Susan sat at the bar contemplating her life while drinking a watered-down whiskey sour
. Her brown hair
and brown eyes
denied her of being drop dead gorgeous
, but the harder years had aged her well and she was far from being plain.
"Hey beautiful," he said, "Where have you been all my life?"
"I thought I was in hell, but now you're here so I know I am." Susan responded acidly.
He looked at her appraisingly. "You are so charmingly heathen. Your skin is like a teardrop on a popsicle; not quite frozen, but oh so cold. You could be sweet underneath that cold exterior. Can I lick you and find out?"
Susan pretended to ignore his mad ramblings. She had built a shell around her soul over the years, like a pearl, made with layer upon layer of betrayal, fear and pain.
"Hey," he tried again, "They're playing our song."
Susan tilted her head ever so slightly to catch the words...
...they say you are a snuff queen, but I don't think that's true...
Oh great, Susan thought, Why don't we get drunk by Jimmy Buffett. Another loser is loose in the city tonight!
"No." he said, seeing her listening to the jukebox. "Not the bar's tune - the one in my heart. It's singing my soul out for you. Won't you let your soul out to play?"
Now he had her full attention.
"How do you know I have a soul?" she said, struggling to keep the pain out of her voice.
"I saw it in the blueness of your eyes - no one without a soul can have eyes that sad."
Startled from sleep, Susan rolled over and shut off the alarm clock and climbed wearily from the bed to get ready for work. The dream came flooding back the instant she looked in the mirror. Her eyes were blue.