She waltzed into the classroom, battling the smell of bleach and other chemicals with her cherry-blossom perfume. By the time she reached me, I couldn't tell who had won. My nose was confused, watching a battlefield that crept closer with each step, and then she stood before me. Inundating my olfactory receptors and sending them into frenzy, making my eyes water and roll off onto the hem of my shirt. When she called my name, I turned my head over my shoulder as my arm pulled the bandana off my face.
The first thing I saw was her heels that resembled the night sky, with light brown specks that replete the shoe. Some would call it dirty, but I believed it gave them such a dusty elegance, and by the way she wears them; I think she would agree. I shoot up from my knees and stare at the ceiling above us. Mom always said it was rude if you looked at a woman in the face without being properly introduced to one another.
"My name is Sirena Portier, one of Miss Pheles' helpers." She said softly, unaffected by the warring scents. Pheles? For some reason, that name had a sort of ring to it. Maybe it was the annunciation of the "s" that rolled off her tongue, or the phonic in the beginning of the name. I swiveled my eyes down, way down. For us to meet eye-to-eye, I had to look at the floor... by the looks of it I missed a spot.
YOU ARE READING
Epicaricacy
Short StoryI can't give you the summary of something that is still a thought, and to summarize a thought would be insane. So just read it, and hopefully, you will feel like your question will be answered. And hopefully, you will feel my hard work. But most o...
