Actors Advertising Agency Pt. 2

She sat on one end of the table, I on the other.

The 3's in her eyes remained, hatching into delicate, mingling colors; hatching mirth, brightening the bitter resin inked by 3's. A luster painted over them, as she wondered gleefully with her fingers, feel the cool glass table.

"Have you ever wondered what it would be like?" She asked.

"No." I said, searching my pocket for a cigarette. My mouth watered, listening to the music of an hour glass dribbling its sand, scratching its case.

"It seems like during my time teaching... I've felt like nothing was real. Not even now." She said, her voice resounding the hollow cavity scooped into her chest. Her face a pallid reflection of the lingering life still in her. Her eyes printed little numbers on the white parts, indicating the continuing flow of numerals I'd emptied into her veins.

I pulled a chessboard sitting in the middle of the table toward me to use as an ashtray, the tip of my cigarette charring inside a little flame, smoke gathering into a little plume just below the ceiling, pausing  its stream for a moment as I drew back.


Her long, bushy hair teasing the dimples on my mouth, as she unraveled her smile.

I looked at the hour glass again, as our thoughts steeped in the hum, and tick of various household items. The trickle of golden sand shaping into a pointed pile, faded into a white fluffy powder snowing into the lower bulb instead.

I looked back at her, the tip of her nose recoiling in irritation. Her eyes were like folded red ruby's, walking you into hundreds of little doors of dimension, like a wall of honeycomb, or the faces rasped into gemstone. The glimmer of animation mirrored empty meandering streams into you, like the flicker of lightning reflecting a window washed in rain.

Her skin was so white, and so soft.

"I have to write this article. About those kids, about what's going on with them." I said.

"Are you sure?" She asked.

"I'm fairly sure..." I said, suspiciously.

She pondered me with her ghoulish, ghost-white complexion, puppeted by conflicting expressions. Double edged smile... scraping my lips, the piercing chill of her corpse-like hands feeling my bicep. We partook in a ravenous kiss,  funneling something vibrant, dead, and cold into my body. The movement of her limbs were so slowed, I felt like time itself had been too. She snuck up my neck, etching grooves into my neck with the ruts dug into her hard lip, as I cracked the hour glass open, snuffing a pinch of cocaine, shuddering as she playfully drunk from the part of skin where my jugular was.

My lids cozily blanketed my eyes, hypnotized by this romantic undead vedana.

"I... I really need to be writing this article..."

"I can't let you do that, Bagels W. McPhag." She said, soothingly.

I sighed, feeling her suck my neck, sensually pacified in a way I've never experienced. It was like this zombified wretch was preventing me from completing the article, and returning to the Fawx News studio.