There's a girl. And she's running, running. She can't remember why, doesn't know what she's running from, only what stopping means.
Death.
Her body is weary but she knows she can't stop. An eerie murmuring of voices is behind her, their tone not menacing but coaxing. She wants to give in. Her limbs are ready to give out. But she knows she can't. Not now, when she's so close to salvation. She's almost there, right? Isn't she? Though her memory is scarce, she's sure she must be. Some magical paradise must lay just around the corner.
As she rounds a dark corner, though, she's met only by some strange and horrifying creature; half bovine, half man, all monster. Its voice comes out in haunting bellows.
"Come here, little girl," it says, reaching for her with hoofed hands. "I only want to eat you."
She cries out and pushes her straining muscles even harder. She can't let that monster catch her. No, she can't!
But why? her tired mind cries, racking itself for an answer. Why must I run?!
She cannot think of an answer and instead pushes herself harder. Everything melts away for awhile. The murmuring, now being underlined by a low sound that is close to a moo, is still there. But the girl ignores it. All that is important is putting one foot in front of the other...and not...ever....stopping.
Her mind wanders, though, and how can it not? She needs to know why she is running, even if it ends up killing her. Curiosity tugs at her too harshly.
She remembers a woman. The woman was... caring for her, perhaps? Yes, she as. The girl is sure of that. But then she'd set out to do something horrible... the girl can't remember what the woman wanted to do. The woman's husband chased the girl, too, she knows that. But why did they? the girl wonders.
She can't be sure. She is sure she'd do nothing now, but what was she like before her memory loss? She does not know.
More time passes, though the girl isn't sure how much. Her muscle continue to ache, though she manages to find a way to ignore it. The darkness that has surrounded her form the beginning refuses to let up, and she begins to feel scared. As if she predicted it, another terrible creature appears before her. This one bears the head of a boar and has sharp white tusks that protrude fiercely from its face. Its cloven hands reach for her as she dashes by, its voice a greedy squeal.
"Come back, little one!" it squeals. "I only want to eat you!"
Like the minotaur, this creature is also left in the gloom. It does not take long for piggy shrieks to join the murmuring behind her.
Tears dribble down her face. She isn't sure why, but she can't believe that they are. Isn't it normal for scared people to cry? Perhaps she was braver before. Perhaps that is why she feels that it is unspeakable that she cry now.
More time passes. It feels longer than before, but how can she be sure? She can't, and it bothers her. All she knows is she must keep running, that she must keep herself going at all costs. But the burning her legs is nearly unbearable. The girl knows she must find salvation soon.
There is a small burst of light and she thinks her prayers have been answered. A shrill whinny tells her she hasn't, though, and a scream escapes her own lips.
Before here now is a being more grotesque than the previous, if that is even possible. Half human and half horse, you might picture a centaur. But no. This creature is almost that, a human torso glued upon a horse body, but its legs are still human and its head still equine. Human hands reach for her as the whinny repeats the same line, "Come here, child, I only want to eat you."
Only want to eat me?! she wants to scream, but she has no spare energy. Somehow she outruns the four legs and its shrillness joins the haunting murmurs.
She's crying freely now and she feels no shame. There is no need for it, is there? She's all alone anyhow. Those things behind her care not for how she appears--they jsut want to eat her. That's all. It's not that unreasonable, is it? Of course not. She could just stop running now and she could be done. It would be nice, wouldn't it? No more running...
She snaps out of her imaginings when she hears running water. And a lot of it. Slowly, she can see the rushing, gushing water. No! If she can't go on, she's certain to be eaten! She has to find a way around it... but she sees no bridge, no boat, no means of crossing it.
She hears a motor, though, and her heart leaps for joy. The boat appears, and she sees a normal-looking boy on baord with a mop of red hair.
"Help!" she cries out to him. "I'm being chased!"
The boat nears shore and the boy looks genuinely concerned. For some reason, he seems trustworthy and not at the same time. The girl chokes her doubts up to the adrenaline rushing through her veins and does not hesitate to hump onto the boat when the boy offers it.
Just as they pull away from the shore, the mob reaches it. The woman, her husband, and all three animal-human hybrids reach for her, cooing that if she comes back, they'll make it quick. The husband yells at the boy for stealing their sweets. The girl is disturbed that the man and woman want to eat her, too.
"Thank you," she tells the boy, "I don't know what I would've done without you."
"Been eaten, probably," he replies, keeping his eyes on the controls. "What's up with them?"
"Not a clue," the girl says. They don't talk for a moment, the girl probably wouldn't have, but the boy doesn't approach the opposite shore like she thought he would. "You can drop me off on the otherside." She says this even though the boat has been a wonderful rest for her. "I'll be okay."
But the boy shakes his head. "Too dangerous."
The girl is perplexed, but says so no more.
The putter along the river awhile longer before the girl notices any change in him. Has he always had those pointed ears? Was that white-tipped tail there when she boarded his boat? Of course, they weren't, but it's too late when the girl realizes it.
She backs up to the side of the baot as the vulpine creature advances on her.
"Oh, please, don't," she pleads.
"Oh, but why, little girl?" its sly voice asks, black paws reaching for her. "I only want to eat you..."
She barely has time to scream before the fox has swallowed her whole.
Monday, February 28, 2011
Thursday, February 17, 2011
The Wolf
Because I am just so darned creative that I have to name a story about a werewolf "The Wolf."
*sigh*
(no parts this time because I wouldn't know where to cut it off...)
-------------------
A deep, primal yell burst forth from his lips and into the cool night air. The sound echoed in the dark forest around him. Despite having experienced this since his early adolescence, Haydn had never grown accustomed to that yell. Each time it terrified him, this inhuman bellow that was a result of the agonizing change that tore through his body. His bones ached as they twisted and ground against each other; his skin itched and itched as coarse, dark hair sprouted all over his body. The bellow rose in pitch and slowly became less of a painful “aaaaaAAAAAAAAAgggggggggh!” and more of the familiar “aaaaaoooooOOOOOOOOO!” that haunted his dreams and his very being.
Above him, taunting him, hung the huge white moon, stark against the black, starless sky.
He awoke hours later. This, too, was not new. Every time that full, white moon hung in the sky, Haydn stole away to the deepest part of the woods and hoped he wouldn’t hurt anyone. If he were to hurt someone...he shook his head and that thought fluttered away. He didn’t want to think about that. He wanted to think about keeping his dinner—whatever poor creature it had been—in his stomach. He didn’t want to see it again, no, then he might start thinking about what it might have been, and then...what if it had been a rabbit? Or a deer? Images of Bambi and his pet rabbit appeared in his head. He may have been a grown man, but he still didn’t like to think of Bambi or Oreo the bunny being his supper. The very thought almost made him vomit.
