Creative Writing: The Homeless Woman
The only sounds he heard were the hypnotic ticking of the clock, the occasional chiming of the bell the hung above the door, and the falling rain. Due to the late hour, it was not difficult for him to find a table. There were only a few patrons, besides himself. One he recognized as the homeless woman, who often made one of the booths in the back corner, her bed for such a night. While listening to the rain drops gently pattering against the coffee shop window, his thoughts drifted back to her. He was remembering the way he could not take his eyes off of her. Just a couple of hours ago, he had been outside of the house watching. He had watched as the caregiver assisted her in getting dressed for bed. How she struggled to lift her feeble
…show more content…
She was beautiful in such a unique way. There was something about the way her hands were always curled up in her lap, the way she fought to sit up straight in her chair, always needing help with the simplest of tasks. The way she always looked apologetic whenever she had to ask for help, and the way her face furrowed with frustration when she could not accomplish something on her own after several attempts . Watching her struggle made his heart race with excitement. He began to wonder , is she really as weak as she seems to be? And is she in pain? Of course she is. .. on both counts . Pain was pleasure...pleasure was pain. Does her weakness make her unhappy? If so, then why? He just could not understand why she would be discontented. Afterall, she was like a queen. A queen surrounded by the little people willing to do her bidding. Oh, to have such power! He realized that she had power over him. He decided it was time for him to let her know how much she meant to him. He needed her to understand that her pain brought him the greatest of pleasure. Her weakness was like a drug to him. A drug that he wanted...no.. needed more of. What better way to show his affection than with a letter! He bent over and reached down in to his beat up messenger bag. I’m so glad that I always have a pad and pencil with me, he thought to himself. For the next few minutes, he composed a letter for his beautiful queen . My dearest
She was beautiful in such a unique way. There was something about the way her hands were always curled up in her lap, the way she fought to sit up straight in her chair, always needing help with the simplest of tasks. The way she always looked apologetic whenever she had to ask for help, and the way her face furrowed with frustration when she could not accomplish something on her own after several attempts . Watching her struggle made his heart race with excitement. He began to wonder , is she really as weak as she seems to be? And is she in pain? Of course she is. .. on both counts . Pain was pleasure...pleasure was pain. Does her weakness make her unhappy? If so, then why? He just could not understand why she would be discontented. Afterall, she was like a queen. A queen surrounded by the little people willing to do her bidding. Oh, to have such power! He realized that she had power over him. He decided it was time for him to let her know how much she meant to him. He needed her to understand that her pain brought him the greatest of pleasure. Her weakness was like a drug to him. A drug that he wanted...no.. needed more of. What better way to show his affection than with a letter! He bent over and reached down in to his beat up messenger bag. I’m so glad that I always have a pad and pencil with me, he thought to himself. For the next few minutes, he composed a letter for his beautiful queen . My dearest