Fleeting Memories

Leda looked into her pursuer’s eyes. Hidden behind his black hair, they faltered, glowing a fierce brown and piercing into her face. She closed her own and bent her head at an angle. Her lips only inches away from his. He ignored it and wrapped a hand around her waist. His fingers gently pulling her hair away from her neck as his lips came in contact with her skin. Only the sound of their clothing rustling together and the pounding of the rain could be heard in the damp warehouse.

The clothing, itself fell to the floor in pieces until both the mortals could be seen in their essence. Leda’s slender hand brushed against his chest as she pressed towards him, now cold in the storm. He was left without reaction, bringing her slowly to the cement floor, her red hair sprawling underneath. He bent over her as to admire her better, her tanned body in great contrast to his own pale skin. His hands came to her neck and worked their way down, until they came to her thighs and, with much insistence, opened her legs. He pushed into her. His hair brushing against her body as it hung, long and wet.

He kept his eyes open and looked at her. Leda’s face contorted in pain and ecstasy. That’s right. She was a virgin. She bit her lips as to keep from screaming and balled her hands up in fists as he continued, his thrusts becoming faster. Harder. She wished he could kiss her, console her, let her scream. No. Not in front of him. She shut her eyes tighter and grabbed onto his bare back. Her fingernails digging into him, so she could possibly transfer a bit of her pain. Blood stained his colorless body. It painted his ribs and dripped onto her stomach, never was the idea conceivable that the creature on top of her could release such a vivid shade.

The pain subsided. He was finishing. Her hands ran down his arms. The red coat traveling the same path as the fingers. She began to concentrate on him. His methodical beat into her body. He finished and began to dress. Leda resigned to a corner. She had gotten nothing from the exchange. Her body defiled and used. He stood motionless in front of the doorway, silhouetted by the silver tint of gloom.

She stared at him once more and began to get dressed. Her golden body masked in the grey of the storm with the exception of his blood on her, his flesh in her nails. She walked out of the warehouse and into the rain, but this filth would not wash away. Her hands reached to the sky her back arched and her mouth opened. And in that moment, she screamed her sorrow lingering in the last note as she collapsed, falling, tenderly, into the awaiting hands of the earth.