Oleander and Fire

He’d breathed a sigh of relief, or at least he’d thought so.

She reminded him of oleander, attractive with a poisonous bite.  White oleander, freshly bloomed but already treacherous.  Fragrant and enticing.  She’d been seven when he’d first seen her but even then, not quite innocent.  Two decades later she’d mastered guile almost as well as seduction, with nothing subtle about either.  Despite his own experience he’d been no match for her, although he’d been fully aware of the probabilities.  Playing with fire hadn’t frightened him.  It might now though.

He wondered whether she’d scarred him, she’d certainly tried.  He couldn’t really fathom why.  He supposed it had been a game for her or, perhaps, just practice, for a future when her prey might be more determined and prepared.  If so, he’d been good practice but for some reason her aim hadn’t been quite true.  He wondered whether she knew.  Or perhaps, his escape had merely been fortuitous.  That was possible too.

Or perhaps he hadn’t escaped at all.
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© Guillermo Calvo Mahé; Manizales, 2015; all rights reserved