I now present to you the first two lines of a story I have written. It's not a long story, and if you want to read the rest you can find it at the link below:
The wonders of life are envisioned by those hoping to gain something. But for those who hope to gain nothing, they are the one who see the truths of life.
Wonderful world WritersCafe.org
Sunday, 26 February 2012
Furby Attack
Actually, let's start with a better question; do you know what a Furby is? Well if you don't, it's a toy that makes all these different noise (it sneezes, snores, says it name and many other things if I can recall). And the best part about them, they can communicate with other Furby's. It looks, like the one thing in the photo that you don't recognise. And that is a Furby. I loved my Furby, looking back, wow they were annoying.
So, back to the first question; have you ever seen a Furby on a plane? Well I haven't, and I have been on a fair few planes. So some airline (I can't remember which) thinks it's necessary to include it in their safety card, admist radio, phones and what almost looks like a microwave. Maybe, when Furby's where more popular (I haven't seen one for years), it was more of a nuisance. Though Furby's really, were quite a nuisane; the only way to shut them up was take the batteries out (never, never get your child a Furby if you want sleep, and especially not two!).
Back to the plane; I can imagine after a serious crash the pilot pronouncing the cause. Let's set the scene. Hundreds of people watching, a serious but calm expression on the pilot's face. Cameras in every corner. They open their mouth to speak; "It was a Furby." Are these cuddly cute toys really dangerous. Well airlines say yes. I agree, they can easily annoy you till the cows come home.
So really, next time you're on a plane, don't forget tp put that Furby in your luggage and not your carry on. Or better yet, how about accidentally lose it in transit.
Those Coy Little Buggers
I'm sure we all know those birds, that hang round you whilst you're enjoying a nice picnic somewhere serene. Well, the best thing, in my opinion, is to throw a rock at them. Don't worry, they'll move you hit them, and maybe (if you're lucky) they won't come back. But these birds, they're actually quite smart.
People tend to want to feed birds that are injured (from personal experience- I know that I certainly feel sorry for those birds that seem injured). But some of these birds just seem to fake it (aren't they smart). They stand there, on one foot (or in some other guise) and make everyone feel sorry for them. Throw something at them, and out pops another foot, all fine as they walk away content.
So why is it that we feel sorry for these birds? And do we see the same with people? If you saw a person with one foot would you be hurriedly handing them your lunch (I know I wouldn't). But for some reason we feel sorry those these disadvantaged birds and spoil them with latherings of food.
But hey, maybe they deserve it for their smarts.
People tend to want to feed birds that are injured (from personal experience- I know that I certainly feel sorry for those birds that seem injured). But some of these birds just seem to fake it (aren't they smart). They stand there, on one foot (or in some other guise) and make everyone feel sorry for them. Throw something at them, and out pops another foot, all fine as they walk away content.
So why is it that we feel sorry for these birds? And do we see the same with people? If you saw a person with one foot would you be hurriedly handing them your lunch (I know I wouldn't). But for some reason we feel sorry those these disadvantaged birds and spoil them with latherings of food.
But hey, maybe they deserve it for their smarts.
Tuesday, 21 February 2012
When you find it Tell me
So I'm writing what I would like to one day end up as a novel (there's a lot of things I'd like to happen that don't). And then I thought, well I'd love some feedback, so why not plug it here (even though right now, no one seems to be reading anything I say. You never know how things may change). So I'm going to put the first chapter up here (which will also tell you what the story's about), and if you so wish to read the rest (there's two more chapters up at this stage), then you can follow the link below. And now that I have had my ramble I will end with a please and sincere thank you.
I sat on the bus, shaking. Shaking with what? Happiness? Nerves? I knew not which. All I knew was that I had $43.70 in my pocket and a bus ticket to a new life. But was it a new life that I wanted? My old life, it was one to envy. I have two loving parents, a wonderful sister. We never fought. My house wasn't big, but it's perfect for us. I go to a good school, good friends who say I'm smart. My life is perfect. I'm wrong with what I said. I had two loving parents, a wonderful sister. We never fought. I had a house that wasn't big, it was perfect for us. I went to a good school, and had good friends who said I'm smart. My life was perfect. It's all still there, everything still in place. The only thing missing is me.
