Well, this was...unexpected. Felt a bit depressed whilst writing this (you shall see why shortly).
Think it's a nice little treat before I upload the next installment of "You Don't Know..." (coming either tonight or tomorrow morning). And I haven't even touched the little Christmas one I'm writing, so I'll try to finish that up ASAP (maybe I'll make it a three-shot?) Downtara is coming along quite nicely, and the next chapter (along with a little extra cast of characters list) has been up for a bit over a week; new installment for that will hopefully come in a few weeks.
And the whole reason I gave you that little update on all my GWTW stories up above is due to the fact that school is getting a bit hectic. I'm still writing, but not at a faster rate than before (which saddens me).
I did proof this, but I typed this on my iPod so...please do forgive any spelling/grammatical errors.
Disclaimer: I do not own GWTW.
Fire
Rhett Butler is a very incompetent man at times such as these.
He does not understand his desires to drown himself in sorrows, nor can he comprehend his readiness to leave all life behind for eternity.
Perhaps it is because there is only one place which he trusts to help him lose all judgement.
It is a meal of pleasure.
It satisfies his hunger more than any grand feast ever could.
Cigars: the appetizer.
Alcohol: the entree.
Love-making: the dessert.
How wonderfully convenient it all works out.
A drink of passion and lust combined in one.
A sweet aroma of sweat and rouge.
Tenderness and soft caresses.
A private room.
The large, feather bed awaiting visitors...
He should not be here.
He should be at home with his beautiful wife.
He should be tucking Bonnie into bed.
He should be reading to his two stepchildren before bedtime.
He should not have downed so much damn whiskey.
He should not have come to this accursed place.
He should not have led the poor creature on.
Yet he cannot stand the thought of leaving.
No, instead, he comes every night.
He doesn't want to come.
He has to come.
A soft hand leads him to the room.
He follows without thinking twice.
They become brief lovers.
However, he doesn't see his dear, sweet friend beneath him.
He sees a fire.
He sees the fire of an Irish temper.
He sees the emerald fire of a familiar pair of fine eyes.
He sees the fire of the finest frocks affixed to the tiniest of waists.
He sees the fire he fell too much in love with at a fiery moment.
The woman beneath him is a tame fire.
His wife is a wild fire.
He prefers the wild fire.
But he cannot spend the night with a fire which does not accept the assistance of kindling.
He must settle for the tame fire.
Rhett Butler is a very incompetent man indeed...
Points to anyone who saw the tiny Austen phrase from P&P. ;) That bit was a dedication to you, Dixie (if you're even reading this)!
