Nightfall

Image result for black and white forestThe sound feet hitting the pavement in perfect rhythm was the only sound which resonated through the quiet street. They belonged to a young woman taking the same route she takes everyday, with her knowing that she would arrive to work late and that no one would realise. She continues at her relaxed pace, with footsteps growing slightly heavier as the same unease shot through her. This unease was the reminder that this was her life until the end of her days. The town was too predictable, thus for her, too boring. Nothing ever changed, not the people, and never their routine.

This was proved when she turned into the busy street, greeted by the eyes of the barber peering out of his glass shop front. There was the same awful aroma coming from the real estate agents sucking their morning fag. Then the barking of the dog with his owners resting on the bench. All sounds and senses dulled ever so slightly with the familiar bustle of cars in traffic. This isn’t where I’m meant to be, she had always thought. It just doesn’t feel right.

A singular raindrop fell, leading her to sigh and pull an umbrella from her bag anticipating this change of weather. Not much time passed before the downpour increased, leading to the streets to clear. She watched a bus crammed with people stuck in traffic and decided to continued by foot — extending her beloved solitude. Another turn led her to enter an empty park, her usual shortcut which truly was not shorter. She stopped the blaring music in her ears to listen to the sounds of the rain hit the surface. 

The clouds above merged into a grey storm, showing no sign of stopping. The pitter patter of the water hit her umbrella forming a gentle beat which calmed her. The rhythmic sound was disrupted with the emergence of footsteps running through mud, accompanied by a heavy panting. It was sudden but the footsteps were closely approaching. 

Her pace began to quicken and it was not long before she achieved a full out sprint. She did not dare turn around, instead she glued her eyes to the setting directly in front of her, praying never to hear that gnarly panting again. A time soon came where she could no longer run, her ears ringing and vision blurred. She hunched over, squatting close to the wet grass, still with the umbrella in hand but not positioned above her. Her throat was aching due to a combination of the weather and the most exercise she had done in years, breathing hurt, yet she was hyperventilating. Her chest felt like it was on fire, and a twinge of fear remained instilled into her. When she was able to hear again and the need to throw up finally subsided, she had realised she could not hear the rain, nor any footsteps and bad things which followed it. It was replaced by an undisturbed tranquility. 

The feeling of was cut short when cold bony hand touched the woman’s shoulder. “Finally,” a deep voice said, belonging to a man towering over her. He stood upright making his six foot demeanour seem even taller, he was composed, no sense of uneven breathing, just serenity, in contrast to the woman near him. She turned around, examining the stranger’s face. Due to his paleness, his skin seemed to illuminate, his dark attire did not help his complexion — he wore a long black jacket with a hood over his head while strands of long damp black hair peeking out. His most prominent — and unsettling — feature were his black eyes staring down at her.

“Why were you running?” he asked, monotonously.

She racked her mind, wondering how she could explain to a stranger that she was running from something she never even saw. She stood upright mimicking his posture whilst dusting off her trousers. “Just late to work, so I should make a move.”

“I don’t think you’re going to make it there.”

“Excuse me,” she pushed past him and walked with urgency.

Her apprehension had returned, not able to stay near the strange man but her mind fixated on the initial creature she was trying to escape. She roamed further away, expecting to see the same red bricks from the wall she encounters every day, but instead was greeted by an unfamiliar terrain. The path that would lead her to work was no longer there, replaced by trees vaguely concealing a railroad. Though the heavy downpour stopped, the grey sky remained, however darker than before. 

She stood frozen at her new surroundings when the stranger approached her again. She didn’t know where to go, but wanted to run. “Stay away from me. I bet you were the one chasing me before as well.” The minimal composure she hoped to maintain had disappeared. 

“What are you talking about?”

“Something was running behind me, which is how I ended up — well I don’t even know where.”

“Please, honey, I don’t run. The real question is how you got here. What are you, like a witch or something?”

“What did you call me?”

