Flaming soul she had it bad. Fiery eyes, sweetly sarcastic, she could burn you with one word, one touch, one look. Pouty lips, shiny hair clips, her superfluity was always overlooked as girlish meticulousness. Click of the tongue, swaying hair, she knew her sensual details could drive even the most stoic man insane. She didn’t need a reason to seduce, her shallow slight would always reduce. Intelligent and terse, she had the harsh shield of sarcastic eloquence on her side. Girl on fire was on a rampage for revenge. Burnt and bitter, she was alone, and hated the world because they knew it. She couldn’t even order from the cheap Chinese shack around the corner because the delivery man felt the comfort of familiarity to voice his opinion about her sad state of solitude. Every time he would click his tongue she wanted to gauge his eyes out with the insulting wooden chopstick that seemingly dared to enjoy partnership in the face of her misery. She felt that everyone and everything had lost all sense of propriety. It was like one of those seventies porn movies when even the robots could enjoy carnal pleasures, while here she sat, alone, alien and in the spotlight.
