We met once, only once, for one perfect night. It was (shock horror) at a party, I remember little of the party, I remember little of the night. It’s not that I was incredibly drunk as much as it was a long time ago combined with the fact that the night itself went by in a blur as I was living it. Although I remember little of that night I know she was beautiful, I cannot remember what she looks like but I know she was beautiful. I cannot remember her name (truth be told I never knew her name, I can remember the name of every girl I have kissed and yet I never knew the name of this one girl I shared such intimacy with), I can remember few things about her. Her eyes were an elegant pale green with gold flecks. When I held her I would smell her hair and even after a night in a smoky, beer-stained room it still had a faint aroma of raspberries. Then there was the feel of her skin. It was so tender and smooth, I thrilled to touch it, the silky feeling of it against my rough hands, I stroked her body for an hour after she fell asleep, marvelling at the sensations. The entire night was heavenly. I woke up to find her dressed, we smiled at each other (she had a warm smile) and she left without a word. I never saw her after that but I will always remember her, the look of her eyes, the smell of her hair and the feel of her skin.
I didn't know I was going to continue this but seeing as I am (at least for this one anyway) I'll give a little description. The Short Story in...(the first one can be found here is a series of short stories, the note in the title bares no significance to the story (I cannot identify notes, I am somewhat musically inept) it is used because I like the idea of using the series of titles for otherwise non-descript short (very short) stories. Each one is a monologue about some event that has been in someway specific to them. Each one is told (in my mind) moments after death, in a room to one other person when everything is serene and calm.