“So not a witch.” He held his hands up. “You can’t be a reaper too. Sure, you’re pale enough but your eyes are brown.”

“Excuse me. I’m not going to stand here and be insulted, especially after you have already threatened me.” She turned around, grabbing her phone hoping to see where she was, but instead came to face a black screen.

The strange man was before her again, he had no audible footsteps, nor presence. “I guess you’re small enough to be a fairy.” He slyly smiled at his quip, while she just glared at him. “That can’t be it. There is hate in those eyes, you are nowhere near ‘sparkly’ enough to be a fairy. With those eyes, you must be a siren.”

“Hey, weirdo! What the fuck are you on about?”

There was silence. 

“Actually, you know what I don’t have time for this. Just tell me where I am so I can go work.”

“Nightfall.”

“Where am I?” she repeated.

“That is where you are.”

“Nightfall is not a real place.”

“Look around, darling. That is where you are.”

“I am lost in a strange place with strange man.”

“I am no mere mortal, miss. I am a reaper.” 

She fell to the ground and uttered the most pathetic words: “I’m gonna be late for work”.

A silence swept over them once again. He didn’t leave – a kind gesture that she did not want, nevertheless she quickly became consumed with her own thoughts. “I’m going to die here,” she muttered.

“Hate to break it to you but if you’re here then you’re probably already dead,” he said.

“You severely lack any sensitivity.” God, why could he not leave? “Earlier when you said you were a reaper. Did you mean like grim?”

“Is there any other kind?” a proud smile spread across his face as he bowed dramatically.

As he hunched over she grabbed his collar. “You bastard did you bring me here. I’ll fucking kill you.”

“What a gross misconception.” He sounded hurt and easily escaped her weak grasp. “Reapers don’t take lives, they only guide them to the afterlife.”

“Genius, are you meant to guide anyone today?”

“I usually get a name, one second.” He gestured with his index finger as he turned his pockets inside out like a schoolboy. “Nothin’”.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The warmth of the mug radiated to her fingertips. She stared down at the hot beverage, firmly believing that comfort can always be found in a cup of tea. The steam raised up warming face as she slowly took a sip. Familiarity, is all she thought.

Due to pity and curiosity, the “reaper” could not help but invite the lost woman into his home. She never went into a stranger’s home, but considering the circumstance, an exception was made. It was homelier than she had presumed. From the outside, his house looked like a small bungalow, however inside it was strangely spacious. The minimalist composition further added to this sparse look. There were no dividing walls, the bedroom overlooked the living room and past this was the kitchen. The kitchen particularly stood out, differing from the rest of the house, as it was contemporary and bright. She also could not help be comforted slightly by the thought of a reaper wearing an apron and preparing meals like a normal person.

The rest of the house was dark, which suited him more. The sofa she sat on was black, similarly with the rug that rested below her feet. Behind her was his bedroom, with a black brick wall complemented by an array of  grey decor.

Her trance was cut short from the harsh steps of the so-called reaper. Before she even looked up, she  could see him pacing back and forth in her peripheral vision. “I don’t understand,” he said.

“You and me both, dude.” Finally relaxed and embracing the new warmth, she gulped down the hot tea. She stretched on his couch and began to lay down.

“No, no,” he rushed toward her before her back could rest against the leather of the sofa, placing his hands on her back and pushing her up. “No,” he repeated. “Don’t make yourself comfortable. You’re going to heaven or hell or whatever the afterlife is. But you don’t belong here.”

“Well, apparently you’re the expert, so you tell me what to do.” I was clearly a novice at this whole dying thing, she thought. 

He wanted to retaliate, but quickly deflated, knowing he had no rebuttal.  “Why are you relaxed now? Ten minutes ago, you were frantic, cursing me out.”

She shrugged. “Ten minutes ago, you were level-headed and carefree. You’re looking pretty flustered now.” She knew she was irritating her only hope to get answers but in this moment she finally did not have a care in the world. “What usually happens when someone dies?”

