Nights Over Egypt (An Eye of the Storm Short) by Elissa Gabrielle Page A

smile somehow said to me, “Baby, one day, I’ll be all yours.” At least that’s what my foolish heart wanted to believe.
    Was it so familiar how soft she called my name?
    Egypt blossomed right before my eyes over a period of months, maybe a year even, before I found the courage to approach her. I had seen her at “Nights,” a popular poetry, grown and sexy nightclub downtown Newark. The bricks were live on Friday nights.
    I’ll never forget the night I saw her for the first time. She walked in, bold, brilliant, like a goddess she appeared, tall, thick, voluptuous, flowing hair that caressed her shoulders effortlessly. She held a set of bouncing, beautiful breasts that screamed for attention. I watched her every move that night. From the form-fitting black tee with the word “Savior” etched in silver she rocked to the denim that had the pleasure of holding and hugging those honey-sweet thighs; I jocked her, no question.
    Lips as soft as cotton, brushed with some hot cherry-red color shined, even from half a room away. The almond shaped eyes were mesmerizing from afar, and as she batted her lashes and glanced in my direction, she threw me a smile…yes, I knew that smirk was for me.
    Now, so many thoughts ran like a marathon through my mind, daily, weekly, monthly; every minute, every hour, I’m consumed with dreams of her. It’s only been a year since our eyes met, since her inception into my world; a lonely world where vultures and thieves threaten to steal her away from me. One year, since I’ve met the love of my life, the reason for my existence. One year, since I’ve neared Heaven, almost kissed an angel, tasted the sweetness of innocence. If wanting her this badly is wrong, then I can’t ever be right. At night, I see her in my dreams, and by day, I’m mesmerized.
                  The windows to my soul close softly. And, after doing so, I drift off into a world where only she and I exist. A lustful land of lovely love-making is where I lay my head nightly. It is a delicious deserted desolate place where desires of the heart dwell and decadence reign supreme.
                  From the beginning, I needed her…
                  “King,” man, you’re up brother. Julius took me out of my memorization with her and notified me of my time to shine on stage. Friday nights, open mic, and me, not only is “King,” my name, it’s a word that I tend to live by. I’m a grown-ass man. I put away childish things quite some time ago.
                  “Alright, alright,” I replied, put down my Crown Royal on ice, pulled my dreads back into a string and made my way to the stage. Bright lights beamed on me as I took the last three steps up to meet the microphone; I call her—the microphone—Lily, and she accompanies me each and every Friday night.
                  The cello player, Rob, works the chords, sloo-footed and all and my mans ‘anem on the bass, drums and sax join me. This stuff right here, this galaxy that I drift off into is never rehearsed, it simply comes from the dome, through my spirit, parts from my lips, lands on Lily who distributes me to the audience.
                  My right hand covers the top of my brow as I try to shield the lights, in hopes of finding perfection in its purest form. Back then I didn't know her name. But I'm searching for her. I want what I have to say to reach her and I plan to try harder than Avis to make sure she knows that my thoughts are solely on her and her alone. Yes, there are plenty of good looking women in here, but I know what I like. I know what I want. And you better believe, I know what I need.
                  “Alright, alright. How’s everyone in the house tonight?”
                  The crowd replies with whistles and light tapping sounds. I see candles lit all around. I smell vanilla, cognac and cigars in the air. I see lighters up and drinks everywhere. I