The first short story I ever completed

Well, probably not 'ever' but within recent memory. And I think it's ok, could be a little bit better but I won't tinker with it. Hopefully the stuff I am working on now is a lot better, and longer. It's called 500, as it is exactly 500 words long.

I look deep into her eyes, and she looks back at mine, our irises reflecting in each others pupils. My vision travels down her slender face, and arrives at her lips. They shine and glisten under the subtle candle lighting, and entice me with a Special K red shimmer. I’m wearing my most pungent aftershave, and have the aroma of an Amsterdam tulip field. My attire smart, my hair gelled in place, and my face smooth. I hunch my shoulders close together, and edge my chair close to hers. Time to move in for the kill…
“Don’t even think about it”
I recoil like I’d fired a shot gun, except the bullet has boomeranged into my heart. In turn, her eyebrows mould themselves into the kind of shape you only see in geometry lessons. People think it’s a blessing being able to read minds, but sometimes ignorance is bliss. The awkwardness sets in. What was slightly stinted, but interesting conversation has now become a symphony of silence. Others diners in the restaurant are having almost equally boring conversations. The woman to my right has cleared her throat with volume on a number of occasions, it’s only when I read her mind that it becomes clear her date’s eyes keep wondering low of her neck. I return my eyes to my date, who refuses to look me in the eyes. In fact, she looks as though she is watching several tennis matches, such is the flickering activity of her eye balls. Then she suddenly glances towards the door – “I hope he gets the bill soon, I want to go”. What a bitch. I smile awkwardly at her, probably the same smile an executioner gives before he gives the lethal injection. But I do pay, because although I would like to see heart stop, I am sure someone else will do it for me. The bitch.
Walking along the streets at night is probably the best time for mind reading. Although it can be a little intimidating, it is always good to know in advance which hooded teenagers want to rob you, and which bleary eyed old men want to sell you crack cocaine. “Oh My God What A Freak He Smells Like Air Fresheners” was one of the thoughts that is sent my way. A sweaty teenage girl barely fitting into her dress, Lambrini in one hand and a cigarette in the other – I am assured she smelt the worst. Another man, old and cleaning the dirty streets, dreams he is a superstar making millions. He barely has enough money in his pocket to get the bus home. He notices an unopened sandwich box on the floor, and stuffs it into his pocket. “One mans trash is another’s prize possession” he thinks to himself, I echo his thoughts and wish him a nice night. For some, being able to read minds would be a gift. For me, having nothing but the truth fired at me from all angles is a curse.