My parents will ask questions when they see the note on the table. They'll cry. The police will be called. But I don't want them to find me.
I want to leave it all behind. A want to start again. With $43.70 and a jumper. I don't plan on going back. My only plan to make a bench my home. It's not something that you talk with your parents about over dinner. I know that my parents will always welcome me back. But if I'm lucky, I won't be forced back.
So now I sit on the bus shaking. And I wonder, what others would wonder; why would you leave everything for nothing?
http://www.fictionpress.com/s/2985979/1/When_You_Find_it_Tell_Me
I sat on the bus, shaking. Shaking with what? Happiness? Nerves? I knew not which. All I knew was that I had $43.70 in my pocket and a bus ticket to a new life. But was it a new life that I wanted? My old life, it was one to envy. I have two loving parents, a wonderful sister. We never fought. My house wasn't big, but it's perfect for us. I go to a good school, good friends who say I'm smart. My life is perfect. I'm wrong with what I said. I had two loving parents, a wonderful sister. We never fought. I had a house that wasn't big, it was perfect for us. I went to a good school, and had good friends who said I'm smart. My life was perfect. It's all still there, everything still in place. The only thing missing is me.
My parents will ask questions when they see the note on the table. They'll cry. The police will be called. But I don't want them to find me.
I want to leave it all behind. A want to start again. With $43.70 and a jumper. I don't plan on going back. My only plan to make a bench my home. It's not something that you talk with your parents about over dinner. I know that my parents will always welcome me back. But if I'm lucky, I won't be forced back.
So now I sit on the bus shaking. And I wonder, what others would wonder; why would you leave everything for nothing?
http://www.fictionpress.com/s/2985979/1/When_You_Find_it_Tell_Me
Monday, 20 February 2012
Wish Amongst the Stars
Love story time...
I sat between the trees, heart still as I stared at the girl resting on the seat. A face so full of glory stared out with eyes deeper than the sky, lips so gentle like the lace that covered her. Silent wings lay folded on her back, ready to lift in the wind. A cool-drawn dress flitted silently down her body, layers of white falling over her legs. Sleeves covered arms so delicate that even dove's hid in jealousy, spreading beads down to her hands. I traced my eyes down the shining side, falling as it fell. My eyes paused their time as they came to rest on her hand, a single ring fitting over her finger. Compared to her beauty to ring stood out dull, though jewels covered it round. It had no magnificence, only the bleak lifeless look where emotion did not exist.
She moved suddenly, causing fear into me, making me shrink further into the shadows. I looked away, my mind thinking that if I didn't see her, she wouldn't see me. But I knew that my diverted gaze would not keep me from her eyes. Slowly I turned my head to once again gaze at her. Her movements before had only placed her bare feet on the mottled grass, her eyes still staring straight. I sighed, a deep long sigh that sounded of my fear and wonder. This girl so of grace, she sat without knowing of my desires, of my wishes. She knew not that I had spent every night praying amongst the stars for her to see me. That every wish I had found had been spent on her. I waited for the day when she would notice my yearning eyes, yet feared it more than death.
I could always feel him looking at me, his patient eyes straining to see through the night air. Sometimes, when I knew his eyes had been diverted, I would glance at him, pushing every moment of him to savour in my mind. And sometimes, when he continued to look another way, I would stare. Every time I would watch his smooth face, dappled skin running to eyes brighter than the sun. Silver plate grew around his body, shining to reflect the trees around him. It curved rigid around him, showing how beauty erupted underneath. He would rest so softly amongst the trees, as if he were a part of them. He moved suddenly, and those callous movements were as graceful as a dove's flight. And when he returned his gaze to me he would sigh. A beautiful sigh that came wistfully to my awaiting ears. When he sighed my heart would rise with his upturned voice, then fall as it disappeared with the wind. I would gaze to the stars, waiting for a wish to shoot across the sky. And when it did I would wish for him, the boy so filled with grace. I waited for the day when he would notice my glancing gaze upon his turned figure. And when it never came, I let another boy place a ring on my finger.