“I get a name and when I read the name I see the person’s face. I wander out to the forest and in the middle of the plains, someone’s lying there. They’re unconscious, laying in the same exact place, every time. When they come to, they can’t recall their life but when I look into their eyes, I see it all — guiding them through these wastelands, where they gradually remember as well. When they know their truth, then they have reached the end. For each person, it’s different but it’s usually a gate — a gate to the next life. The final one.”

“Interesting. But it proves I’m not dead. I remember everything, my whole life. My house for example, it’s nice. Not too big but not too small. There’s the porch door which is white and leads to the black tiles where I throw my shoes when I get home. Then there’s another door, a cream colour. This leads to our hallway. There’s two doors, the one with a glass pane leads to our living room. It’s all open, so we have a long room and the kitchen at the end. Above the kitchen is a skylight, which you can see from my room. The kitchen has a lot of light which I always hated a bit because it blinds me first thing in the morning. The-”

“Okay!” He cut her off, clearly agitated, “I get it! Was there anything weird about the events leading up to before I saw you?”

“It started off as a pretty normal day. It was raining before I got here, real heavy rain, it even had the same rain smell mixed with petrol and mud. And of course, the weird rabid dog panting which I thought came from you.”

His eyes widened. “Hellhounds,” was all he muttered. “Did it bite you? Tear you limb from limb?”

“No, I ran.”

“No one could ever outrun a hellhound, especially considering how unfit you are. Coughing your lungs out from the slightest bit of exercise. It is just so strange.”

She walked up to him extending her hand out as a sign of friendship. “We spent a bit of time together and I find it odd that we haven’t introduced ourselves yet. My name is Noor.” There was brief silence therefore Noor took it upon herself to continue speaking. “It means divine light in Arabic, fitting right?”

He was wary but graciously accepted the act of kindness. “Right.”

“This is the portion of the conversation where you say your name.”

“I’m reaper, I guess.”

“That’s not a name, you must have had a name once. A life aside from reaping.”

“This is all I know. All I have ever done. I am but a reaper.”

“So how long you been doing this gig?”

“What is with the interrogation?”

“I’m trying to be friendly.”

“I think I preferred when you were threatening me.” He sighed, “as far back as I can remember. The beginning of time, I guess. I don’t know. I don’t know when it started or when it will end.”

“De-pressing,” she said in a sing-song tone.

“I am sorry I don’t get the same luxury as you deplorable humans.” Noor was shocked, wondering what she had said to hit a nerve, and also hurt by his harsh words.

It wasn’t long before he spoke again. “I apologise for my outburst. I’m never like this, reapers don’t have a lot of emotion —  it helps maintain a judgement free zone. But I have met a lot of people. I have seen their deepest darkest secrets and all their desires, the flaws. I am not the one to pass judgement — but I see it and I can’t pretend like I haven’t.”

“So, you don’t like humans, how about the witches and sirens and fairies you mentioned? Maybe I’ve met one.”

“Doubtful. There are things not in your world which can enter mine. It’s like walking through a neighbourhood for them. Any being with free will have the same issues. And for the record I don’t hate humans.” He smiled, slyly referring to Noor. This was the first time he really smiled at her and she couldn’t help but grin back.

“I don’t want to make this about myself again but can you see anything about me, even a glimpse?”

“That’s exactly it. When I look at you, it’s a complete blank. Usually, I see everything when I look in their eyes. I see their souls. The eyes are a window to the soul, never underestimate how true that is. I see what they don’t know about themselves. Just to summarise, paper, vision, memory lane which then leads to the gate. I’m a glorified delivery boy. With you, there’s nothing, I didn’t even realise you came here, I didn’t know your face, I know nothing about you. It irks me.”

“Maybe it’s just a delayed reaction. What if you look in my eyes, like really look in them?”

