I took the beginning of the story I uploaded before this one and transformed the ending to be fitted for a creative writing assignment. I don’t like this ending, its interesting but short and not what I preferred but still enjoyable.
Lightning Blue Eyes and Frosted Blush
She sits at the edge of her coffee table. Her tea cooling in the afternoon air, her shiny new book resting under her wrists. She’s not reading. Her headphones are in and she’s listening to the most beautiful symphony,Stokkseyri by Jónsi and Alex. She’s tired. I can see it. I can also see the pain she’s hiding. The pain that sits so deep in her chest, so deep in her heart, so painfully hidden. Rescue her? Maybe. Maybe I could. But to find the pain? I don’t know. A steady eyed look seemed more permanent than temporary above her cheekbones. I couldn’t help but notice the small rip in her white t shirt. I wonder how that got there.
I watch her from across the room, my gaze hidden behind the mass of a book about the ocean floor. She seems so lost. So lost yet so found, as if she belonged in that metal black chair leaning against the round orange table. She looked so steady. So steady but so unstable. She knew her place in the world. From my perspective at least. There was just something missing. Something bruised. Something…broken. I couldn’t tell if It was her or something that had happened. Maybe the pain had made her that way or maybe…she was just…that way. Her eyes flicker up from the floor and I turn my eyes back to the pages of the book sitting carefully in my hands. I don’t think she notices.
I notice. He couldn’t be more obvious. I couldn’t care any less. I watch his gaze leap from between the pages of the book to my table sitting in the corner of the room. Maybe it would be less obvious that he wasn’t reading if the book wasn’t upside down. Stupid boy. I couldn’t help but smile at the fact that I caught his eye but I kept that inside. No care,no pain.
That’s how it goes. I ran my fingers slowly over the front cover of my book. Splintered by A.G. Howard. A book about a girl who can talk to insects and flowers but is afraid she will be labeled insane, thrown into an institution like family members before her. Funny how that works. A power, a strange indifference could throw away your life. Land you in a cell with cuffs around your wrists. A power is a beautiful thing. Yet people with them, hide them or pretend they don’t exist because if they do, boom. Gone. Institution or needle to the arm. A one way ticket to the Heaven we think we know.
I lift my gaze from the fluorescent green cover and catch his eye. He smiles. I want to smile. But I don’t. Then I leave.
I couldn’t stop myself. I ran after her. I could see her passing by each book shelf, a moment of seeing her and then a moment gone and then her reappearance. Before she could head out the door, I put my hand on the handle and stopped her. She was even more beautiful up close. Lightning blue eyes and rich brown hair that ran over her pale skin unbelievably lightly. “Hi.” I choked.
Oh, he was so bad at this. I remained stern. “Yes?” I responded, standing up straight and looking dead into his eyes.
I have to say, for a girl half my size she was the most intimidating person I had ever encountered. I was beyond drawn to her.
“Well?” I said after a moment of silence.
“Yes. I uh, I really like that book. A lot.” Lame. So lame.
“Ah, I see. Yeah. It’s okay.”
“Buy me a coffee? Yes, you have 20 minutes to impress me.”
We went back to her table. She took the money straight out of my hand and bought the coffee herself. She carried herself so greatly, as if she was the queen of the world and could conquer anything that faced her. She was tough.
So weak. So blindly weak. I had never met someone so vulnerable to attraction. His efforts were cute, the half smile he gave me here and there, the light pink of blush that frosted his cheeks when he thought I wasn’t looking. He was cute.
I told her where I was from, where I was going to school and about my future. She couldn’t have cared less. Her eyes were glued to the lip of her coffee cup. It was like I didn’t exist until she puckered her lips and placed her coffee on the table.
“What are you passionate about?”
“What do you love unconditionally?”
Her question caught me by surprise. I didn’t necessarily know. I thought about it for a moment. “Language. I really want to learn a ton of languages. I love interaction.”
“No doubt about that.” I giggled. Damn.
She laughed. Wow. “Yeah, and I really want to see the world and I love to write plays.”
“Well then, what are you doing here? Why are you not in Europe?”
“School. Life, I guess. I’m glued to the system.”
Her eyes filled with rage. “Take me.”
“Lets go. Come on. I need to pack and so do you.”
And with her power and determination, we were in Paris by morning. Falling in love. Married within the year. The pain I had seen in her that day in the coffee shop faded: her defensive attitude withered.
“And that’s our love story.” I said to Charlie, our first born with the same lightning blue eyes I saw on her that very day in the book store.
“Thats our love story.” I said reassuringly to my husband, looking back at our five year old and noticing the same gentleness I saw in him that very day in the book store.