(picture from piccsy)
He'd never believed in love at first sight. It was a stupid, childish notion, a concept that occurred only in myths and legends told by bored old men. The only thing akin to love at first sight in the real world was lust, and he believed in lust. He'd seen it plain as day on the faces of beautiful, young women, flaunting their artistic forms, their beckoning curves, baiting him like fishermen with nets.
Oh, and he'd partaken of their pleasures, absorbed in the sensations they could give him. But never did he feel anything outside the aching of his loins, the pleasure of his body. There was no tightening in his chest, no pull on his heart. He did not love any of them.
By the time he was a young man, he'd grown quite disillusioned with love and the flirtations of young women. They'd given him all the sensation, all the experience, that they could. He pushed them aside like a book read too many times. He knew too well what he'd find on their pages.
If he'd been a more contemplative man, he probably would have guessed that what happened next was his punishment for his dismissal of love. But those thoughts did not occur to him. All he knew was that he saw his true love, and lightning struck. Immediately enamored, he could not bear to turn his gaze away. No amount of cajoling or pleading by his family and friends could make them part. He grew sick and weary but would not leave, not until death came to claim him. Narcissus had finally found his true love, and it was his own reflection.
(Word Count 278)
I hope you liked it! Don't forget to visit Lillie McFerrin, Ruth Long and Janelle's websites (links at the top) and read everyone else's entry. I welcome all feedback in the comments section below. Have a great day and good luck to all the other entries!