“It couldn’t hurt to try,” he said. They sat opposite each other, legs folded like school kids. As they stared into each others eyes, his face betrayed him to show that he once again reached a disappointing blank. “You have black eyes,” he noted.

Noor knew that he was unable to see her years unfold before his very eyes, instead she saw his. The entirety of the reaper’s existence flashed before her. However, he was no reaper, not anymore and he wasn’t from the start as he believed. There is more to his story, that he had yet to learn. A sad story of a boy destined to live a normal life, but died before he became a man. As her vision became clouded, she felt a dampness on her face, but she saw his face change. Something he hadn’t felt in years despite the thousands of people who previously broke down in front of him — empathy.

“Micah,” was all that left her lips.

He looked at her in disarray, completely unaware of all that she had seen. He instinctively wiped Noor’s tears with his thumb, which she knew that he had never been compelled to do for any other soul. That only made her tears flow more. She abruptly stood up, startling him slightly. With her back turned to him, she quickly wiped the tears with her pulled sleeves.

Micah stared at her, restraining himself from comforting her. Before she was ready to face him again, she dug her hands deeps into her pocket and felt a roughness at the bottom, brushing over it with her thumb. Removing the foreign object — a scrunched-up piece of paper — and unfolding it, which revealed the new name Noor had just learnt.

“Micah, would you like to go for a walk?” Noor asked.

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The Midnight Healer

This is from the first chapter of my WIP, which is a story within a story.
The story told of a healer, so great at her job, that it was believed she could grant wishes and cast spells. She would credit her herbs which were harvested under the moon, she claimed the moon amplified their medicinal qualities. She was well-known for abilities, along with the immeasurable kindness she carried in her heart. Thus making her beauty incomparable to any, causing many suitors to swoon after her despite the fact she was a widow with three young children. She could not bear children with her only love, the irony that the only thing she could not cure was his infertility. She was a mother without children, the cruellest trick life played on her. Alas, she was not discouraged and would later bring in the strays which came to her.
After the loss of her great and only love, suitors flocked to their lonely island to meet her, despite the deserts and oceans crossed, she would decline every opportunity presented to her. Coming from far and wide, all more impressive than the last; rich men, beautiful men, famous men. None of these mattered to the woman, not even when a prince was among one of these well-travelled types. A spoilt, dastardly prince, nonetheless, called this by his own people but he hoped that with the proposal, he would finally garner the approval which would gain him his throne. After yet another rejection, the rude prince cursed the healer, referring to her as a “clear commoner”; much like the many born in his village. Suffice to say the prince was run out of town after he tried to strike her.
Another account told of a traveller, who washed upon their lonely island. He had nothing; nothing to live for, not even memories to rely upon, his consciousness didn’t even return until a week of being on the island. The woman nursed him, as she had done for many others. When he awoke, looking into her kind eyes, he was driven to insanity by his perceived love for her and without even knowing what belongings were, he knew he must have her.
It is important to note that despite the differing accounts, this particular part has a unanimous ending. The amnesiac faced countless rejections and in his disillusioned state he started to believe she would become his if she could understand his loss. In that epiphany he set ablaze to her house, the flames consumed the home that her past love had built, containing the many memories that her family provided her and her almost-magic herbs. The house taken hostage by the inferno, also imprisoned the most precious lives she had come to mother. The soft-spoken peaceful lady immersed in a blind rage and drove the nearest sharp object through his heart, killing him where he stood. In the dead of the night under the brightest of stars she wept, mourning the life she lived and the children she raised. Every soul in the village heard her, even the animals were startled by the sound of a mother mourning her children. Despite the loud cries, not one person saw her, not that night nor the nights which followed. Even when sky was clear, the moon could not be seen, disappearing in the night along with the healer. Each night they would search in complete darkness. Finally one night, long after her children’s bodies were extracted and buried, the weeping which struck sorrow in the hearts of every man, woman and child stopped and with that the moon was finally sighted, radiant and alive.

