rustle of wings frankie lines Flashcards
“Whoa. Now that is one great pickup line.”
“Awesome.”
“It wasn’t a logo, Shraine. These were real wings. Attached, to, to her back. I think.”
“Like, what, a bird? This girl had bird wings?”
“N…no…”
“Angel wings?”
“Come on, you guys.”
“Uh-oh, Mira’s got it ba-ad.”
“Mira, honey, everybody does not have the same taste as you.”
“I’ll say.”
“No, no, no! This isn’t “you like blondes, I like brunettes,” Shraine. This was objectively measurable charisma. Of rock star proportions. Like, if you were holding a Geiger counter next to her, you’d be deafened by the clicking.”
“Wow.”
“Oh, Mira, not again. You let her get out of there without… oh girlfriend.”
“You are hopeless!”
“Hopeless.”
“You do this every time.”
“She’s giving you this major voodoo, and”
“Mira tanks. Again.”
“It wasn’t like that!”
“Well, go on, then!”
“There was this itching, this intense feeling crawling up my spine. And I could hear the beating of thousands of pairs of wings, like a humming. It started to fill the back of my throat with something sweet, something I’d never tasted. It got me so dizzy, I had to hold onto the table, or I knew I’d topple over. I was afraid to let go, and afraid to look at her. So, I ducked my head, and looked at the ashtray for a really really long time, until my head stopped spinning. And when I looked up again? She was gone.”
“That. Is. Mira, what can I say.”
“One of those moments. Major”
“Defining moments.”
“I can’t believe you…”
“You looked at the ashtray??”
“No, no. That’s how it works. A story like that? It’s like the myths, or the fairy tales. You seize the moment, or else… poof.”
“The moment passes. That’s how it works.”
"”It means you are one of us.” Sounds dubious to me.”
“Like a cult. “Klaatu barata nictu: We come from the sky, and rule over your sorry asses.””
“You weren’t there! You didn’t experience it. It’s hard to describe, an epiphany. They mostly happen inside your head. There isn’t much to look at. You, you’re in another dimension. Your own thoughts are going eight hundred miles per hour, you’re mutating from longing to confusion to shyness to lust to guilt to hope and back again, and it doesn’t look like… anything. Somebody watching you only sees you blink.”
“Okay, okay. We’ll take it on faith.”
“Yeah. She’s a knockout, a killer. You see her, boom!, your pulse does the mambo,”
“you get the shakes—”
“The usual!”
