So, I'm just going to write overwrought fiction sometimes. Be aware.
"Do you want something to eat?"
I don't know why I bothered to ask, and he didn't bother to answer.
Brushing the snow from his shoulders, he shambled across the small room like a collection of brittle sticks.
The study was bathed in the flickering light of the fire. An hour ago it had been comfortable warmth, a nice place to read a book and allow one's mind to tumble out of the bitterly cold countryside. Now it felt stuffy and cramped.
"I-I'm sorry," I said. My voice cracked and I'm sure he heard it. He didn't give on though. I felt awkward, and the heat of the room gathered around my cheeks.
"I don't know who you are. Are you looking for someone?"
He turned as if to respond. His eyes shimmered with milky sadness and a noise rose from his throat like two cars scraping together as they passed in an overgrown lane. His head shook a small amount and he turned away.
He plunged his hands into the fire.
"Wait! What are you doing?" I screamed. I sprang up faster than the flames licking up his sodden sleeves.
He did not respond. There was a loud bang and my eyes hurt. He was gone.
I went back to my book. I reached for my cup of tea. It took three tries to get a firm grasp around the fine handle. I took a sip and brown liquid skittered down across my shirt.
I tried to put the incident out of my mind. Surely I was mistaken.
I don't know why I bothered to ask, and he didn't bother to answer.
Brushing the snow from his shoulders, he shambled across the small room like a collection of brittle sticks.
The study was bathed in the flickering light of the fire. An hour ago it had been comfortable warmth, a nice place to read a book and allow one's mind to tumble out of the bitterly cold countryside. Now it felt stuffy and cramped.
"I-I'm sorry," I said. My voice cracked and I'm sure he heard it. He didn't give on though. I felt awkward, and the heat of the room gathered around my cheeks.
"I don't know who you are. Are you looking for someone?"
He turned as if to respond. His eyes shimmered with milky sadness and a noise rose from his throat like two cars scraping together as they passed in an overgrown lane. His head shook a small amount and he turned away.
He plunged his hands into the fire.
"Wait! What are you doing?" I screamed. I sprang up faster than the flames licking up his sodden sleeves.
He did not respond. There was a loud bang and my eyes hurt. He was gone.
I went back to my book. I reached for my cup of tea. It took three tries to get a firm grasp around the fine handle. I took a sip and brown liquid skittered down across my shirt.
I tried to put the incident out of my mind. Surely I was mistaken.
2 comments:
That's... trippy. 0_0'
I hope that never happens when I'm drinking tea or reading, because it would really upset my delicate constitution.
Yeah, I don't think I would handle it all that well. There would certainly be more crying.
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