The boy sat silently in the shadows, staring at the face that was covered in perfections. On this last night of the girl's freedom she sat, staring into the stars, wishing beyond hope that her single wish would come true. A shooting star played across the sky, both eyes upturned to look as it made its way across the expanse above. But neither made a wish, for stars are but stars and do not hold anything but beauty. With a silent gaze the boy turned once again to the girl, and the girl had but time to turn away. Together they gazed at the one they had so wished for. The girl rose, her subtle dress breathing around her. The boy saw her move, but did not shrink to the shadows as he otherwise would. Silently they both paced their beautiful steps to the other, bare feet striking softly the ground. Neither noticed the ring slip silently off the girl's finger to lay hidden in the dirt. Nor did they notice the colours that sang as they walked. For the first time they saw each other as they truly were, the rags of the boy, the scars of the girl. But neither cared. For she was his angel, and him her knight in shining armour.
http://www.fictionpress.com/s/2926319/1/Wish_Amongst_the_Stars
I sat between the trees, heart still as I stared at the girl resting on the seat. A face so full of glory stared out with eyes deeper than the sky, lips so gentle like the lace that covered her. Silent wings lay folded on her back, ready to lift in the wind. A cool-drawn dress flitted silently down her body, layers of white falling over her legs. Sleeves covered arms so delicate that even dove's hid in jealousy, spreading beads down to her hands. I traced my eyes down the shining side, falling as it fell. My eyes paused their time as they came to rest on her hand, a single ring fitting over her finger. Compared to her beauty to ring stood out dull, though jewels covered it round. It had no magnificence, only the bleak lifeless look where emotion did not exist.
She moved suddenly, causing fear into me, making me shrink further into the shadows. I looked away, my mind thinking that if I didn't see her, she wouldn't see me. But I knew that my diverted gaze would not keep me from her eyes. Slowly I turned my head to once again gaze at her. Her movements before had only placed her bare feet on the mottled grass, her eyes still staring straight. I sighed, a deep long sigh that sounded of my fear and wonder. This girl so of grace, she sat without knowing of my desires, of my wishes. She knew not that I had spent every night praying amongst the stars for her to see me. That every wish I had found had been spent on her. I waited for the day when she would notice my yearning eyes, yet feared it more than death.
I could always feel him looking at me, his patient eyes straining to see through the night air. Sometimes, when I knew his eyes had been diverted, I would glance at him, pushing every moment of him to savour in my mind. And sometimes, when he continued to look another way, I would stare. Every time I would watch his smooth face, dappled skin running to eyes brighter than the sun. Silver plate grew around his body, shining to reflect the trees around him. It curved rigid around him, showing how beauty erupted underneath. He would rest so softly amongst the trees, as if he were a part of them. He moved suddenly, and those callous movements were as graceful as a dove's flight. And when he returned his gaze to me he would sigh. A beautiful sigh that came wistfully to my awaiting ears. When he sighed my heart would rise with his upturned voice, then fall as it disappeared with the wind. I would gaze to the stars, waiting for a wish to shoot across the sky. And when it did I would wish for him, the boy so filled with grace. I waited for the day when he would notice my glancing gaze upon his turned figure. And when it never came, I let another boy place a ring on my finger.
