misshuntaa
The plane was full and crowded and people chatted in hushed voices. I sat near the window, my head leaned against the little oval frame. My headphones hummed soft indie records into my mind and I couldn't help but be more content in this small moment in my life than I had ever been before. A pressure on my hand drew me from my wistful wanderings. He sat in the seat next to me, his hand still laced with mine where it hadn't moved since he fell into a quick nap. Now he was stirring again, gently squeezing me fingers to grasp reality and shake his dreams away. I watched him silently; the casual mess of his hair, his scruffy jaw (that was at that moment pulled wide in a lofty yawn) and his eyes, bright and hazey with sleep. They fell on me and grinned. The pilot announced we would be landing shortly. He leaned over to place a kiss on my cheek and I fell away into my thoughts again. Yes, I am perfectly content.
"What in bloody hell are you doing over there?" I ask from the bed, Jacob folded up on the floor with his face scrunched unattractively (which is quite an accomplishment for him since he seems to annoyingly always look like he walked straight from a teen vogue magazine) in concentration.
"Predicting the future." He says briskly and his eyes flick to mine and twinkle mischievously before flitting closed again.
I eye him then shift my homework and books laying across my lap like a perverse blanket of some sort so that I can rest my elbows against my knees and fix my best you're-completely-dumb-and-you-really-should-be-helping-me-work-on-this-homework-because-we-were-(too my complete and utter detestment)- partnered-together-against-our-will look. "Uh-huh, I see, and may I ask what the future holds?" I ask him after a moment.
He opens his eyes again and either ignoring my pointed stare or maybe because he's just that thick, he smirked and whispered in a mysterious voice pricking with sarcasm, "Well, its a little hazy but I'm definitely getting a lot of visions of us. Together. Weird considering I completely dislike you."
She realizes after countless failed attempts and fruitless efforts that all you really need to have to get where you want to get and do what you want to do is unwavering belief in yourself. Believe it or, it's one of the most difficult things to come by.
Day on day I wonder why she is so abstract. Why she constantly fixes me with a look as if I'm a rare specimen she's analyzing. I wonder why she is so damn perfect in her abundant flaws. She's an artist-- an artist with the talent of a million Picasos and then some. She studies me with smug fondness and a little bit of muffled mirth; not until I peak over her shoulder do I realize with a flattering start that she is drawing me. It's really a wonder that I don't smother her till both are breaths leave us for good at the very moment.
Midst the hustle and bustle of people on the streets, I make my way with my head down, a dark curtain of hair veiling my face from the world and its prying eyes. A group of teens to my left walk by briskly laughing and passing a cell phone around with glee. Thoughts storm around my head; memories, no less, and unpleasant ones from my highschool years. A couple across the street smothers each other in eskimo kisses and I think to myself, "I've never been given an eskimo kiss." The sky is a deep grey and mounds of black and purple clouds bank on the east. A fork of lightning cuts across the sky illuminating my destination. A bridge. The sooner I get there the better and then it will all be over and the pain will stop for good. My steps splash across the street and in my nerves and anticipation, I don't notice the man in front me until we collide and we're both sprawled into two oily puddles. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." I hurry out but he lifts his hand to stop my mutterings. He picks up his satchel and smiles at me warmly before helping me to my feet and strolling away without a word. My eyes follow his handsome figure for some time until its lost in the sea of people. I think, "Maybe, I'll just go home."
The train lolled to a stop not 50 feet from us. I could feel Oddie frozen at my side; his hand squeezing my tiny one till it was white and my fingertips were purpling. Thick billowing smoke rose high into the air as doors of the train carts slid open, screeching angrily. A flood of a hundred, one-hundred-fifty, two hundred and counting soldier clad in black from head to toe spread out from the train like a nasty oil spill; they stretched and yawned and scratched their stomachs indignantly. Suddenly, I'm being yanked, and Oddie is running and dragging me from the train station with a look of utter terror on his face. I don't understand it, but I don't need to. I run with him.
With his hand clamped tight around mine, he pulled me through town with an eager smile on his face. "Where are we going?" I asked sharply. He gestured for me to be quiet and continued to tug my arm after him. Eventually, a shape rose from the horizon as we made out way past the city and into the bare land surrounding it. "A train station." He whispered as a black strip along the ground focused into tracks and the building became distinctly prominent in the landscape; A mangled, overgrown clock continued it's steady ticks from a nook above the main doors. I have never seen this place before- never even heard of it- and by the current deteriorating state of the loading dock and ticket windows and benches, neither had anyone else in our town.
They embraced at the train station. It had been two years-- two long sufferable years and there she is again looking like the angel he remembered. If the weather wasn't so overcast and dark, and the train wasn't emitting eerie howls, the moment would have been quite a romantic one. Instead, it filled the both with a sense of foreboding. Both knew that this was illegal. Both could really cared less.
She's an angel. With golden blonde curls and milky smooth skin doused in golden flicks streaming in from the window of the train cart, the dawning sun just visible at the pink horizon. He doesn't know why she had taken a liking to him. Not that he minds. But her father minds-- the army of men marching around the perimeter of the train do-- her friends and family back home do. But maybe if they knew how beloved she were to him, how much he adored this angelic Charlotte, maybe they wouldn't kill him on the spot.
"Ah, yes, well you see, Mrs. Tutsufreeny, your husband was in the coffin when he was put up on the platform-- yes, yes, I can assure you he was perfectly fine-- Hm, what was that? Gone? Well, I promise that he is-- No, that's nonsense-- Ma'am, dead men don't go just strolling from their coffins willly nilly-- no ma'am, I am not mocking you-- n-no ma'am, I never once called you a liar-- Please, ma-- OUCH!"
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