Slowly he stood, stark in his nakedness. It was a logical thought that a wolf would not be able to wear clothes, but Haydn still wished that he could. No matter how many times he might have walked nude through the trees, he wished and wished he could have something to wear on his trek home. There were rarely any people in these parts of the woods, but he was so timid that the thought made him terrified. Or perhaps it was because Haydn had so rarely seen people since he had began living on his own in the woods. Fourteen was a hard age to start being alone all the time, but...Haydn knew he had to. A shudder ran through him as he remembered. Yes, he had to.
He paused, seeing his shack of a home. It was well-hidden, but a trained eye could pick out the shape easily. A clump of trees stood close together and in the middle was his little house. The outside was the color of the trees and it almost look like it was part of all the trees, some unique trunk that held them all together. Haydn raised a hand and placed it on the nearest tree. All of this forest was his home now, though he might still, sometimes, just a little bit, miss his old home. Miss his father and his mother. Miss his little sister and her smile. That was how it was and he would deal with it.
Haydn continued on to his home, no longer wincing at the stick and rocks that hurt his feet. That was one thing he had gotten used to, luckily. Once inside his shabby but still comfortable home, Haydn began to dress. His clothes were old and torn, much like you’d expect a castaway’s to be. His clothes were not this way because of a disaster, though, but because he had to wear them so often. Though it shamed him, he was forced to steal clothes every now and then. He wore the clothes as much as he could, though, to ensure that he wouldn’t have to do it so often. Otherwise he might have gone insane in that little shack and no one wanted that.
Haydn chewed on his lip at the thought of being insane. What if it were to happen while he was a wolf? That would make things very hard to hide, now wouldn’t it? But, then again, maybe he already was insane as the wolf. That would make sense. If wolves were insane, then he could blame the things he did as one on that. But Haydn didn’t think it was that easy. Things were never that easy.
After he was dressed, he wandered outside again to walk. It was all he really did to pass the days because it was the only thing he felt was safe; safe for him, from him, for those other people. He always, always worried about them. What if some child wondered into his part of the forest one moonlit night? Stories of creatures in the forest had all but died out nowadays. No one was afraid of Nature or her fantastically monstrous children. No one thought that a man could ever possibly become a wolf. And yet it happened. It just showed how little man really knew until it happened to him.
A strange yet familiar sound caught Haydn’s attention. It took him a moment to understand what it was, but when he did a bolt of terror struck him like lightning. He froze and listened again for it. And there it was. A tinkling sound, something young and innocent and probably the last sound he’d ever want to here: A child’s laugh.
He wanted to run. He knew he had to run. But he couldn’t do it. He couldn’t move. His feet had become tree roots that glued him to the spot. For some reason this seemed the most logical explanation and he checked his feet to see if they were, indeed, roots that snaked into the ground, but they weren’t, because that was illogical. But so was a man becoming a wolf and a boy a having to leave his home at only fourteen and living the rest of his life in the woods alone, but this was more so, it couldn’t happen, but the others could, so why not? Why not become a tree and stay there, finally a beautiful part of nature that could hear a child’s laugh without being scared?
Haydn shook his head. He had to gain control. Looking around him, he tried to find the child. If he could find the little bundle of joy, he could get as far away as possible. And then the child would be safe. He might need to find a new home, maybe even a whole new forest, but it would be okay. Anything would be better than finding the little girl or boy, finding them and being unable to control himself…
Now, any sort of supernatural logic would make one think that he should have been fine then. If he was only a wolf during the full moon, then why shouldn’t he be human right that second, shouldn’t he be human every second that the full moon was gone? It made sense, or as much sense as anything that was a part of Nature’s darker and hidden side. But Haydn always felt that a little of him was always that creature. Part of him was always wild and barbaric, wishing to tear something apart. He was so scared of that part of him that he wouldn’t dare let himself near people. If it were to take over, just for a moment, then what would happen? Who could die? He knew television and books showed werewolves—for that was what he was, wasn’t it?—being a part of society. They were just like everyone else, weren’t they? They were just normal people that turned into wolves every once in awhile. But Haydn never felt like that. He always felt that little bit of wolf tearing at him, wanting to get out. In the middle of nowhere? That was alright. He could make sure no one was hurt here because there was no one here. In any populated area, any at all…he could find someone. And hurt them. Or maybe…even…
No, he wouldn’t think like that! He would make sure he was away from that child, make sure that they were safe, that he was safe, that the wolf was well tucked away in him, never to hurt anything more than a deer or a rabbit.
His stomach lurched. He shouldn’t have thought about what the wolf had eaten. But it was too late. He fell to his knees and retched, spewing hunks of some meat. He sat for what seemed hours, hunched over and breathing heavily. He had gotten used to the effects of the wolf’s diet on his stomach a long time ago. Or, rather, his body had. Haydn’s mind still saw the blood and the raw meat and…he his stomach protested once more, sending him into dry heaves. Soon these stopped and Haydn listened. No more laughter. But then, maybe the little girl was close enough to see him and was frozen as he had been. Why was he picturing a little girl? There had been no indicator…but then, his memory…oh, that terrible memory…
Haydn forced himself to stand and took off into the trees, despite feeling woozy and lightheaded. He ran like that memory was behind him, like if he got far enough away he would forget. But he wouldn’t. He couldn’t, could he? You couldn’t run away from your past, but Haydn had to try. His conscience wouldn’t let him not try. So he ran and ran and ran and ran and ran and ran and ran until he felt his legs would give out from under him. When they did, he collapsed to the ground in a wheezing pile of human and tried to catch his breath. He had not succeeded in outrunning the memory. It was still the first and foremost thought in his brain, still throbbing painfully like an infected wound.
Just stop, he thought, gritting his teeth. Don’t think about it anymore. It’s your brain; think what you want to, not about this…
But he couldn’t stop his mind from focusing upon that which he wanted to avoid most. It wouldn’t let him. The little girl’s laugh—who said it was a little girl! he thought fiercely—had been the trigger, he knew it. And now he couldn’t stop thinking and thinking and thinking and thinking…
He laid there for what really were hours, hours and hours. He caught his breath but still did not move. The thought of the girl, the girl, that girl kept him there, glued to the spot. He could not move. He would not move. He had to sort out his brain before he could go on, he knew it. If he could not keep himself sane, keep that animal at bay, then he would be even worse off than he was now, lying on the forest floor with a throat torn by bile and an aching body. He would have to sort his mind out before he could move. Yes. That was the only way.
