Ji-Ji.Guerrera

When A General Meets A Lady

Posted on: December 18, 2012

When the general first met the lady, he thought nothing of getting to know who she truly was. Everything about the way that she looked, the way that she presented herself, defined her to him. She wore a tight red dress with a low neckline that left little to people’s imaginations, had rouge on her cheeks, blood coloured lips, bedroom eyes, and breasts that begged to be noticed. The point where her collarbones met was deep, as if it were an imprint left on her during infancy. There was something definitive about her walk–how her right leg shifted too far out and her left leg dug into the ground making rustic syncopation. She marked her entrance with a nod, all eyes in the room turning to take her in. The general was no exception, of course. He followed her movements like a ravaged beast on its weakened prey.

It didn’t take long for the lady to feel his stare crawling into her.

***

He held the bottle of champagne; she held the glass.

“Let me ask, is fighting the only way to resolve conflict?” She brought the glass to her lips and took a long sip. They were so close now, her eyes crawling into him like his were into her.

“Well I could ask you a similar question…is a tight dress the only way to resolve conflict,” he said, breathing inside her right ear, their skin only separated by decorum and decency.

“Wars kill people–”

“People kill people. What will you do to contain that basest of all human instinct?” He was sizing her curves as he spoke, his eyes resting on her sternum.

Pulling apart from each other, the lady reached into her purse and produced a thin cigarette immediately as the general flicked open a stainless steel lighter. She sucked on the stick, her throat expanding  to let in the smoke.

“And when the world dies, General,” she exhaled, “who will wage your war…when there’s no one left to fight it?”

Maybe it was the way he stood straighter upon hearing the question, the way he perched his brows as if to indicate that such an alternative grieved him, that caused the lady to shift into him. He smelt of sweat and smoke, standing beneath the dim lighting in the room. Unconsciously, he brushed his fingers through his tight curls and smiled. She couldn’t help but wonder what confounding thoughts rested beneath his façade of confidence and nonchalance.

“Well then,” he finally said, “there’ll just be the two of us left with this bottle of champagne.”

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