Continuation from: http://incantocharms.wordpress.com/2007/08/25/variations-on-a-spring-afternoon-continued-prose/

It was getting quite warm as she came to an abandoned gravel carpark which she seemed foreign to for she looked around, lost. And out from the corner of her eye, she spied a lone car, too far to discern its make-up. But as far as it seemed, the owner had wanted to conceal it. Who in the world would want to buy a car of that dirty green color?

Not that it mattered to her but to her expert eye, the owner should have chosen the spot behind the ruins of torn-down concrete from the last demolision, and what a wierd place to choose too. The two middling trees behind which hid the car gave off a sharp glare with every movement of the leaves from the two trees that parted like a stage curtain that’s under the mercy of irregular wind.

But then again, the owner evidently did not park it there in a haste, for the windscreen as she got nearer, was in a perfect parrallel to the distant kerb of the road, exposing a little of its headlights– just for a little hint. And the spot was not easy to get to and she did not know how it could have been there without having at least two people lifting it through the tiny space without hacking off a tree that stood in the way.

And then she understood it all– it has all been a ploy, a ploy to get her in.

Walk into my palour, said the spider to the fly. And she has obediently walked in for tea just in time– 4.30, the regular.

This time, she knew she had to leave–had she been so conspicuous? She had made sure to wear her hair sideways down like the girls do and brown hair wasn’t much of a particular sight either.

Turning back to leave without looking about in case her prempt was all paranoia, she almost stepped into a puddle. Almost picking up again, she spelled odd, she was not at all sure that it. did. rain. today. Staring into the mirrored surface, she thought she knew what was wrong– the petticoat! Wrangling her hands to tear it off, she thought she saw something in it other than the poetic blue skies almost made impressionistic with a few accidental dashes of clouds..

But before she could strain her unadorned eyes, she felt a tinge of cold metal just below her ear–

a wierd place, yes.

And then she saw it– the same face of a fish-like amusement as she held out her hand to grab for air,

dropping a tiny antique watch affair,

into the puddle,

with a muted splash..

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To see the picture for this one series, go to www.chryslagallery.com

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