His mind wandered. A lot. He thought sometimes that he would be able to get up and move, but no. It would assert itself to the front again, That Memory. That Memory would not go away, would not stay quiet. He saw the torn clothes, heard the high-pitched scream that would echo through his head for days, weeks afterwards…he let loose his own scream, one of anguish and terror, frustration and anger. Anger that rose up in him like a hot flame, tearing at his conscience and his humanity. He ground his teeth, feeling the change come on. It astounded him. The full moon had been done, had it not? So why was he changing? He couldn’t be. It defied all logic. All logic! He should not have been feeling his skeleton twist and break, reforming the bones of something that walked on four legs instead of his two, should not have felt new hair growing like grass pumped with Miracle-Gro, should not have felt a howl building up in him, leaving his lips and echoing through the forest. That had been done. It shouldn’t have been happening again.
But it was. And Haydn knew why, though he still wished it impossible. It was happening and he could not stop it.
His bones ceased their movement and the fur was grown. The wolf stood and shook itself off, glancing around. It saw no problem with the little girl that wandered over to it. It did not like the taste of human and knew it could find better food nearby. The little girl and the wolf looked at each other, both interested and disinterested in each other. Then the wolf went on its way and so did the girl.
-------------
So. That was for English and is supposed to be a "romantic" story (as in Poe and other awesome writers' romance, not lovey-dovey stuff). Dunno if it worked or not, though... >> Any ideas on a moral? I've sort of got one, but hey. Maybe you found something else.
*sigh*
(no parts this time because I wouldn't know where to cut it off...)
-------------------
A deep, primal yell burst forth from his lips and into the cool night air. The sound echoed in the dark forest around him. Despite having experienced this since his early adolescence, Haydn had never grown accustomed to that yell. Each time it terrified him, this inhuman bellow that was a result of the agonizing change that tore through his body. His bones ached as they twisted and ground against each other; his skin itched and itched as coarse, dark hair sprouted all over his body. The bellow rose in pitch and slowly became less of a painful “aaaaaAAAAAAAAAgggggggggh!” and more of the familiar “aaaaaoooooOOOOOOOOO!” that haunted his dreams and his very being.
Above him, taunting him, hung the huge white moon, stark against the black, starless sky.
He awoke hours later. This, too, was not new. Every time that full, white moon hung in the sky, Haydn stole away to the deepest part of the woods and hoped he wouldn’t hurt anyone. If he were to hurt someone...he shook his head and that thought fluttered away. He didn’t want to think about that. He wanted to think about keeping his dinner—whatever poor creature it had been—in his stomach. He didn’t want to see it again, no, then he might start thinking about what it might have been, and then...what if it had been a rabbit? Or a deer? Images of Bambi and his pet rabbit appeared in his head. He may have been a grown man, but he still didn’t like to think of Bambi or Oreo the bunny being his supper. The very thought almost made him vomit.
Slowly he stood, stark in his nakedness. It was a logical thought that a wolf would not be able to wear clothes, but Haydn still wished that he could. No matter how many times he might have walked nude through the trees, he wished and wished he could have something to wear on his trek home. There were rarely any people in these parts of the woods, but he was so timid that the thought made him terrified. Or perhaps it was because Haydn had so rarely seen people since he had began living on his own in the woods. Fourteen was a hard age to start being alone all the time, but...Haydn knew he had to. A shudder ran through him as he remembered. Yes, he had to.
He paused, seeing his shack of a home. It was well-hidden, but a trained eye could pick out the shape easily. A clump of trees stood close together and in the middle was his little house. The outside was the color of the trees and it almost look like it was part of all the trees, some unique trunk that held them all together. Haydn raised a hand and placed it on the nearest tree. All of this forest was his home now, though he might still, sometimes, just a little bit, miss his old home. Miss his father and his mother. Miss his little sister and her smile. That was how it was and he would deal with it.
Haydn continued on to his home, no longer wincing at the stick and rocks that hurt his feet. That was one thing he had gotten used to, luckily. Once inside his shabby but still comfortable home, Haydn began to dress. His clothes were old and torn, much like you’d expect a castaway’s to be. His clothes were not this way because of a disaster, though, but because he had to wear them so often. Though it shamed him, he was forced to steal clothes every now and then. He wore the clothes as much as he could, though, to ensure that he wouldn’t have to do it so often. Otherwise he might have gone insane in that little shack and no one wanted that.
Haydn chewed on his lip at the thought of being insane. What if it were to happen while he was a wolf? That would make things very hard to hide, now wouldn’t it? But, then again, maybe he already was insane as the wolf. That would make sense. If wolves were insane, then he could blame the things he did as one on that. But Haydn didn’t think it was that easy. Things were never that easy.
After he was dressed, he wandered outside again to walk. It was all he really did to pass the days because it was the only thing he felt was safe; safe for him, from him, for those other people. He always, always worried about them. What if some child wondered into his part of the forest one moonlit night? Stories of creatures in the forest had all but died out nowadays. No one was afraid of Nature or her fantastically monstrous children. No one thought that a man could ever possibly become a wolf. And yet it happened. It just showed how little man really knew until it happened to him.
A strange yet familiar sound caught Haydn’s attention. It took him a moment to understand what it was, but when he did a bolt of terror struck him like lightning. He froze and listened again for it. And there it was. A tinkling sound, something young and innocent and probably the last sound he’d ever want to here: A child’s laugh.
He wanted to run. He knew he had to run. But he couldn’t do it. He couldn’t move. His feet had become tree roots that glued him to the spot. For some reason this seemed the most logical explanation and he checked his feet to see if they were, indeed, roots that snaked into the ground, but they weren’t, because that was illogical. But so was a man becoming a wolf and a boy a having to leave his home at only fourteen and living the rest of his life in the woods alone, but this was more so, it couldn’t happen, but the others could, so why not? Why not become a tree and stay there, finally a beautiful part of nature that could hear a child’s laugh without being scared?