The boy sat silently in the shadows, staring at the face that was covered in perfections. On this last night of the girl's freedom she sat, staring into the stars, wishing beyond hope that her single wish would come true. A shooting star played across the sky, both eyes upturned to look as it made its way across the expanse above. But neither made a wish, for stars are but stars and do not hold anything but beauty. With a silent gaze the boy turned once again to the girl, and the girl had but time to turn away. Together they gazed at the one they had so wished for. The girl rose, her subtle dress breathing around her. The boy saw her move, but did not shrink to the shadows as he otherwise would. Silently they both paced their beautiful steps to the other, bare feet striking softly the ground. Neither noticed the ring slip silently off the girl's finger to lay hidden in the dirt. Nor did they notice the colours that sang as they walked. For the first time they saw each other as they truly were, the rags of the boy, the scars of the girl. But neither cared. For she was his angel, and him her knight in shining armour.
http://www.fictionpress.com/s/2926319/1/Wish_Amongst_the_Stars
a pointless drabble directed at YOU
Below ye shall find a story. Well, not a story, more like a drabble. It is fictional, but does that make it a story?
I want to ask you a question. Why are you reading this? That's the wrong way to start. I was told it's never polite to start with a question, you have to let a person tell you about themselves before you start to pry. So, what's your life like? There I go again, asking another question. I can't even be bothered to stick around for the answer. Why did I even ask that question? Hey look, another question. But that one's for me, not you, so don't you dare answer that if you don't want to offend me. But I can answer it myself, as it was myself that asked the question. Two myself's except they're both the same person. They're both me. All me. Always me. Oh gosh, my mother always said I shouldn't talk too much about myself, I would bore anyone to death. So, what's your life like? I've already said that, haven't I? Don't answer that. Can you really be bothered to tell me anyway? And think, if someone don't wanna tell, and someone don't wanna hear, no one's gaining anything,are they? Unless it's a life or death situation, when there's a whole heap to gain. You're not dead are you? Sorry, that's just a question that I have to ask, I wouldn't want to be talking to a ghost now would I? Actually, I ain't really having a two-sided conversation am I? Hey, hey, hey; let me impress you with something. Hold your shirts on. Or is it meant to be hat? Or socks? Oh well, just get now will you, and stop listening to me. Here, I'll give a few mo's to get ready. 1,2,3,4,5,6,7,8,9,9 ½, 9 ¾, 10. There you go, you should be ready now, whatever you're holding. Okay, here goes. I just need to get myself ready now. Three deep breaths. Or nine or ten. I'm ready now. You've had more than enough time, so you should be ready to. Okay here goes, again. The wind I am. Isn't that amazing? So poetic, so, so… inspirational. I've gotta look into the sky when I say that, just so it had effect. Look with me. That line, it says so much, don't it? And you can be honest with me. You have no need to tone down your amazement. I thought of it myself you know. I might be a poet one day. Famous for my one-liners. Or maybe I should just go into pick up lines; your hair looks amazing, but you know where it would look even more amazing? By a beige-green wall and a mahogany lamp. Just like my apartment. Hey, hey, isn't that a great pick-up line? I haven't tried it yet, but I will. Do you think it will work? You might as well use it, it better than some of that old crummy stuff. So I probably seem pretty impressive now don't I? Someone to look up to? A role model? Oh, I'm blushing now. Thank you so very much for the great honour that I know you will bestow me. How's the weather? I was told to always turn to the weather if I needed to make polite conversation. So, weather time. Bright and sunny with a hint of clouds. Do you think I could pass for one of those people that read the weather on T.V? I don't I could, I don't have the hair. Plus I couldn't pass off doing a nice jig in the middle of talking about the hurricane that raining sun. That would be my only problem though, I know heaps about the weather. I was told to always stop whilst I'm head. My mother said that would normally be after I've said one thing, and look at that, I've said quite a few! But it's always best to obey your dear old mother, so I'll stop now. I just want to ask you one more question. Why did you read this?
