Grace and fortune were begat by the passion of an embrace and the eyes of a charm in vulnerable deception. Jacet and Argentina held their desire in check, their affinity to symbiotic refuge in each others love when in the presence of Jacet’s husband Landon Sprocket Pound the Fourth. Jacet was always careful to hide her affections, nevertheless Landon knew and he planned, he knew as he courted the grains of sand in each minute, hour and day.
Landon picked up a statue of a genuflecting angel, in alabaster and a candle bright crimson burned in its berth. “EEEERRRRRRRRRAAAAAAAHHHHH!” he growled as he heaved the candle and statue through the wall. A melee ensued and Landon the forth screamed, “EEEEEIIIIIIIIIEEEEAAAAHHHHHHAAAAA!” as he tore through the house in a maniacal fervor.
Wandering in the rose gardens near the western edge of the estate, Jacet and Argentina made plans and in rapture of attar, the betrothed, the hands of fate and the unimaginable presence of maelstroms in rage painted the divinities of destiny. Fate would break the vision of forever and a day, the vision of lovers cast in eternal embrace.
Landon paced back and forth through the shattered remnants of the living room. Crimson tinged twilight swirled above the couple in tender reception and the scarlet rose blossoms swayed in rhythm to the souls of sensual abandon. They kissed cloudy eyed and measurable in perfect melodies of desire. The endless mystery of spiritual taboo and unheeded breaths of consideration passed between them in ethereal freedoms of forbidden love.
Landon cocked the shotgun and loaded it with swift certainty. Chewing his lip he tasted blood. They would pay.
Jacet turned the handle on the burnished oak door as she stepped into the wrath of Landon the Fourth. Argentina waited patiently as Jacet stepped through the threshold.
At that moment the crack of doom sounded and the sureness of a monstrous towering dilemma in red and ash, in atomic explosions unexpected proffered death to the trio.
The cloud of radioactive dust would reach far and its bearth to newly barren distances. An angel and the devil pondered. “The minutes lived rely on the promise of tomorrow and the faith we have in man.”
© Ron Koppelberger
Ron is aspiring to become established as a poet and a short story writer. He is thrilled by acceptance. He is always looking for an audience. He has published 549 poems, 397 short stories and 86 pieces of art in over 166 periodicals, books and anthologies. He has been accepted in England, Australia, Canada, Japan and Thailand.