Haydn shook his head. He had to gain control. Looking around him, he tried to find the child. If he could find the little bundle of joy, he could get as far away as possible. And then the child would be safe. He might need to find a new home, maybe even a whole new forest, but it would be okay. Anything would be better than finding the little girl or boy, finding them and being unable to control himself…
Now, any sort of supernatural logic would make one think that he should have been fine then. If he was only a wolf during the full moon, then why shouldn’t he be human right that second, shouldn’t he be human every second that the full moon was gone? It made sense, or as much sense as anything that was a part of Nature’s darker and hidden side. But Haydn always felt that a little of him was always that creature. Part of him was always wild and barbaric, wishing to tear something apart. He was so scared of that part of him that he wouldn’t dare let himself near people. If it were to take over, just for a moment, then what would happen? Who could die? He knew television and books showed werewolves—for that was what he was, wasn’t it?—being a part of society. They were just like everyone else, weren’t they? They were just normal people that turned into wolves every once in awhile. But Haydn never felt like that. He always felt that little bit of wolf tearing at him, wanting to get out. In the middle of nowhere? That was alright. He could make sure no one was hurt here because there was no one here. In any populated area, any at all…he could find someone. And hurt them. Or maybe…even…
No, he wouldn’t think like that! He would make sure he was away from that child, make sure that they were safe, that he was safe, that the wolf was well tucked away in him, never to hurt anything more than a deer or a rabbit.
His stomach lurched. He shouldn’t have thought about what the wolf had eaten. But it was too late. He fell to his knees and retched, spewing hunks of some meat. He sat for what seemed hours, hunched over and breathing heavily. He had gotten used to the effects of the wolf’s diet on his stomach a long time ago. Or, rather, his body had. Haydn’s mind still saw the blood and the raw meat and…he his stomach protested once more, sending him into dry heaves. Soon these stopped and Haydn listened. No more laughter. But then, maybe the little girl was close enough to see him and was frozen as he had been. Why was he picturing a little girl? There had been no indicator…but then, his memory…oh, that terrible memory…
Haydn forced himself to stand and took off into the trees, despite feeling woozy and lightheaded. He ran like that memory was behind him, like if he got far enough away he would forget. But he wouldn’t. He couldn’t, could he? You couldn’t run away from your past, but Haydn had to try. His conscience wouldn’t let him not try. So he ran and ran and ran and ran and ran and ran and ran until he felt his legs would give out from under him. When they did, he collapsed to the ground in a wheezing pile of human and tried to catch his breath. He had not succeeded in outrunning the memory. It was still the first and foremost thought in his brain, still throbbing painfully like an infected wound.
Just stop, he thought, gritting his teeth. Don’t think about it anymore. It’s your brain; think what you want to, not about this…
But he couldn’t stop his mind from focusing upon that which he wanted to avoid most. It wouldn’t let him. The little girl’s laugh—who said it was a little girl! he thought fiercely—had been the trigger, he knew it. And now he couldn’t stop thinking and thinking and thinking and thinking…
He laid there for what really were hours, hours and hours. He caught his breath but still did not move. The thought of the girl, the girl, that girl kept him there, glued to the spot. He could not move. He would not move. He had to sort out his brain before he could go on, he knew it. If he could not keep himself sane, keep that animal at bay, then he would be even worse off than he was now, lying on the forest floor with a throat torn by bile and an aching body. He would have to sort his mind out before he could move. Yes. That was the only way.
His mind wandered. A lot. He thought sometimes that he would be able to get up and move, but no. It would assert itself to the front again, That Memory. That Memory would not go away, would not stay quiet. He saw the torn clothes, heard the high-pitched scream that would echo through his head for days, weeks afterwards…he let loose his own scream, one of anguish and terror, frustration and anger. Anger that rose up in him like a hot flame, tearing at his conscience and his humanity. He ground his teeth, feeling the change come on. It astounded him. The full moon had been done, had it not? So why was he changing? He couldn’t be. It defied all logic. All logic! He should not have been feeling his skeleton twist and break, reforming the bones of something that walked on four legs instead of his two, should not have felt new hair growing like grass pumped with Miracle-Gro, should not have felt a howl building up in him, leaving his lips and echoing through the forest. That had been done. It shouldn’t have been happening again.
But it was. And Haydn knew why, though he still wished it impossible. It was happening and he could not stop it.
His bones ceased their movement and the fur was grown. The wolf stood and shook itself off, glancing around. It saw no problem with the little girl that wandered over to it. It did not like the taste of human and knew it could find better food nearby. The little girl and the wolf looked at each other, both interested and disinterested in each other. Then the wolf went on its way and so did the girl.
-------------
So. That was for English and is supposed to be a "romantic" story (as in Poe and other awesome writers' romance, not lovey-dovey stuff). Dunno if it worked or not, though... >> Any ideas on a moral? I've sort of got one, but hey. Maybe you found something else.
Wednesday, February 9, 2011
Hi. (finale!)
This probably doesn't need to be said because I'm sure no one will either read or want to steal this, but if you do want it...IT'S MINE. I SPENT FIVE DAYS WRITING THIS AND BY GOLLY, IF YOU TRY TO TAKE IT I WILL BEAT YOU.
Have a nice day. :)
(Also, if you're new, start here, please. It might make more sense then.)
--------------
I was able to avoid her for two days before she caught up with me. Sandra was sneaky that way, oh yes she was. We walked side by side down the hall, which was actually the one I’d first led her down what seemed like ages ago. I ignored her for about a minute before stopping and facing her. I still wouldn’t look at her, though.
Neither of us would talk. It was not like our first silence at all—no, it was so much tenser than that. I stared at the floor, refusing to look at her, yet I could still feel her eyes boring into me. I towered over her, yet I felt only a few inches tall.
Sandra took a great, shaky breath in and said one word.
“Hi.”
My eyes jerked up to her, surprised. Why would she say something so simple? She deserved to ask me questions, lots and lots of demanding questions. Maybe she’d even apologize for freaking me out or making me angry (I wasn’t even sure which I was anymore), but a hi? Why just a hi?
Then I realized she needed no other words. Her voice, her questioning, sad eyes that wanted her friend back said it all. She just needed to get my attention to get me to see it.
I tried to swallow, but my mouth was dry.
“Hi,” I croaked back.
We were silent once more, though much less tense than we had been. But still, it wasn’t our nice, we-don’t-need-to-talk silence. I wanted that silence back.
“Why’d you say that?” I finally asked, clenching my hands into fists. I wasn’t angry—not at all—but being the one to talk was hard. I was never that person. Never.
She knit her eyebrows together. “Say what?”
I bit my lip hard. I needed to say to. I needed to, or I’d probably never talk to Sandra again. Never be around her, never hear her laugh. Never, ever again.
“Love,” I finally replied, “love. ‘By someone that loves you.’ Why?”
Her eyes widened and her jaw slackened with a bewildered shock. She stayed like that much longer than I would have liked. Absentmindedly, almost for comfort, I ran my finger over my left thumbnail, over the heart I’d left there.
“That’s it?” she asked. “That’s it?”
I nodded slowly, uncertain of what sort of response this was.
