I am using this blog as a way to expand and experiment with my writing process. I may occasionally post short pieces that I have written while in the Caribbean.
Her eyes locked with the hazel eyes of the youngest man, he a mixture, it seemed, of all the cultures that had shaped the country. He kept her gaze and offered a gentle smile, something porcelain and delicate about him, his cheekbones high and piercing, lips full, eyelashes curling like a daring moon. His body was lithe, both light and dark, a tight white tank top exposing areas that might have spoken of some hunger or fierce anxiety, maybe hard work or all three. He seemed to twist his hand like a mini pirouette and placed his index finger upon his lips as if contemplating philosophy or telling her to be silent. Their hair was about the same length, she desperately wanting to shave her head clean, obsessively swimming the pool in the day and working out relentlessly. She secretly desired a physique like the man with the gold teeth or the myriad of other male bodies she admired, carved and chiselled as if out of stone or purple heart. She smiled in return. . . .
The next time he appeared, his eyes and face were encased in a box below a newspaper heading that read “Disappeared and No Clues”. . . .
The third time she saw his face, it appeared again in a box under another headline that read “Transgender Victim of Violence.” His body had been found in a red dress outside a church. A post-mortem examination revealed he died from a series of blows to his head and a knife in the heart. His purse contained a metal bar, the King James Bible, and condoms.
Any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental.