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Two Heartbeats From Falling Cont'd by Carey Printer Friendly

The challenge was made, the gauntlet placed down by Ray and I intend to make good on it.

If you haven't read the last issue (Dec.2004) I urge you to do so now. If you have, then you remember the unfinished story Mr. Weeks entered titled "Two Heartbeats From Falling" and his mastermind plan to have his friends and fellow readers continue to write it.

Having much time on my hands today I decided to engage in a bit of prose and what follows is the bit of clutter that fills the creative side of my brain:

Two Heartbeats From Falling Cont'd.

As my inexperienced hands sought out the middle of Sarah's back and fumbled with the tiny hooks that seperated her blooming womanhood from me by a flimsy piece of cotton and lycra the first flash of the future struck me like a bolt of lightening.

If you have ever gluttonously consumed a pint of Ben & Jerry's cookie dough ice cream in fifeteen minutes without pausing for breath you may recognize the pain that proceeded this brief moment of clarity.

My brain felt like it had been soaking in an ice bucket for hours. The back of my left eye felt like it was being held in place by a dull prong of a pitchfork that was rotating a bazillion miles an hour without any intention of stopping.

Amidst this excruciating pain I caught a glimpse of a scene so horrific and detailed that it made the hairs on the nape of my neck and both arms stand at attention.

Immediately my hands dropped from their previous spot and reflexively went to my eyes as if to block out the offensive images I had witnessed.

Sensing my sudden shift in posture and change of attitude Sarah immediatley asked me what was wrong.

Trying to maintain a sense of composure and not wanting to loose my teen-age cool facade I smirked and shrugged it off. I could tell that my abrubt halt to our once promising make-out session had killed the mood.

To tell you the truth though, I much preferred Sarah thinking I was a dick then having to reveal the true reason why I had released her.

It was not until we had parted, on not such a good note I might add, and I was alone in the safety of my postered superhero walls in my bedroom that I finally allowed myself to recall what I had seen.


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