ok, I creep myself out
I was looking through my shortest stories and came up with this gem. Or not. It kind of creeps me out, and I don't really remember what I was thinking when I wrote it in March.
Prize
The black eyelashes that frame his eyes take away from the harshness that could have been present in his features. The sigh that issues from his mouth places a child-like innocence within his personality. The tears, now drying against his skin, almost elicit a wave of sympathy from the woman standing across from him. It’s all in such contrast. The scene could be a study of opposites, a photograph of contradictions. His hand wavers and then clenches again around the knife as though it’s his prize. It’s all wrong: she knows it. There are so many things she should have done, so many pieces of her life that she should have put together differently. But it’s too late now. Seconds tick away into minutes as she holds her hands against her abdomen. The blood seeps between her fingers, staining them.
And then there's this drabble I wrote in February. Much happier. Not so creepy.
Smiles
Blue-grey eyes stare at me from across the cafeteria. Hovering just beneath them is a perfect button nose. Above them is a pair of the most expressive eyebrows I have ever seen. She watches me, flicking her gaze over my face absorbing me in every detail. And then she smiles.
And one more just for good measure. Because I have to go to bed but my brain won't shut down, meaning I'll just lay in bed and whimper because I can't fall asleep. More random words thrown haphazardly together.
Cry Baby
A thousand words circle randomly in my head. Words I’ve said, words you’ve said. Words I wished you’d said. I see everything so clearly in your eyes. Everything is laid out as plainly as though you’d spoken it but you haven’t. You don’t need to. I understand. You make a move toward me, to comfort me as my tears hit the floor but I turn away. All those times you used to tell me to stop being dramatic, to stop over reacting, and now you act as though you’ve not become the ghost in our relationship. You don’t really know me anymore. You don’t know how I’ll react. You can’t know that I’m saying goodbye. You can’t know that I’m done being your cry baby.
Prize
The black eyelashes that frame his eyes take away from the harshness that could have been present in his features. The sigh that issues from his mouth places a child-like innocence within his personality. The tears, now drying against his skin, almost elicit a wave of sympathy from the woman standing across from him. It’s all in such contrast. The scene could be a study of opposites, a photograph of contradictions. His hand wavers and then clenches again around the knife as though it’s his prize. It’s all wrong: she knows it. There are so many things she should have done, so many pieces of her life that she should have put together differently. But it’s too late now. Seconds tick away into minutes as she holds her hands against her abdomen. The blood seeps between her fingers, staining them.
And then there's this drabble I wrote in February. Much happier. Not so creepy.
Smiles
Blue-grey eyes stare at me from across the cafeteria. Hovering just beneath them is a perfect button nose. Above them is a pair of the most expressive eyebrows I have ever seen. She watches me, flicking her gaze over my face absorbing me in every detail. And then she smiles.
And one more just for good measure. Because I have to go to bed but my brain won't shut down, meaning I'll just lay in bed and whimper because I can't fall asleep. More random words thrown haphazardly together.
Cry Baby
A thousand words circle randomly in my head. Words I’ve said, words you’ve said. Words I wished you’d said. I see everything so clearly in your eyes. Everything is laid out as plainly as though you’d spoken it but you haven’t. You don’t need to. I understand. You make a move toward me, to comfort me as my tears hit the floor but I turn away. All those times you used to tell me to stop being dramatic, to stop over reacting, and now you act as though you’ve not become the ghost in our relationship. You don’t really know me anymore. You don’t know how I’ll react. You can’t know that I’m saying goodbye. You can’t know that I’m done being your cry baby.