http://www.fictionpress.com/s/2985074/1/a_pointless_drabble_directed_at_YOU
I want to ask you a question. Why are you reading this? That's the wrong way to start. I was told it's never polite to start with a question, you have to let a person tell you about themselves before you start to pry. So, what's your life like? There I go again, asking another question. I can't even be bothered to stick around for the answer. Why did I even ask that question? Hey look, another question. But that one's for me, not you, so don't you dare answer that if you don't want to offend me. But I can answer it myself, as it was myself that asked the question. Two myself's except they're both the same person. They're both me. All me. Always me. Oh gosh, my mother always said I shouldn't talk too much about myself, I would bore anyone to death. So, what's your life like? I've already said that, haven't I? Don't answer that. Can you really be bothered to tell me anyway? And think, if someone don't wanna tell, and someone don't wanna hear, no one's gaining anything,are they? Unless it's a life or death situation, when there's a whole heap to gain. You're not dead are you? Sorry, that's just a question that I have to ask, I wouldn't want to be talking to a ghost now would I? Actually, I ain't really having a two-sided conversation am I? Hey, hey, hey; let me impress you with something. Hold your shirts on. Or is it meant to be hat? Or socks? Oh well, just get now will you, and stop listening to me. Here, I'll give a few mo's to get ready. 1,2,3,4,5,6,7,8,9,9 ½, 9 ¾, 10. There you go, you should be ready now, whatever you're holding. Okay, here goes. I just need to get myself ready now. Three deep breaths. Or nine or ten. I'm ready now. You've had more than enough time, so you should be ready to. Okay here goes, again. The wind I am. Isn't that amazing? So poetic, so, so… inspirational. I've gotta look into the sky when I say that, just so it had effect. Look with me. That line, it says so much, don't it? And you can be honest with me. You have no need to tone down your amazement. I thought of it myself you know. I might be a poet one day. Famous for my one-liners. Or maybe I should just go into pick up lines; your hair looks amazing, but you know where it would look even more amazing? By a beige-green wall and a mahogany lamp. Just like my apartment. Hey, hey, isn't that a great pick-up line? I haven't tried it yet, but I will. Do you think it will work? You might as well use it, it better than some of that old crummy stuff. So I probably seem pretty impressive now don't I? Someone to look up to? A role model? Oh, I'm blushing now. Thank you so very much for the great honour that I know you will bestow me. How's the weather? I was told to always turn to the weather if I needed to make polite conversation. So, weather time. Bright and sunny with a hint of clouds. Do you think I could pass for one of those people that read the weather on T.V? I don't I could, I don't have the hair. Plus I couldn't pass off doing a nice jig in the middle of talking about the hurricane that raining sun. That would be my only problem though, I know heaps about the weather. I was told to always stop whilst I'm head. My mother said that would normally be after I've said one thing, and look at that, I've said quite a few! But it's always best to obey your dear old mother, so I'll stop now. I just want to ask you one more question. Why did you read this?
http://www.fictionpress.com/s/2985074/1/a_pointless_drabble_directed_at_YOU
Saturday, 18 February 2012
Coffee Mixed Perfume
Hey look, another story.
She came each day, bought the same magazine, with the same cup of coffee. He knew because he could smell it, mixed in with her perfume as she leant to take her change. She wouldn't even glance at him, instead at the headlines of the latest break-up. He would smile at her, which would then turn to a saddened gaze as he watched her pencil-skirt walk away. He could imagine her heels clicking long after she turned the corner. She always came at the same time. 7:43 exactly. And the one time she didn't, she didn't come at all.
He looked as far as his eyes could reach, yearning to smell that coffee mixed perfume. But as he closed the shutters of his little stall, he knew that she wasn't coming that day.
She appeared the next morning though, at 7:43. He smiled extra as he saw her approach. And it was that, which spurred him to speak to her.
"Didn't get your magazine yesterday, almost made me broke." He joked.
But she only raised her eyebrows to acknowledge him and walked away.
The next day, he gave her the wrong change, to see if she'd notice. But she didn't, and he was forced to call out to her. She only took it with another raised eyebrow.
He spent the day contemplating, trying to find a way for her to notice him. Yet he would always stare into the adjacent window, and eye the reflection bouncing back. A balding head, short stubby legs that matched the rest of him. The only thing he couldn't see was the eyes. The eyes that he was sure would captivate the woman's interest. If only she would look.
So each day he would try and hold her attention as he passed the changed to her hand. A few times he'd attempt to engage her. Commenting on the weather, asking how she was, pointing out the latest marriage. But she'd only just raise her eyebrows in acknowledgement, and walk away.
