that little flame is whispering something, that it knows something.
It seems almost ironic to me that he decides to light a cigarette right then. He strikes the match and even though I'm too far to hear it I can almost imagine that slight hissing sound. It's as if he and the match are holding a conversation. He holds the flame close to him, almost protectively, and the dancing light in the alley illuminates his features just for an instant. There's a flash of something surreal in his eyes and I feel my breath catch in my throat. He looks over at me beyond that flame and I see a smile tug at his coyote eyes.
There's that shudder again. I should leave now but I can't help but watch those laughing eyes in the dancing firelight. Around him its blue midnight but I can make out that strange otherworldly light shining and laughing in his eyes and the incredible red of his hair.
He snuffs the light in his hands and I have to strain my eyes to still make out his form. I can almost still see that strange sparkle dancing and I imagine that he's still looking at me, smirking. Then it's gone.
Almost against my will, I feel my feet stepping forward until I'm right at the mouth of the alley. I squint and strain, trying to perceive some tiny flicker, but the alley is empty. He's gone.
~Coyote~
There's a man standing down that alleyway. Nobody seems to notice him even though everything about him should draw the eye. He has this incredible, impossible flaming red hair that he doesn't bother to hide. I can't see his eyes but I can imagine what they would look like. I can tell just by the way that he's standing that he knows I'm looking at him. Something about him makes me shiver even though I'm intrigued. There's this feeling to him. He's the strike of the match, I think. He's that crisp, dangerous, beautiful sound that pops and then burns oh so slowly. Have you ever just listened to a match burn? It has this faint, tiny hissing noise that you could almost miss unless you were listening for it. It's easy to imagine that that little flame is whispering something, that it knows something.
It seems almost ironic to me that he decides to light a cigarette right then. He strikes the match and even though I'm too far to hear it I can almost imagine that slight hissing sound. It's as if he and the match are holding a conversation. He holds the flame close to him, almost protectively, and the dancing light in the alley illuminates his features just for an instant. There's a flash of something surreal in his eyes and I feel my breath catch in my throat. He looks over at me beyond that flame and I see a smile tug at his coyote eyes.
There's that shudder again. I should leave now but I can't help but watch those laughing eyes in the dancing firelight. Around him its blue midnight but I can make out that strange otherworldly light shining and laughing in his eyes and the incredible red of his hair.
He snuffs the light in his hands and I have to strain my eyes to still make out his form. I can almost still see that strange sparkle dancing and I imagine that he's still looking at me, smirking. Then it's gone.
Almost against my will, I feel my feet stepping forward until I'm right at the mouth of the alley. I squint and strain, trying to perceive some tiny flicker, but the alley is empty. He's gone.