Sandra stared at me a moment longer, then threw her head back and laughed. She laughed and laughed and laughed. And I just stared at her. The people walking by us stared at her as they passed. Slowly the laughter subsided and she sobered up. Later she’d tell me the laughter was relief—I just thought she’d gone crazy.
“It was true,” she told me, wiping away a tear that had leaked out during her giggle fit. “It was true and still is.”
I shook my head, unable to articulate in that moment. She understood, and despite obviously wanting an explanation for my denial, she waited for me.
I stared at the floor next to my sneaker. No, that couldn’t be right. We were best friends. This wasn’t some movie…we were not some overdone cliché! If my parents knew about her…oh, well, then I’d get some attention, yes, I would. To say she was my girlfriend, my lover…no, they’d have a hard enough time accepting her as my friend! It could do no good.
…and yet, I couldn’t help but feel a surge of joy rise up from my stomach.
“No, Sandra,” I finally said, relocating my speech and my words, “it’s not. It can’t be. We haven’t known each other long enough. It’s…it’s…no. It can’t be.”
Sandra frowned.
“Well, I feel something,” she said stubbornly, “so what is it?”
I paused, thinking.
“Like,” I replied simply.
The corners of her mouth quirked a little. “Like?”
“Yeah,” I told her, “like. Like…I like you, Sandra.”
Again, the word itself meant nothing. My eyes, my voice, my reaching out to her spoke more than I could. Or, at least, I hoped it did. Still, it felt terribly juvenile. But Sandra just smiled. Ignoring my reach and wrapping her arms around my waist, she stood on the very tips of her toes and kissed my nose.
“Why, then, I like you, miss Charlotte.”
-----------
And there you go. It's done. Man, this stuff all seemed a lot longer when I was actually writing it down...but whatever.
I feel like some people might be like "WTF, YOU ENDED IT WITH HER AS A LESBIAN? DIDN'T YOU JUST MAKE A COMMENT ABOUT THEM, LIKE, YESTERDAY? ARE YOU A LESBIAN??!"
Hahhahahahaha no. Well, I don't think so. I don't feel like I am, anyway. But maybe? If so, I'm not aware of it. But as for the the story, I don't know. I just started writing it and thought of how to end it, which was with that line. And once you come up with a way to end a story, especially when it's that exact, isn't it a little hard to change it? I don't think I could be satisfied with the story if I had changed it.
And the comment I made about lesbians on my Facebook the other day? Yeah, you'll notice it was someone else that brought it up, not me. I was just saying how stupid the comment was.
So there.
Have a nice day. :)
(Also, if you're new, start here, please. It might make more sense then.)
--------------
I was able to avoid her for two days before she caught up with me. Sandra was sneaky that way, oh yes she was. We walked side by side down the hall, which was actually the one I’d first led her down what seemed like ages ago. I ignored her for about a minute before stopping and facing her. I still wouldn’t look at her, though.
Neither of us would talk. It was not like our first silence at all—no, it was so much tenser than that. I stared at the floor, refusing to look at her, yet I could still feel her eyes boring into me. I towered over her, yet I felt only a few inches tall.
Sandra took a great, shaky breath in and said one word.
“Hi.”
My eyes jerked up to her, surprised. Why would she say something so simple? She deserved to ask me questions, lots and lots of demanding questions. Maybe she’d even apologize for freaking me out or making me angry (I wasn’t even sure which I was anymore), but a hi? Why just a hi?
Then I realized she needed no other words. Her voice, her questioning, sad eyes that wanted her friend back said it all. She just needed to get my attention to get me to see it.
I tried to swallow, but my mouth was dry.
“Hi,” I croaked back.
We were silent once more, though much less tense than we had been. But still, it wasn’t our nice, we-don’t-need-to-talk silence. I wanted that silence back.
“Why’d you say that?” I finally asked, clenching my hands into fists. I wasn’t angry—not at all—but being the one to talk was hard. I was never that person. Never.
She knit her eyebrows together. “Say what?”
I bit my lip hard. I needed to say to. I needed to, or I’d probably never talk to Sandra again. Never be around her, never hear her laugh. Never, ever again.
“Love,” I finally replied, “love. ‘By someone that loves you.’ Why?”
Her eyes widened and her jaw slackened with a bewildered shock. She stayed like that much longer than I would have liked. Absentmindedly, almost for comfort, I ran my finger over my left thumbnail, over the heart I’d left there.
“That’s it?” she asked. “That’s it?”
I nodded slowly, uncertain of what sort of response this was.
Sandra stared at me a moment longer, then threw her head back and laughed. She laughed and laughed and laughed. And I just stared at her. The people walking by us stared at her as they passed. Slowly the laughter subsided and she sobered up. Later she’d tell me the laughter was relief—I just thought she’d gone crazy.
“It was true,” she told me, wiping away a tear that had leaked out during her giggle fit. “It was true and still is.”
I shook my head, unable to articulate in that moment. She understood, and despite obviously wanting an explanation for my denial, she waited for me.
I stared at the floor next to my sneaker. No, that couldn’t be right. We were best friends. This wasn’t some movie…we were not some overdone cliché! If my parents knew about her…oh, well, then I’d get some attention, yes, I would. To say she was my girlfriend, my lover…no, they’d have a hard enough time accepting her as my friend! It could do no good.
…and yet, I couldn’t help but feel a surge of joy rise up from my stomach.
“No, Sandra,” I finally said, relocating my speech and my words, “it’s not. It can’t be. We haven’t known each other long enough. It’s…it’s…no. It can’t be.”
Sandra frowned.
“Well, I feel something,” she said stubbornly, “so what is it?”
I paused, thinking.
“Like,” I replied simply.
The corners of her mouth quirked a little. “Like?”
“Yeah,” I told her, “like. Like…I like you, Sandra.”
Again, the word itself meant nothing. My eyes, my voice, my reaching out to her spoke more than I could. Or, at least, I hoped it did. Still, it felt terribly juvenile. But Sandra just smiled. Ignoring my reach and wrapping her arms around my waist, she stood on the very tips of her toes and kissed my nose.
“Why, then, I like you, miss Charlotte.”
-----------
And there you go. It's done. Man, this stuff all seemed a lot longer when I was actually writing it down...but whatever.
I feel like some people might be like "WTF, YOU ENDED IT WITH HER AS A LESBIAN? DIDN'T YOU JUST MAKE A COMMENT ABOUT THEM, LIKE, YESTERDAY? ARE YOU A LESBIAN??!"
Hahhahahahaha no. Well, I don't think so. I don't feel like I am, anyway. But maybe? If so, I'm not aware of it. But as for the the story, I don't know. I just started writing it and thought of how to end it, which was with that line. And once you come up with a way to end a story, especially when it's that exact, isn't it a little hard to change it? I don't think I could be satisfied with the story if I had changed it.
