Nights of white satin
The artist drew the small horns, atop the hideous wings, but we have to notice the hooves. The fallen angel turns his gaze toward the snake, an act of sheer despair in the desolate landscape: the gate of Paradise is shut.
Image: Paradise lost, by Gustave Doré (Paradise Lost or James Donahue) [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons
Tell us your funniest relationship disaster story.
She was hot, not the provocative sort, but of the unmissable type. We observed each other for a while. The skies were low, the air cold. She wore sheepskin and high boots. I had a sense that she would take the initiative: she did.
Once in my studio she proved to be a quiet girl, but willing to tell her story.
But there was that oddity: eager to shed all her clothes, but for her boots. At first I thought it was a joke, but it somehow calmed me down.
I looked into her eyes. The light I saw was not of this world. I admit: I used force, the boots were now on the floor.
In a brief spark of light I saw the hooves, then “she” was gone.
Tricked again.
