Blogfest time! Yeah, I haven’t participated in one for a while.
I sure had fun with this one.
After you’ve read my entry, be sure to check out the other entries for The Red Angel’s Inanimation blogfest. She says, “The idea is to write an entry of NO MORE THAN 1000 words that somehow incorporates the personification of inanimate objects. It can be a poem, a short short, a letter (perhaps to your favorite childhood toy?), a fairytale, a scene from a dream, or even a song–anything you want! It can be something you’ve written in the past or it could be totally brand new…it’s all up to you!”
Unfortunately, I hadn’t realized I’d broken her number one rule (1000 word limit) until my story was done. Oh, well – you’re free to stop reading after the 1,000th word!
And now, for your reading pleasure, I present “The Seduction”
She spotted it from clear across the parking lot. Low, shiny, black. It beckoned her.
Come to me.
Captivated, she walked closer, admiring its sleek lines, its wedge-like shape. She stopped next to it, her breath indrawn. Her eyes traveled slowly along every curve and angle, finding no flaw.
I am yours, it whispered.
She walked around the back of the steel beast, admiring the wide flair of fender beneath the sloping rear window. The taillights formed graceful arcs, red bracketed in chrome, like two crimson eyes, and she nodded.
I am yours.
She worked her way along the other side, her eyes narrowing above her smile as she observed the tapered nose. When she moved to the front of the machine, she took a sharp breath and held it, trapped in the wicked gaze of the almond-shaped headlights. Her eyes drifted downward and widened at the sight of the clear-lensed foglights. Low on the bumper, they reminded her of a pair of curved daggers, the points angled inward and down.
No, she thought. Fangs. They look like fangs.
A chill ran through her.
Come. Be with me.
Startled, she backed away from his alluring demand.
No, she thought. I can’t afford a new car right now. Especially one like this.
But she couldn’t deny her attraction.
Come. Touch me.
She tore herself from its magnetic stare. Against her will, she stepped around to the door.
Her fingers curled all the way around the handle and she smiled as it nestled comfortably in her palm, and when it pulled out instead of up, her smile broadened. She’d always disliked handles that pulled up–they were so awkward when her arms were full.
The door swung open with little effort and the scent of fine leather drifted out, seducing her further.
Come. We were meant to be.
She lowered herself into the deep, contoured seat. Her pulse sped up as she settled into its rich embrace. It fit her body perfectly, as though it were made just for her. Chills ran through her again she snuggled against its firm hold, soft but strong.
Ah, my sweet. You see?
She reached up to stroke, then take hold of the leather-wrapped steering wheel. It fit just right, molded to support her hands in her favorite position. The sound system and Bluetooth phone buttons were strategically-placed around its rim, ensuring her hands would never need to leave their resting spot.
I am yours.
Her gaze drifted over controls and gauges situated to help keep human eyes on the road. It fastened on the leather gearshift knob begging to be touched. Oval-shaped and inset with a shiny chrome plate, it pressed against her small hand, smooth and firm. It fit perfectly.
She closed her eyes, caught up in the dream.
A tap on the window broke the spell and she jumped as a salesman leaned down and peered in at her.
Dangling from his hand was a key.
The door opened, and a few quick words later, he was sitting in the passenger seat and, in the ignition, was the same key.
Her hand shook as her fingers slipped around it.
Yes. Let me sing for you.
The black beast rumbled to life with a deep-throated growl, its 3.8-liter engine sounding much lower than she would’ve expected from a car of this type. Her blood answered his call, racing through her veins as her heart beat faster and faster. She smiled, then placed her trembling hand on the gearshift. With a final caress, she slipped it into gear.
The low-slung car surged forward, surprising her with its raw power. More respectful of its sensitivity, she eased out of the driveway and into the street.
This was unlike anything she’d ever experienced. The suspension was stiff but comfortable, without the bounce and sway of a sedan. The steering was tight, responding to nothing more than a squeeze of her hand.
Faster. Let us race the wind.
She turned onto the freeway. Her heart hammered in anticipation.
Flinging her inhibitions aside, she jammed the pedal to the floor and the monster roared.