Nameless

I have always hated my name. I can’t remember the last time it was said without spite or malice. It held no meaning, nor had a definition that could be found. At most it was a mess of letters. My father seldom said my name but on those rare occasions where he did indeed utter it, it would only be to scold me or worse. I haven’t heard my name in for a significant period of time either, not from my mouth or anybody else’s. The prominent memories, or only remaining memories, being me laying face down on the bloody ground with sharp pains shooting across my entire body while chocking back tears, a scene which became all too familiar. Over time I learnt the tricks that would not annoy my father, therefore he had no reason to mention my name, whilst everyone else in my presence is too hung up on pleasantries, resulting in them calling me sir or prince.

But now I sit here, in front of a woman I admire and quite possibly love, as I hear as my name rolled of her tongue so beautifully. She said it so nonchalantly in the middle of a conversation, such an innocent setting. Yet I am rendered speechless. As I pause not knowing how to reply, she repeated my name again. Not knowing the effect it had on me. Completely unknowing that I could have cried from the mere sound of it. I haven’t heard it in years and I had completely disassociated from that name.

Then I remembered, the person gave me my name, not my contemptuous father. No, the first lady who loved me and who I had lost too young, had gifted that name with love. I once felt that love from that name. She had picked it out, so carefully, especially for me. “Your name means bravery, bravery to love and to fight. You’re so brave and so strong, my son.”

As my name was repeated in the present day with such care, said with love and it will again from this moment onward. My new beginning had started from that minuscule moment.

I love how she says my name. I love my name.

An Excerpt From Something I’ll Never Finish 

What has been written is what I found today in one of my notebooks for a character I created, who you will clearly see is very cynical and kind of mean. This must be at least 4 years old. 

It’s simple really. There is no real reason as to why I am who I am. No one has done me any real wrong. There aren’t any traumatic experiences on system for me either.

The real experiences occur everyday, the traumatic experience I talk of is life itself. How people are conquered, humans are fragile and stupid. I guess this is what makes me cynical because there is no reason to be happy. Happiness is just an illusion. Any person, any character in a book or any being in a movie will without fail wish for happiness and wish they could see a beauty in the world. They would gladly revoke everything they believe in and betray themselves for this illusion. Then, this is called a happily ever after.

The 30-Day Writing Challenge: Day 16

Day 16: The last thing you touched (other than the keyboard, mouse, screen, etc.) is trying to kill your protagonist. Explain why.

Working from home is a luxury few can afford. This was something that jasper could do. He set up a small photography business from his home at the age of 22. Initially, there was only low cost work for him such as pictures of pets and new-born babies, but with time it grew. His creativity lead him to photograph interesting people who could afford his creativity. Companies, individuals, he would accept anyone who would take his art. Now. he resides in a home where his studio is downstairs, the outside is beautiful and green and he can live upstairs.

From a young man living alone, you would expect empty takeout boxes on the counter, things scattered on the floor; just in general, for it to be a mess. However, this was not the case, it was immaculate. No takeout for him, the fridge was fully stocked with a diet based on his requirements and was healthy. He had lavish black couches which encapsulated the room. In the centre a short table which appeared to be based on a kotatsu. They matched the grey silver walls which was chosen specially to correspond with the grey marble fireplace. One wall was simply just windows as the lighting prevented him from getting headaches.

Everything was clean. Everything was in its place. Everything was beautiful. This room paralleled him so well. He was clean freak and it had to look picture ready. Even he constantly looked presentable, despite his long days, he would never look unpresentable. His clothes ironed and pressed, clean from any unsightliness. His hair was neat. This in no way meant he spent ages getting ready, he would simply know how to use his time. Efficiency is something he valued, due to his attention span being very short he spent almost all his life trying to do tasks in the most efficient manner.

He fell onto his black velvet couch, with a glass of wine in his hand and in his pyjamas. After hours of filtering through photos and editing, this was a very well deserves break. He even had his easily listening tracks playing. It was peaceful.