And the comment I made about lesbians on my Facebook the other day? Yeah, you'll notice it was someone else that brought it up, not me. I was just saying how stupid the comment was.
So there.
Tuesday, February 8, 2011
Hi. (part three)
This probably doesn't need to be said because I'm sure no one will either read or want to steal this, but if you do want it...IT'S MINE. I SPENT FIVE DAYS WRITING THIS AND BY GOLLY, IF YOU TRY TO TAKE IT I WILL BEAT YOU.
Have a nice day. :)
--------------
The next month we were inseparable.
Not in a we’re-together way. No, we were best friends, Sandra and I. We wandered the mall together and scavenged used book stores together…and I learned more and more about her every day.
Her mother had taken off when she was three and left Sandra’s dad almost penniless. He stuck by her, though, and raised her like a loving father should. He had to work a lot, but he also spent all of his free time playing with her. They did logic puzzles and brain teasers and read together. I envied her childhood—I’d had both my parents, but they ignored me in favor of the baby or the oldest. I had to struggle to find the brain pleasers that were so few in my household of TV and garbage music growing up. At first, I didn’t tell her about it because I thought it made me sound ungrateful for my full family unit. But she eventually pulled it out of me and, by golly, she understood. That was by far the best thing about Sandra; she always understood.
Things progressed more as we slowly approached the second semester. One day we were sitting in her room, just lounging about. She was doing something to my left hand but wouldn’t let me see. Every time I tried to sneak a peek, she’d throw a fit like a toddler. So I gave up and stared at the ceiling as she worked. Ten minutes later, she proudly proclaimed: “Okay, you can look now!” Again, she reminded me of a little kid.
I lifted my hand to my face and looked at the back of it. At first I didn’t see anything, but then my attention was drawn to a red something on my thumb. Upon closer inspection, I saw it was a red heart painted in nail polish. My face flushed.
“Sandra!” I whined. “Why’d you do that? People’ll think I’m weird. What am I supposed to tell them?”
She looked at me, bottle of red nail polish still in her hand. She looked hurt. I started to apologize, but she stopped me with her hand. I was tired of that hand, but it still stopped me. Slowly, she drew my hand close to her and kissed the heart.
“Tell them it was put there by someone who loves you,” she murmured, looking down at the heart fondly.
I sat up rigidly, stunned. Then I left quite promptly.
Have a nice day. :)
--------------
The next month we were inseparable.
Not in a we’re-together way. No, we were best friends, Sandra and I. We wandered the mall together and scavenged used book stores together…and I learned more and more about her every day.
Her mother had taken off when she was three and left Sandra’s dad almost penniless. He stuck by her, though, and raised her like a loving father should. He had to work a lot, but he also spent all of his free time playing with her. They did logic puzzles and brain teasers and read together. I envied her childhood—I’d had both my parents, but they ignored me in favor of the baby or the oldest. I had to struggle to find the brain pleasers that were so few in my household of TV and garbage music growing up. At first, I didn’t tell her about it because I thought it made me sound ungrateful for my full family unit. But she eventually pulled it out of me and, by golly, she understood. That was by far the best thing about Sandra; she always understood.
Things progressed more as we slowly approached the second semester. One day we were sitting in her room, just lounging about. She was doing something to my left hand but wouldn’t let me see. Every time I tried to sneak a peek, she’d throw a fit like a toddler. So I gave up and stared at the ceiling as she worked. Ten minutes later, she proudly proclaimed: “Okay, you can look now!” Again, she reminded me of a little kid.
I lifted my hand to my face and looked at the back of it. At first I didn’t see anything, but then my attention was drawn to a red something on my thumb. Upon closer inspection, I saw it was a red heart painted in nail polish. My face flushed.
“Sandra!” I whined. “Why’d you do that? People’ll think I’m weird. What am I supposed to tell them?”
She looked at me, bottle of red nail polish still in her hand. She looked hurt. I started to apologize, but she stopped me with her hand. I was tired of that hand, but it still stopped me. Slowly, she drew my hand close to her and kissed the heart.
“Tell them it was put there by someone who loves you,” she murmured, looking down at the heart fondly.
I sat up rigidly, stunned. Then I left quite promptly.
Monday, February 7, 2011
Hi. (part two and a half)
This probably doesn't need to be said because I'm sure no one will either read or want to steal this, but if you do want it...IT'S MINE. I SPENT FIVE DAYS WRITING THIS AND BY GOLLY, IF YOU TRY TO TAKE IT I WILL BEAT YOU.
Have a nice day. :)
----------------
The next time I saw her was a few days later, at the local coffee shop I worked at. She didn’t order anything, but she still wasn’t kicked out like loiterers would be usually. She made her way around the room, talking to everyone. At first, everyone was put off by her. No one really strikes up with conversations with strangers anymore, right? But then they’d be charmed by her voice, her attitude, her stars. She’d smile and talk with her hands, drawing them in. It was magic. They loved to talk with her and were sad to see her go talk to someone else. Her ability to try a conversation alone stunned me and I think I almost got fired that day because I’d spent so much time watching her.
After I got back to my room, I proceeded to ignore my stupid roommate and think about her. What she looked like, those stars, and what she’d asked me. What had she meant? I had to figure it out. Collapsing back unto my bed, I closed my eyes and drifted to sleep, those stars the last thing I thought of.
The answer came to me while I was walking to work an afternoon about two weeks later. It really hadn’t been a secrety-secret of an answer, but it had still eluded me well. I bit my lip and checked the time on my phone. I didn’t have time to go find her now—it was way too close to the start of my shift—but I still wanted to see her. The good worker in me won out, though, and I put finding her off for another day.
I saw her the next day at lunch and about bowled her over. She was walking over to an empty table in the corner, something a little more antisocial than I would have thought for her. She recognized me straight away, which saved an awkward explanation from me.
“Hey!” she said. “You’re the one that helped me the other day. Thanks!”
I smiled at her a little weirdly. “It was actually a couple of weeks ago, but yeah.”
“Was it?” she asked, tilting her head to one side. “Oh, yeah, it was, wasn’t it? Silly me; I’m terrible at keeping time.” She shrugged and smiled, sitting down at the table. I sat next to her, wondering if I should have asked first.
“So, um, uh,” I started, stuttering more than I would have liked, “you asked me a question then. Remember?” She nodded and raised an expectant eyebrow as she bit into her sandwich. “Well, uh…I…I think I understand it now.”
She swallowed and grinned widely, showing all her little white teeth.
