Dear Mr. President
Kwuanaki and RaspberryThe Kwuanaki and Raspberry smoothie was fruity on my tongue. The sweetness and spice of the drink dancing in my mouth. The Kwuanaki...fiery and warm...the Raspberry sweet and delicate, the two mixing together without a problem. Sweet and spicy...an old world term used to describe many foods, but now only such delicacies as this smoothie.
I frowned upon my dress, which clung to my body tightly, enhancing every puny curve and making me feel like a glamorous version my own pitiful me.
I turned and suddenly my elbow connected with somebody's arm, bringing the silver tray filled with Galahs Biomentimear glasses shattering to the floor. I yelped and slipped, landing on my butt in the stickiness of the Kwuanaki and Raspberry sludge that covered the ground. I looked up at a man, so gorgeous I swore I was staring at an angel. His thick black hair, his large, violet eyes, even more widened in shock and fear. The way his arm flexed when he helped me up.
The gorgeousness of my dress was covered in the pinkish purple gooey sludge .I spent a millisecond mourning about the ruined silk. I then glanced back at the young waiter again struck by his face. His cheeks were ruddy pink with the starting of a great blush. He glanced up at me. His face betraying a weird emotion.
"I’m so sorry miss. I can’t believe what an idiot I’ve been...” he began frantically wiping at the mess on the floor.
To hell with it! I shouted to myself, your dress is already messed up!
I bent down to help him, grabbing a rag from the counter and swiping it up.
"miss don’t help me, u shouldn’t I mean...." he stuttered.
"No use in keeping me clean now is there? That and I kind of like being dirty. It makes more of an excuse to take baths." I winked and he smiled, showing even teeth with sharper canines..Deep set dimples...
I looked away abruptly, my heart pounding around in my chest.
"I’m Alina. Who are you?"
"I’m Peter. You look just like....wait...Alina Harris? The president’s daughter?" Peter asked me, years of practice made obvious in his quick work.
"Oh. Weird you look just like her."
My response was a sigh.
"What?" he stopped cleaning and stared at me.
"I just feel sorry for Alina Harris." I sighed again, and continued cleaning
"So you don’t like the president, right?" he asked. His eyes down cast, his voice casual.
"Right. I swear sometimes I hate him." I had no clue why I was sharing this with the beautiful stranger.
He mutters something that sounded just like, "don’t we all?"
"Oh, nothing. So...you have a dress to change into? I’m awfully sorry about that, though Miss." he asked, suddenly polite.
"Now wait here a minute. You did say something, and yes. I’m sure at some point ever person in this godforsaken country does. Either that or their drooling over the newest version of technology. And quite frankly, it makes me sick. And no, I do not have a dress to change into. This was my mother’s dress. But don’t be sorry. I’m quite glad to be rid of it in honesty." I snapped. Glaring at him as he jerked his head up in surprise and shame.
"There’s someone u need to meet..."