Story Flavour: strawberry

Story Scent: smoky vanilla lavender

Story Sound: slow jazz

I was headed to Jayla’s party. She’s the princess of our block, and it’s only right that her flat is at the top of our estate. It was her birthday, and she had just turned 20. I was nervous to meet her.  There was something about her presence, a kind of effortless beauty you’d only expect to see in a film, yet I’d watched her grow up right here with the rest of us. The smell of her breath felt like the meaning of confidence, and her body spoke of a strength I always wished I had for myself.

She was my white rose, never stained by all the blood this block had seen. She had those soft lips that made me notice her in ways I didn’t always admit. Jayla was beautiful. I wanted her attention,  her acknowledgement. I just wanted her to see me. She was the girl who deserved more than junkies outside her house. She deserved more than people smoking drugs on her doorstep. She was a rose trying to blossom through polluted soil. The imperfections of this block made her perfection even more captivating. My white rose, Jayla.

I got to her door, and it opened slowly. I felt like an imposter who shouldn’t even be five feet from her establishment. A scent of ambience came to my nose like a rat for cheese. It was Jayla. I  knew it was her before the door even opened. She always had that calming scent; it suited her.  The door opened more: her hair was dyed light blonde with a speck of black, slicked into a bun  with her edges done flawlessly. She wore a white dress with a rose between her breasts. The dress highlighted her sweet melanin skin. Jayla was showing exactly why she was the white rose of our block.

I was in awe.

Her legs shaped themselves around beauty, and I wondered if their slimness could ever be mine.  Her chest rose with confidence, and I questioned whether I could ever feel that same certainty in myself. Her arms tensed with independence, and I found myself curious about whether I could  make her dependent on me, and my mind spiralled with confusion, wondering how someone like  me could ever stand beside someone like her.

I wanted our roses to interlink, not in a fantasy way, but in the sense of growing alongside someone who inspires you. The touch of our delicate petals, feeling each other’s bristles, our strong roots blossoming into each other. I was ready to become the flower she needed.

My heart was in my throat. My stomach was in my mouth. I didn’t know what to feel or do. My heart was pounding so hard it stopped me from swallowing the tiny specs of spit. Whatever saliva  I had left, I savoured so I could devour the chocolate in front of me. My body pleaded for it.

“Daviddd, I’m so happy to see you. Come in. Make yourself at home.”

Her house had a warm and calming aroma; it reminded me how beautiful life can be. The walls had that soft pinkish colour, so simple but elegant. The touch of care devoured anything that would ruin her special night.

The walls danced with the heavy vibrations of bashment. It made everyone act like there were  3,000 bugs crawling on them. The louder the vibrations got, the more bugs crawled on us, forcing our bodies to move to the beat. It made us feel free from a life that had been so cruel to us.

It was beautiful watching the blood and smoke fade from their eyes, the ash on their consciousness burning away under Jayla’s presence. They weren’t roses covered in blood anymore, only white ones waiting to blossom. I felt that I could actually relax in this space.

Jayla tapped me on the shoulder and invited me to her room. The hallway was narrow but led in a straight passage. Her room’s nightlight brought out the beauty of her dark-chocolate skin. Her  room was hot, causing both of our skins to melt, just waiting for the wrapping to be ripped. The tension was high for me, but was it the same for her?

The room was moonlit, no lights except the whiteness of Jayla’s dress creating a soft glow throughout the room.

I was finally alone with my white rose.