“Really? Great! Then what’re you doing here?”
Her eagerness made me pause. What if I had it wrong again? Would she patiently tell me no and correct me? Would she leave me to try again? Or would she get frustrated with me and yell? The latter seemed unlikely, but what did I know? Not her name, that’s what.
It’s right, I told myself. It is.
“I’m here to learn,” I said, “I’m here to get a degree so I can get a good job…” …she looked at me, waiting for more… “…um, and to have fun…” …she waved her hand a little, go on, her eyes said… “…and…and…” …I felt my face grow warm… “…I’m here to find love.”
Her hands came together in a loud, exuberant “ah HA!” of a clap.
“Yes! There you go!” she exclaimed, drawing the attention of nearby tables. “That’s the kind of answer I was looking for!” She calmed almost instantly, planting her elbows firmly on the table and resting her head in her hands. Looking at me with a dreamy smile, she sighed and softly said: “Ah, love.”
The way she said it, you’d think she was an old woman talking to an adolescent. She had to be younger than me, though, so that didn’t make sense. Then again, few things made sense with her.
Then a simple question I should have asked her ages ago popped into my head.
“Hey, uh…what’s your name?”
She lifted her head, looking bewildered, like she’d forgotten about that common exchange, too. Then she smiled and said: “I’m Sandra. And you are?”
Have a nice day. :)
----------------
The next time I saw her was a few days later, at the local coffee shop I worked at. She didn’t order anything, but she still wasn’t kicked out like loiterers would be usually. She made her way around the room, talking to everyone. At first, everyone was put off by her. No one really strikes up with conversations with strangers anymore, right? But then they’d be charmed by her voice, her attitude, her stars. She’d smile and talk with her hands, drawing them in. It was magic. They loved to talk with her and were sad to see her go talk to someone else. Her ability to try a conversation alone stunned me and I think I almost got fired that day because I’d spent so much time watching her.
After I got back to my room, I proceeded to ignore my stupid roommate and think about her. What she looked like, those stars, and what she’d asked me. What had she meant? I had to figure it out. Collapsing back unto my bed, I closed my eyes and drifted to sleep, those stars the last thing I thought of.
The answer came to me while I was walking to work an afternoon about two weeks later. It really hadn’t been a secrety-secret of an answer, but it had still eluded me well. I bit my lip and checked the time on my phone. I didn’t have time to go find her now—it was way too close to the start of my shift—but I still wanted to see her. The good worker in me won out, though, and I put finding her off for another day.
I saw her the next day at lunch and about bowled her over. She was walking over to an empty table in the corner, something a little more antisocial than I would have thought for her. She recognized me straight away, which saved an awkward explanation from me.
“Hey!” she said. “You’re the one that helped me the other day. Thanks!”
I smiled at her a little weirdly. “It was actually a couple of weeks ago, but yeah.”
“Was it?” she asked, tilting her head to one side. “Oh, yeah, it was, wasn’t it? Silly me; I’m terrible at keeping time.” She shrugged and smiled, sitting down at the table. I sat next to her, wondering if I should have asked first.
“So, um, uh,” I started, stuttering more than I would have liked, “you asked me a question then. Remember?” She nodded and raised an expectant eyebrow as she bit into her sandwich. “Well, uh…I…I think I understand it now.”
She swallowed and grinned widely, showing all her little white teeth.
“Really? Great! Then what’re you doing here?”
Her eagerness made me pause. What if I had it wrong again? Would she patiently tell me no and correct me? Would she leave me to try again? Or would she get frustrated with me and yell? The latter seemed unlikely, but what did I know? Not her name, that’s what.
It’s right, I told myself. It is.
“I’m here to learn,” I said, “I’m here to get a degree so I can get a good job…” …she looked at me, waiting for more… “…um, and to have fun…” …she waved her hand a little, go on, her eyes said… “…and…and…” …I felt my face grow warm… “…I’m here to find love.”
Her hands came together in a loud, exuberant “ah HA!” of a clap.
“Yes! There you go!” she exclaimed, drawing the attention of nearby tables. “That’s the kind of answer I was looking for!” She calmed almost instantly, planting her elbows firmly on the table and resting her head in her hands. Looking at me with a dreamy smile, she sighed and softly said: “Ah, love.”
The way she said it, you’d think she was an old woman talking to an adolescent. She had to be younger than me, though, so that didn’t make sense. Then again, few things made sense with her.
Then a simple question I should have asked her ages ago popped into my head.
“Hey, uh…what’s your name?”
She lifted her head, looking bewildered, like she’d forgotten about that common exchange, too. Then she smiled and said: “I’m Sandra. And you are?”
Sunday, February 6, 2011
Hi. (part un...and a half.)
This probably doesn't need to be said because I'm sure no one will either read or want to steal this, but if you do want it...IT'S MINE. I SPENT FIVE DAYS WRITING THIS AND BY GOLLY, IF YOU TRY TO TAKE IT I WILL BEAT YOU.
Have a nice day. :)
---------------
Hi.
It's a simple word. Probably the simplest in the whole wide world. It's even simpler than yes or no. You just say it to anyone, don't you? If you pass someone on the street, you might say it. It's how people greet friends, too, which makes it universal as well. You can use it for anything.
The most important time I used it was when I met this one girl...and she ended up giving it back to me, too.
"Hi."
"Hi!" she replied, lighting up. I wasn't sure why, but it made me smile, too. That's another simple thing, isn't it? If someone smiles at you, you're apt to start smiling back.
She was petite and energetic, dark hair framing her face rather perfectly. I had to say I was a little jealous. She managed to stand out among the crowd of people in the hall, although the only strange thing about her were the stars that covered the upper left corner of her face (my left, that is--so her right). They were bright blue and I didn't know if they were real tattoos or not. Later she'd tell me they were. I would look at her strangely and she would laugh. Then I would laugh, too, because I loved her laugh.
"I'm looking for the library," she said, tucking some hair behind her ear, "could you tell me where it is?"
I nodded slowly. It was...odd. I wasn't sure why. Probably some combination of the stars on her face and her asking were the library was. She was new, had to be a freshman--freshman rarely asked where the library was , whether it be because they were too shy or they were too busy partying. The latter was pretty common at Madison University. Yeah, we were kind of a party school, but that's what made it fun, right? Right.
"Uh, yeah, it's just down this hallway, actually, and to the--" I began, giving her the simplest way I knew, before she interrupted me with a hand in my face.
"I'm sorry," she said, looking up sheepishly at me. "Did I say tell? Slip of the tongue. I meant show. It's just that I'm terrible with directions, so..." She shrugged her shoulders in a what-can-ya-do fashion.