They were doing 100 by the time they reached the end of the onramp.
Holy crap, she thought as she looked at the speedometer. The salesman beside her coughed and squirmed in his seat. She backed off.
Faster, my love, faster.
The freeway in front of her was empty, and with a glance in the review mirror to check for cops, she gave in to his demand, and went for it.
They screamed up the asphalt, the white dashed lines blurring alongside. Her heart pounded as wave after wave of adrenaline coursed through her. She ignored the babbling salesman. She was drunk on danger and speed.
110. 120. 130.
Yes! Yes! We are as one!
The ecstasy was beyond anything she’d ever imagined. But she felt a stab of pain at the loss of her innocence as she realized she was forever changed. Nothing would be able to match this.
As reality asserted itself, she relaxed her foot. They slowed to a 75-mile-per-hour crawl, then exited the freeway. She glanced at the white-faced salesman and bit back a grin.
Now, my love, let us dance.
Paying no attention to the protests beside her, she turned the car back onto the freeway.
She laughed at how easily they moved from lane to lane with nothing more than a tightening of her wrist. They were perfectly matched and their graceful waltz between the other cars was smooth, effortless. They were in and out and gone before the drivers even registered their presence.
You see? We were meant to be.
Too soon, they were back at the dealership. The salesman dripped sweat as he scrambled out.
Alone at last, my love. I am yours. Take me.
She closed her eyes, breathing in his scent, memorizing it. One hand cupped the gearshift knob as she ran her other lightly over the steering wheel one last time. She swallowed her regret and slipped outside.
NO! You cannot leave me. I am yours!
She stepped away, then with tears in her eyes, turned to gaze upon him once more. The way he crouched–low, stealthy, his lines promising speed and power, his perfectly-balanced stance athletic and confident, his intense almond-shaped stare, and his fangs, his fangs–etched into her mind, and she knew she’d never forget him.
With a deep sigh, she turned her back on him, and walked away.
NO! My love…
The days crawled by. He haunted her every waking thought and stalked every dream. She fought his desire, her desire, as she stared at computer screen during the day and TV screen at night.
She found herself driving by the dealership, wondering how she’d gotten there. She could see him, waiting, like a black spider perched in his web.
My love, please…
She’d hit the gas in denial and speed up the street.
I can’t do it, she thought.
But even as she fled, she felt relief that he hadn’t turned his fierce attention to someone else.
Week after week, she fought his call.
I am yours.
She had a nice, sporty sedan that was almost paid off, and she was looking forward to freedom from car payments.
I am yours.
But slowly, she began to succumb to the idea. She rationalized it, focusing on research and math to justify even the possibility.
I am yours.
She met others, in red and yellow, silver and grey, with 2.0 Turbo and 3.8 six-cylinders, in stick and automatic.
I am yours.
Yet she always came back to him. None of them compared to the black devil who’d stolen her heart.
I am yours.
Her resistance crumbled near the end of the third week. After a long, anxiety-ridden night, she got into her sedan, her mind and body numb from lack of sleep.
And then she was standing in front of him.
I am yours, my love. Come, let us be as one again.
She felt disembodied as she watched herself fumble with paperwork and scrawl illegibly across document after document. A check and a handshake sealed the deal.
Reality settled in and a shudder wracked her body. This will be draining my account every month for the next seven years, she thought. What have I done?
She stepped outside and forgot all thoughts of contracts and payments when she looked at him. She walked around him, slowly, like she did the first time they met, and her heart felt as though it would burst.
Her fingers trailed along the handle and then she pulled it, opening the door. His rich leather scent filled her nostrils and she drank in his essence. Drawn into his embrace, she slipped into the deep contoured seat meant only for her and smiled. One hand found its place on the leather-bound steering wheel, and the other…the other inserted the key. Her key.
He roared in triumph and she grinned. As his web settled around her, she heard a low chuckle.
Now…you are MINE.
The above is a somewhat-fictionalized account of a true story. Names have been changed to protect the innocent.
Wait. There are no names.
But to this day, he still owns her—mind, body, and soul.
© 2011 by Roh Morgon. All rights reserved.