Suddenly, there was a banging which resonated across the room. Jasper jumped and saw the vacuum rush towards him. It was something out of a cheesy movie. It knocked over everything in its path until it reached him. He moved away from it, and tried to lean over to switch it off. The moment his hand met the demon vacuum, electricity ran through his body. The vacuum electrocuted him.

It edged closer again. He could feel and see sparks leaving the vacuum. It was one of those cordless fancy ones so he couldn’t even turn it off at the source.

He wrapped material over his hands and tried to turn it off again. It dulled out the sensation of being electrocuted but it was still a very prominent feeling. He pressed the button which should have turned it off. Nonetheless, nothing happened, it was still on and still hell bent on coming toward him.

It was ridiculous, he was spending a Saturday night fighting a vacuum. All he could think about was whether it was cleaning the room simultaneously to the ongoing destruction. He got a pillow and knocked it over. Used rubber gloves and dumped it outside.

Even though it was a possessed vacuum it was still just a vacuum.

On the outside of his door he saw a note which read “hope you enjoyed the surprise. There’s more to come.”

Japer was completely unfazed.

Instead he thought, “I need a new vacuum. And this time no fancy shit”.

The 30-Day Writing Challenge: Day 15

Day 15: Characterise the second-last app on your phone or the last website you’ve visited (before this one). Send this new character to the supermarket.

The confused young man ran from the top to bottom of the supermarket. He intended to go in simply for some milk but completely forgot what he came in for. He reckoned it must have been important if he actually made the trip, so he persevered. He thought that when he saw it then he would remember but up until that happens there was nothing else to do but run around like a headless chicken.

The whole supermarket was a mess, but only to him. To the typical human eye, it was normal. The items were stacked, dome in a manner to comply with regulations and all fit in. However, he could see the shabby workmanship, therefore he would often stop fix things up. His philosophy was if it wasn’t worth taking a picture then it simply wasn’t worth it. That was what he did, he made it look as if he was doing a shoot. Ridiculous as it may seem that a supermarket could seem anything other than how we see it but his world is different to ours, better in a way.

Quickly his tremendously short attention span would catch up and he would move on. There truly was an issue for him for paying attention for more than five minutes. From a young age his parents wanted to take his pills and he did for a short time but the main thing it provided was massive headaches and stifling his creativity.

Eventually he gave up and left the supermarket, along with several items he didn’t he need. But thought he did. Just a bag of snacks, various fruits and a bottle of coke that was half finished already. He entered his house and wanted to wind down with a cup of tea. He boiled the kettle and went to the fridge for some milk.

Then he realised, he needed to go to the store.

The 30-Day Writing Challenge: Day 14

Day 14: Your character meets somebody new on the bus. His or her opinion about the person is changed by the end of the bus trip. How did this change occur?

Personally not a huge fan of this piece but oh well its posted. 

Jeering echoed the bus. I initially enjoyed the peace when on the bus, especially when I had nothing to preoccupy myself with. I was not accustomed to long journeys, consequently would usually come prepared with a book or maybe something to watch. However, my phone didn’t have long left, with the battery being on 5%. In addition to my oversleeping and lack of planning which made me forget to pack a book, thus it was simply me and my thoughts.

That was until the herd of rowdy boys entered the bus. They must have been in their early to mid-twenties yet are screaming like kids.  I looked down at my watch, not even thirty minutes had passed with me on this bus. I still had over an hour left of my journey. All I could hope was that it quietened down soon.

I sat somewhere in the middle to avoid any attention, not close to the front where kids want to sit with their parents and not at the back where groups of teens and young adults crowd to. I was certain that no one would sit around me, there was plenty of space but just my luck that these loud boys would come sit near me.

This would have been the time to put my headphones in, despite me not playing any music due to the critically low battery, I did so anyway. It was a great way to block out sound and just give me the ambience of being of a world of my own. It was not long before one of the boys in the group who was sat immediately next to me waved to get my attention.

