Poetry

Marked

Sitting in the coffee shop with large, orb like eyes. She see’s everything. The colors shift and their shapes change. But nothing is hidden. How foolish human kind can be, so easily enslaved by their emotions.

Narenia’s eyes do not require the sweeping look she gives the shop to spot him. He is bright as the sun. The pure gold aura which is coveted beyond all becomes him. Even the humans can sense something special in their midst. Many turn as he walks in, and Narenia can see their vibrations alter as he passes by.

“Which one is she?” mutters Santos. Of all the dull tasks his grandfather could have given him on a Saturday afternoon, this had got to be the worst. He could be at the beach right now, surfing or chatting up the blonde life guard. Carrying the bag of tools he had to deliver, Santos squinted around the coffee shop looking for an unfamiliar face. She was not from around here after all. He spotted Milena and waved, hoping he looked cool while doing it.

Oh, that could be her! The woman with gigantic eyes and gleaming red hair. His grandfather had failed to mention that she was young. And pretty.

“Hi there! I – I think you must be Narenia?” he called while approaching her table in the corner of the room.

Why was she looking at him in such a peculiar manner, though Santos. It was as if she was assessing him.

“Why yes I am. You must be Santos? Your grandfather told me I’d meet you here.”

“Yup, that’s me. Here is your delivery – if you do need a hand using those tools, I can help. Grandpa taught me a few tricks,” he said proudly puffing out his chest. The sun bounced off his golden curls.

Well, he was charming, mused Narenia. Perhaps it would be easier to talk to him under normal pretense. After all, she had no idea how to use these tools, let alone fix her car. Here was her mechanic of choice.

“Sure thing. Why don’t you pass by the place I’m crashing at this evening. Say, 7:30?”

“Where are you staying?”

“Over at Mrs. Jonas’s.”

“Great! 7:30 it is. And get ready, I’m an excellent teacher,” said Santos with a wink.

“Oh I’m sure I can teach a few things myself. Goodbye Santos.”

Santos watched her walk to the door, red hair swaying in her wake. Men from each side of the coffee shop turned too. Some looked disappointed indeed. The young man with the golden curls however, looked hopeful.

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