Small ComfortSmall ComfortSmall Comfort by Hildgarde
The young lady sitting across from me seemed reluctant to make eye contact, something I had often encountered with individuals from her background. I commented on the minor transgression, and she quickly corrected herself. That was promising, promptness and a willing mind is the most any mentor can ask. I did not wish to pity her, nor for anyone else to pity her; pity is the sign of unequal footing, and therefore can never be true respect. Such small transgressions are telltale signs of a degenerate background, and thus incite pity.
I tapped my cigar on the table between us, one of the many small comforts, (which some may call vices), I possess and she does not, a quality I must be forced to admire. The conversation then turned to my singular table, another of my small comforts. "Some people find it distasteful one could say," I conceded. "It has always been a source of great comfort to me personally. I cannot imagine the room without it. At night
My Favorite EnemyMy Favorite EnemyMy Favorite Enemy by Hildgarde
Smoke unfurled like waking vipers around his head, "You seem to be avoiding me," he commented his lips barely moving, "terribly inconsiderate I should think." She met his gaze. "Much more appropriate. We are on equal footing here, there's no reason to abandon civility." Bile rose in her throat, turning her stomach. He droned on tonelessly, talking as much to himself as to her. "I do so detest incivility. There is no reason for it beyond when one loses control of primal emotion, a very telling trait of character I always say." He tapped his thick bodied cigar in an ebony tray on the glass table between them. She pointedly looked only at his weathered face.
"Something about my table unsettle you?" She cleared her throat, "No," she replied. He stared at her unwavering, "Some people find it distasteful one could say. It has always been a source of great comfort to me personally. I cannot imagine the room without it. At night sometimes when I can't sleep, and
OrnamentalOrnamentalOrnamental by Hildgarde
Ornamental. A definition of which could be given as decorative, useless, obstructive and obscenely posh and unnecessary. Perfectly, succinctly, impulsively, I know this word depicts myself, at the moment. I am the ornamented, enameled, painted obstruction, bedecked to the point of indulgence while submersed in the lavish background of humanity at its best and most jovial. Even the crystal vessels chiming in a disjointed chorus from around the room boast more of this evening than I could ever hope to; brushing the lips of every member of this raucous group and thrilling the chatter with more wild accounts and fictions. I say nothing, and most certainly induce less entertainment than the free-flowing costly drought of Dionysus.
I am less inclined to socialize and add to the din than to pick up a polished platter and start moving in rotations around the room. At least with something in my hands and standard lines to recite I would become a fixture rather than replaceable and in