Then one day, she didn't appear in the morning. He began to doubt she ever would as the day wore on, but at lunchtime she appeared. Just like in the mornings, heels clicking, the cup of coffee the same.
"Can't miss out on the finest news?" He laughed a little as he said that.
She didn't raise her eyebrows though. "Why do you talk to me?" Her voice was covered in a harsh sweetness, one that she could not hide even in anger.
"I thought it might be nice."
"Well, it's not. All I want to do is come and buy my magazine. I don't like small talk." And she looked straight at him, right into his eyes. He knew her eyes were gazing at his, and he could nothing but gaze at hers. Then she broke the gaze and turned away, her heels clicking.
She didn't come the next morning, nor the day after. A week passed until she came again, heels clicking, coffee in hand. A different man stood at the counter. She asked where the other man was. Something about too many sleeping pills.
She came each day, bought the same magazine, with the same cup of coffee. He knew because he could smell it, mixed in with her perfume as she leant to take her change. She wouldn't even glance at him, instead at the headlines of the latest break-up. He would smile at her, which would then turn to a saddened gaze as he watched her pencil-skirt walk away. He could imagine her heels clicking long after she turned the corner. She always came at the same time. 7:43 exactly. And the one time she didn't, she didn't come at all.
He looked as far as his eyes could reach, yearning to smell that coffee mixed perfume. But as he closed the shutters of his little stall, he knew that she wasn't coming that day.
She appeared the next morning though, at 7:43. He smiled extra as he saw her approach. And it was that, which spurred him to speak to her.
"Didn't get your magazine yesterday, almost made me broke." He joked.
But she only raised her eyebrows to acknowledge him and walked away.
The next day, he gave her the wrong change, to see if she'd notice. But she didn't, and he was forced to call out to her. She only took it with another raised eyebrow.
He spent the day contemplating, trying to find a way for her to notice him. Yet he would always stare into the adjacent window, and eye the reflection bouncing back. A balding head, short stubby legs that matched the rest of him. The only thing he couldn't see was the eyes. The eyes that he was sure would captivate the woman's interest. If only she would look.
So each day he would try and hold her attention as he passed the changed to her hand. A few times he'd attempt to engage her. Commenting on the weather, asking how she was, pointing out the latest marriage. But she'd only just raise her eyebrows in acknowledgement, and walk away.
Then one day, she didn't appear in the morning. He began to doubt she ever would as the day wore on, but at lunchtime she appeared. Just like in the mornings, heels clicking, the cup of coffee the same.
"Can't miss out on the finest news?" He laughed a little as he said that.
She didn't raise her eyebrows though. "Why do you talk to me?" Her voice was covered in a harsh sweetness, one that she could not hide even in anger.
"I thought it might be nice."
"Well, it's not. All I want to do is come and buy my magazine. I don't like small talk." And she looked straight at him, right into his eyes. He knew her eyes were gazing at his, and he could nothing but gaze at hers. Then she broke the gaze and turned away, her heels clicking.
She didn't come the next morning, nor the day after. A week passed until she came again, heels clicking, coffee in hand. A different man stood at the counter. She asked where the other man was. Something about too many sleeping pills.
http://www.fictionpress.com/s/2992175/1/Coffee_Mixed_Perfume
She came each day, bought the same magazine, with the same cup of coffee. He knew because he could smell it, mixed in with her perfume as she leant to take her change. She wouldn't even glance at him, instead at the headlines of the latest break-up. He would smile at her, which would then turn to a saddened gaze as he watched her pencil-skirt walk away. He could imagine her heels clicking long after she turned the corner. She always came at the same time. 7:43 exactly. And the one time she didn't, she didn't come at all.
He looked as far as his eyes could reach, yearning to smell that coffee mixed perfume. But as he closed the shutters of his little stall, he knew that she wasn't coming that day.
She appeared the next morning though, at 7:43. He smiled extra as he saw her approach. And it was that, which spurred him to speak to her.