It was all a lot of small talk I didn’t pay attention to. Some mean statements. Comments made at the expense of others while he made what he thought were compliments to me. Then the badgering for my name and number. Decline. Decline. The amount of times I had to say no before he stopped. This man was rude and did not take no for an answer. Being with his friends gave him a false sense of security. I hope he felt as awkward as I did.

I just inserted my silent headphones in before he could talk again and looked out the window. My eyes were firmly set on the outside for the remainder of the time he was next to me. By the time he left I could see many of his groupies also did. I exhaled with a relief.

I didn’t like being put into a position like that by a pushy man who cannot take no for an answer. My anxiety disintegrated. Again, I was left to relish the silence once again until a voice behind me said-

“I apologise for my friends.”

“Excuse me,” I said as I removed an earbud. I turned to face him, he was one of the boys in the group.

“The guy who was sitting next to you. He’s a-,” there was a pause, “an acquaintance. He acts like that but he isn’t too bad. When you overlook some things.”

“Overlook a lot, I’m assuming.”

“I saw that you were uncomfortable and I want to apologise.”

“Okay bud. Listen up. I can see that you’re not as pushy or annoying as your previous friend. But in the future if a girl feels uncomfortable then tell your friend to stop. Don’t think that you are nice because you apologise after.”

“Wow sorry I tried.”

“That was a little rude on my part. But I just felt weird then.”

“Don’t worry about it. I will make sure he’s not that pushy. Even though I’m not doing it, I stand to the side when he pesters others.”

I smiled. “I accept your previous apology.”

“So you don’t think I’m so bad anymore?”

“Meh.” I turned back around.

He said under his breath, “by the way, I know you aren’t listening to anything.”

I didn’t even bother playing around. I simply looked at him and asked “how could you possibly know that?”

“You were too stiff. Like not moving, you were trying too hard. It’s a knack, I am just good at reading people, most of the time at least.”

“I am accustomed to wearing them. I always listen to music but my battery is dying so I’m left to my own devices.”

“Would you like some company for the rest of the time? You can say no. I saw previously that you had no problem saying that.”

I laughed, “okay.”

He sat next to me and for the rest of the bus journey we spoke. Spoke about trivial things. I found out about his job, his likes and dislikes. Despite my initial opinions he was a good person. It was a lovely conversation.

Until I got to my destination. We said goodbye and that was all. I left with something else though. Perspective.

The 30-Day Writing Challenge: Day 2

Day 2: Think of three people in your life. Give your character the hair and laugh of person 1, the face and bedroom of person 2, and the wardrobe and mannerisms of person 3. This is your new protagonist. Feel free to give him or her any other characteristics you’d like. Give us an idea of who your character is by describing only the first 60 seconds of the character’s day.

 

My eyelids fluttered open with the sun peaking through a gap from my curtains. I reached for my phone on my desk, which is positioned conveniently next to my bed. I sat up ever so slightly, that now my head rested on the wall instead on the pillow. As my eyes adjusted to the start of the day, I could see the time on the screen read: 8:40 am. I could see my black hair in front of my eyes, obscuring my vision, and knew it was sticking up at the top of my head. I scanned the room, the other side of my bed had the door which was still tightly closed. Another corner separated by a radiator, I glimpsed at the draw where I often chuck clean clothes, on top they were unfolded and scattered across. After I spotted that my wardrobe was open revealing clothes that I could possibly wear through the day, however my day had not yet started. I threw my phone on the desk scattered with notes an a half-open book. I could get up and put some music on to try to dance awake, but instead I got the pillow and press it on my face and try to return to my slumber so I did not have to think a moment longer.

I got bored and thought I would offer a slight visual. It was done in a short time and I was trying to do people that I know so I apologise for the quality. Just drawn for fun with an idea of how the character should look in my art style.