Teach Me How to Write Like This

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            <h3>GECKOS</h3>
            <p>By Yvette</p>
            <p> "It is a late night after work when you straggle into the bar. Behind you is the light of a throbbing metropolis, shafts of bright orange and blue that slant into the dark of the room when you open the door. Your head pounds out there. Well, it pounds everywhere. But you like the muffled darkness of the bar. Dimness and yellow lamplight mute everything else in your mind.</p>
            <p> "Just a beer," you mutter to the bartender. Your voice is made hoarse by age, by the weariness of the human condition.</p>
            <p> "Sure," he says, grabbing a mug. "Also, you should probably see a doctor or something, bud.  Sore throat could be indicative of pharyngeal cancer. Never too safe."</p>
            <p> "Sure." You wish for the sweet ignorance of youth.</p>
            <p> It takes a while to see her. The lighting of the room doesn't lend itself well to vision, but of course, that's why you come here. But you would never have known a gal like her to frequent the same place. Her eyes flash blue in the darkness. There's a strand of hair, loose from her ponytail, curled around her neck, coyly. </p>
            <p>Far away, in the distance, the noise of the bar rumbles on, with the bartender being particularly loud, but there is nothing but her to your eyes. She sips at her glass with delicate grace, but there is nothing delicate in the way you want her to walk all over your heart.It's been ages since you've seen someone who instantly, physically takes your breath away.</p>
            <p>The bartender is yelling now, you think. It's very distracting. "Please, help! Help this man! I don't think he's breathing! Sir!" It's a commotion and strange, but you've learned to expect that from the churning of life. Once in sixth grade, your mother bought a gecko and put it in a terrarium, but she said that the memories were too painful and cried whenever she looked at it, and it died because no one fed it. You still can't make sense of that, but the commotive and the strange, you know, are what breathe spots of light into your monotonous life. Like that girl with the glowing blue eyes who is rushing to you now.</p>
            <p>"I'll call an ambulance for you, sir! Please, stay with me! Does anyone know CPR?" That is her voice. It is like an angel descending onto the unworthy earth, like a pizza being delivered that is paid for with your roommate's money.</p>
            <p>Her face is tinged with purple, and then all goes black. And then orange, and green. Alcohol is a drug. Don't do drugs. The flag is easyctf{geico_geck0s}</p>

            <p>She is holding your hand when you wake up in the ER.</p>
            <p>"Pharyngeal cancer," she whispers. "I'm sorry." Her green eyes shine with tears. "I know a diagnosis like this, it must be hard to swallow. Because, you know, you have throat cancer."</p>
            <p>"Hey," you say. "It's fine. Don't be sad for me. You don't even know me." It's the only thing you can think to say. This turn of events is so bizarre, it could almost be some strange story written by a person with a bad sense of humor. This girl, you think. Fate. Someone as stunning as her, holding your hand by your bedside. Pharyngeal cancer. Life, you think, is about looking for the silver lining. "Hey," you repeat. "I think, actually, I'd like to get to know you. How did your eyes change color?"</p>
            <p>"Contacts," she whispers, with a faint, watery smile. "I should probably tell you my name."</p>
            <p>She does, and you give her yours. There is a silence then, which seems to glow to fill the room, amid the industrial blue of the fluorescents and the gentle whirring of sterile steel machines. The silence reminds you of the tender resilience of love, as she holds your hand in her two and gently strokes it with her thumbs, a light touch from your knuckles to your fingertips.</p>
            <p>"Hey," she says. The side of her mouth quirks up. "Want a secret?"</p>
            <p>You nod, silent.</p>
            <p>"Fifteen minutes could save you fifteen percent or more on car insurance."</p>
            <p>"What," you croak.</p>
            <p>"It's me," she smiles sadly. "Your father."</p>
            <p>"But I have a father."</p>
            <p>"Stepfather. I am your real father. Come, son. We must save our people the geckos from absurd prices."</p>
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