"Didn't get your magazine yesterday, almost made me broke." He joked.
But she only raised her eyebrows to acknowledge him and walked away.
The next day, he gave her the wrong change, to see if she'd notice. But she didn't, and he was forced to call out to her. She only took it with another raised eyebrow.
He spent the day contemplating, trying to find a way for her to notice him. Yet he would always stare into the adjacent window, and eye the reflection bouncing back. A balding head, short stubby legs that matched the rest of him. The only thing he couldn't see was the eyes. The eyes that he was sure would captivate the woman's interest. If only she would look.
So each day he would try and hold her attention as he passed the changed to her hand. A few times he'd attempt to engage her. Commenting on the weather, asking how she was, pointing out the latest marriage. But she'd only just raise her eyebrows in acknowledgement, and walk away.
Then one day, she didn't appear in the morning. He began to doubt she ever would as the day wore on, but at lunchtime she appeared. Just like in the mornings, heels clicking, the cup of coffee the same.
"Can't miss out on the finest news?" He laughed a little as he said that.
She didn't raise her eyebrows though. "Why do you talk to me?" Her voice was covered in a harsh sweetness, one that she could not hide even in anger.
"I thought it might be nice."
"Well, it's not. All I want to do is come and buy my magazine. I don't like small talk." And she looked straight at him, right into his eyes. He knew her eyes were gazing at his, and he could nothing but gaze at hers. Then she broke the gaze and turned away, her heels clicking.
She didn't come the next morning, nor the day after. A week passed until she came again, heels clicking, coffee in hand. A different man stood at the counter. She asked where the other man was. Something about too many sleeping pills.
She came each day, bought the same magazine, with the same cup of coffee. He knew because he could smell it, mixed in with her perfume as she leant to take her change. She wouldn't even glance at him, instead at the headlines of the latest break-up. He would smile at her, which would then turn to a saddened gaze as he watched her pencil-skirt walk away. He could imagine her heels clicking long after she turned the corner. She always came at the same time. 7:43 exactly. And the one time she didn't, she didn't come at all.
He looked as far as his eyes could reach, yearning to smell that coffee mixed perfume. But as he closed the shutters of his little stall, he knew that she wasn't coming that day.
She appeared the next morning though, at 7:43. He smiled extra as he saw her approach. And it was that, which spurred him to speak to her.
"Didn't get your magazine yesterday, almost made me broke." He joked.
But she only raised her eyebrows to acknowledge him and walked away.
The next day, he gave her the wrong change, to see if she'd notice. But she didn't, and he was forced to call out to her. She only took it with another raised eyebrow.
He spent the day contemplating, trying to find a way for her to notice him. Yet he would always stare into the adjacent window, and eye the reflection bouncing back. A balding head, short stubby legs that matched the rest of him. The only thing he couldn't see was the eyes. The eyes that he was sure would captivate the woman's interest. If only she would look.
So each day he would try and hold her attention as he passed the changed to her hand. A few times he'd attempt to engage her. Commenting on the weather, asking how she was, pointing out the latest marriage. But she'd only just raise her eyebrows in acknowledgement, and walk away.
Then one day, she didn't appear in the morning. He began to doubt she ever would as the day wore on, but at lunchtime she appeared. Just like in the mornings, heels clicking, the cup of coffee the same.
"Can't miss out on the finest news?" He laughed a little as he said that.
She didn't raise her eyebrows though. "Why do you talk to me?" Her voice was covered in a harsh sweetness, one that she could not hide even in anger.
"I thought it might be nice."
"Well, it's not. All I want to do is come and buy my magazine. I don't like small talk." And she looked straight at him, right into his eyes. He knew her eyes were gazing at his, and he could nothing but gaze at hers. Then she broke the gaze and turned away, her heels clicking.
She didn't come the next morning, nor the day after. A week passed until she came again, heels clicking, coffee in hand. A different man stood at the counter. She asked where the other man was. Something about too many sleeping pills.
http://www.fictionpress.com/s/2992175/1/Coffee_Mixed_Perfume
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