Three Things Challenge – Old Nikki


Every day the Haunted Wordsmith posts a “Three Things Challenge.” Today’s challenge includes:

  • A flower pot
  • Stereo Instruction
  • Dancer

I have told my friend, Kristian that I should do one of these, and he has encouraged me to do so. I have yet to do one, so I though, Why not today?

I enjoy challenges like this, and it helps me strengthen my talent, so here we go:

Old Nikki


I sat there staring at that damn flower pot, the one I got her for her birthday, yet there it sat on the edge of the stage, untouched, and just like me, not good enough for her. Other men shower her with flowers and jewelry, but flowers die and jewelry fades, that flower pot was made from my bare hands. I put my soul into that piece of pottery for a simple “Thanks” and a meaningless smile.  I took a drag of my cigarette when I saw her step on the stage, I watched her gracefully walk to the center and I know it may have seemed rude but I couldn’t help but stare, the curve of her bosom and the gentle sway of her hips were enough to make any man go insane, and they did. I once saw a man beat up his own brother just because she didn’t like the scent of his cologne.

I know what you’re thinking, “Why am I putting so much thought and effort into a woman who obviously doesn’t give a damn about me, or anyone for that matter?” But you wouldn’t understand. She’s got me under a spell. I’m entranced by her movements, her piercing blue eyes, and her sordid tongue.

“Hey, Jacob, can you fix the stereo? It keeps making that cracking noise in the middle of Nikki’s song.” The stage manager asked, breaking me from my reverie.

I hung my head. I didn’t know what was wrong with the blasted thing, and of course, I couldn’t find the stereo instructions. So I did what I always do, I yelled obscenities at it, kicked it, and banged it around until the crackling stopped. I know it was only a temporary fix, but it was a fix just the same.

I shifted my weight, crossing my left foot over the right one and leaned against the wall, entranced once again by the beauty that swayed before me. Her eyes met mine and I knew then that whatever was left of my heart now completely belonged to her. God might very well be a man, but I know with absolute certainty that Satan is a woman, my supple dancer.

Love & life lessons,


This entry was posted in challenge, Dark inspiration, Ficton, Writing and tagged . Bookmark the permalink.

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