"Oh, yeah, sure," I said, still stunned by this girl.
I walked down the hall I'd told her to wander down a moment ago, then went left. SHe followed behing me, her strut more "oh boy! ice cream!" than "augh, studying." I wondered what her major was. It might have been a normal question to ask, but I wasn't good at conversations. They really were not my forte, which was why I was going into research. Books were my thing and I just fround it weird that someone at Madison found them as interesting as I did--or at least she seemed to. That was another bad habit of mine; creating people based on my impression of them. It often left to a lot of broken images on my part, usually because I'd made them out to be perfect. As much as I might hate to admit...it also led to a lot of broken hearts.
But if it's all the same to you, I'd rather focus on the amazing girl I was meeting then than all my failed relationships. (There were a lot of them...but then, I digress.)
While we walked and I led, there was absolutely no talking. A lot of the time this felt awkward to me--I should be saying something!--though I never tried actually speaking. That was too much for my introverted self. But walking in silence with her was alright. In fact, it was really, really good. It felt good in the silence, like it fit. THat was another weird thing about her, but it was definitely a good weird.
Before I could decide to say something--because I was, I wanted to, instead of feeling like I needed to--she spoke up.
:So, what're you doing here?" she said. Her voice was oddly musical. I hadn't noticed it before, but it was there. She almost sounded like a fairy in a kid's movie. It weirded me out, more in the normal way. What person actually sounded like that?
"Uh, I'm majoring in--" I started, but she interrupted me again with the hand and an additional shake of her head.
"No, no, not what I meeant," she said, tutting me with an expectant, knowing smile. I thought she must have gotten that answer a lot, both from that look and because it was the logical answer for most people. "I meant what are you doing here? Why are you here?"
I knit my eyebrows together, confused. How was my major not the right answer to that question?
She nodded knowingly. She told me it was okay. Most people were confused by it.
We didn't talk for the rest of the walk, which was short, and she thanked me when it was over and went her way...but that stuck with me. Why? I have no idea. Maybe because I wanted ot get it. I like puzzles. I'm the kind of person that will sit and try to figure out a logic game for fun. I liked math in school because you could get a right answer in a way that always made sense...until you hit something new. Then you were baffled. Some people might give up then. But me? I wanted to find that logic. Why did this work? How'd it get there? She was like that. I didn't even know her name, yet I still wanted to solve the mystery that was her. I probably should have sen this as a sign of infatuation, butI simply saw her as a new problem to solve.
Have a nice day. :)
---------------
Hi.
It's a simple word. Probably the simplest in the whole wide world. It's even simpler than yes or no. You just say it to anyone, don't you? If you pass someone on the street, you might say it. It's how people greet friends, too, which makes it universal as well. You can use it for anything.
The most important time I used it was when I met this one girl...and she ended up giving it back to me, too.
"Hi."
"Hi!" she replied, lighting up. I wasn't sure why, but it made me smile, too. That's another simple thing, isn't it? If someone smiles at you, you're apt to start smiling back.
She was petite and energetic, dark hair framing her face rather perfectly. I had to say I was a little jealous. She managed to stand out among the crowd of people in the hall, although the only strange thing about her were the stars that covered the upper left corner of her face (my left, that is--so her right). They were bright blue and I didn't know if they were real tattoos or not. Later she'd tell me they were. I would look at her strangely and she would laugh. Then I would laugh, too, because I loved her laugh.
"I'm looking for the library," she said, tucking some hair behind her ear, "could you tell me where it is?"
I nodded slowly. It was...odd. I wasn't sure why. Probably some combination of the stars on her face and her asking were the library was. She was new, had to be a freshman--freshman rarely asked where the library was , whether it be because they were too shy or they were too busy partying. The latter was pretty common at Madison University. Yeah, we were kind of a party school, but that's what made it fun, right? Right.
"Uh, yeah, it's just down this hallway, actually, and to the--" I began, giving her the simplest way I knew, before she interrupted me with a hand in my face.
"I'm sorry," she said, looking up sheepishly at me. "Did I say tell? Slip of the tongue. I meant show. It's just that I'm terrible with directions, so..." She shrugged her shoulders in a what-can-ya-do fashion.
"Oh, yeah, sure," I said, still stunned by this girl.
I walked down the hall I'd told her to wander down a moment ago, then went left. SHe followed behing me, her strut more "oh boy! ice cream!" than "augh, studying." I wondered what her major was. It might have been a normal question to ask, but I wasn't good at conversations. They really were not my forte, which was why I was going into research. Books were my thing and I just fround it weird that someone at Madison found them as interesting as I did--or at least she seemed to. That was another bad habit of mine; creating people based on my impression of them. It often left to a lot of broken images on my part, usually because I'd made them out to be perfect. As much as I might hate to admit...it also led to a lot of broken hearts.
But if it's all the same to you, I'd rather focus on the amazing girl I was meeting then than all my failed relationships. (There were a lot of them...but then, I digress.)
While we walked and I led, there was absolutely no talking. A lot of the time this felt awkward to me--I should be saying something!--though I never tried actually speaking. That was too much for my introverted self. But walking in silence with her was alright. In fact, it was really, really good. It felt good in the silence, like it fit. THat was another weird thing about her, but it was definitely a good weird.
Before I could decide to say something--because I was, I wanted to, instead of feeling like I needed to--she spoke up.
:So, what're you doing here?" she said. Her voice was oddly musical. I hadn't noticed it before, but it was there. She almost sounded like a fairy in a kid's movie. It weirded me out, more in the normal way. What person actually sounded like that?
"Uh, I'm majoring in--" I started, but she interrupted me again with the hand and an additional shake of her head.
"No, no, not what I meeant," she said, tutting me with an expectant, knowing smile. I thought she must have gotten that answer a lot, both from that look and because it was the logical answer for most people. "I meant what are you doing here? Why are you here?"
I knit my eyebrows together, confused. How was my major not the right answer to that question?
She nodded knowingly. She told me it was okay. Most people were confused by it.
We didn't talk for the rest of the walk, which was short, and she thanked me when it was over and went her way...but that stuck with me. Why? I have no idea. Maybe because I wanted ot get it. I like puzzles. I'm the kind of person that will sit and try to figure out a logic game for fun. I liked math in school because you could get a right answer in a way that always made sense...until you hit something new. Then you were baffled. Some people might give up then. But me? I wanted to find that logic. Why did this work? How'd it get there? She was like that. I didn't even know her name, yet I still wanted to solve the mystery that was her. I probably should have sen this as a sign of infatuation, butI simply saw her as a new problem to solve.
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