Her cherrywood bed dressed and waiting, she palms the smooth bed post, and licks her thick cherry lips, and tweeks her ear. His footsteps clop. Strong. Steady. Stern. Clopping steadily closer.

Involuntarily, she traces long fingers through her fiery hair contemplating how she might greet him.

Hmmm.

She shakes her hair loose.

Nah! She chuckles, her dimples barely appearing. Her eyes glow little twinkles. He's too much of a preacher. Preacher-man! Taboo! ... My Preacher-man. She inhales.

His footsteps pause.

She waves her idle thoughts aside, fixes one of the lilies she had laid across her pillow, and waits. The candles melt and drip. Their flames flicker.

Still she waits. Beryl is her name. Sweet. Strong of will. Sensuous. Patient. The better ores slowly gain their best consistency. Oh, Woman! This is a woman!

Beryl waits.

And waits.

Basil had paused to check his mail, and dilly-dallied so long, patience begins to stretch Beryl's nerve. Her surprise slowly getting cold, the candles still drip.

Time tempers loss. Loss never repays in kind to time. How ungrateful! Time's tempo slows as Beryl waits.

That's enough. Beryl peeks through the crack of her door and sees him tossing (what?) yes, tossing her mail into the trash. Phlap!

What?

Poor timing. Her patience snaps. Her breath freezes. She almost pops through her tight skin, through the crack of the door. Patience. Breath in. Patience.

What? Fool! Fool! Nose-picker! Fool! Preeeee-acher! Fool! I-I-I can't ... Why ...

Patience. Patience. Breathe.

Time owns such a peculiar psychology. The embers of her hell has only just begun to burn. Still she waits, breathing through duller eyes, no longer hoping, now more determined. Beryl is still her name.

They say patience is a virtue. I might remind them patience is a virtue only to those who have good reason to wait.

Ahh! I might remind them just as well: To those who must wait and is not for the waiting satisfied, patience is the oil which burns the wick which creeps to the fuse at the heart of which, 'boom', flesh flies.

Timing (almost) is everything in a mortal world! If not for 'TIME' humans would be immortal. Heh-heh-heh-heh-heh! How very few know this little trick. Heh-heh-heh-heh! Ahhhh! God is so funny.

ENTER_____SPACE
PRIZES AWARDED!