Practice might not make perfect, but it does generate words...
Story 1 -- Found
She found him well, if a bit pale. Not unexpected given that he'd been underground all this time.
She wondered if he'd turned his face, so like a flower with that hair of his, toward the light that had filtered down there.
What would he see from there? The soles of shoes, the clench of a mittened fist, possibly the odd glimpse up a skirt. And who would have looked down to see him?
Story 2 -- Sentimental Fools
They were sitting side-by-side, the way young men do, not looking at one another. The one with the oversized sports jersey was saying, "I don't even."
His friend, a skinny kid with an unfortunate haircut, repeated the question, "But did you know that she was out there?"
Sport-jersey rolled his eyes at the question. "Like, somewhere my sweet prince awaits me?"
His friend slid his glass around the tabletop in a circle, making the ice clink. He didn't look up from under the rug of his hair.
"Okay, yeah, I mean I was hoping eventually there'd be someone. You know ––" Sports-jersey's voice took on a mocking sing-song diction. "Somewhere, out there."
Sporty took a noisy gulp from his glass, pushing the ice away from his teeth with a pink tongue. The two gazed across the flimsy railing that separated the little tables from the rest of the sidewalk.
After a long pause, Sporty released his breath in a puff and said, "I don't know how I found her, but I was looking for as long as I remember."
His friend reacted with a single hair-flopping nod. They fist-bumped without drama, the glancing connection casual and unthinking.
She found him well, if a bit pale. Not unexpected given that he'd been underground all this time.
She wondered if he'd turned his face, so like a flower with that hair of his, toward the light that had filtered down there.
What would he see from there? The soles of shoes, the clench of a mittened fist, possibly the odd glimpse up a skirt. And who would have looked down to see him?
Story 2 -- Sentimental Fools
They were sitting side-by-side, the way young men do, not looking at one another. The one with the oversized sports jersey was saying, "I don't even."
His friend, a skinny kid with an unfortunate haircut, repeated the question, "But did you know that she was out there?"
Sport-jersey rolled his eyes at the question. "Like, somewhere my sweet prince awaits me?"
His friend slid his glass around the tabletop in a circle, making the ice clink. He didn't look up from under the rug of his hair.
"Okay, yeah, I mean I was hoping eventually there'd be someone. You know ––" Sports-jersey's voice took on a mocking sing-song diction. "Somewhere, out there."
Sporty took a noisy gulp from his glass, pushing the ice away from his teeth with a pink tongue. The two gazed across the flimsy railing that separated the little tables from the rest of the sidewalk.
After a long pause, Sporty released his breath in a puff and said, "I don't know how I found her, but I was looking for as long as I remember."
His friend reacted with a single hair-flopping nod. They fist-bumped without drama, the glancing connection casual and unthinking.
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