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Anha

Australia

ON HIATUS

in a state of constant exhaustion, supporting the gays, and thinking about mythology.

dreaming of goddesses, sunflowers and italian sunshine.

write free, SomeFormOfWriting
miss you, LackingASocialLife
go be great, Paperbird

Message to Readers

english assessment piece. not proud of it, tell me where i can improve.

(just take into account that i had a 650 word limit here)

at a glance

March 26, 2019

FREE WRITING

11
Christian Jones wasn’t what you would’ve called an attractive man. Though he dressed as well as any other New Yorker should, he was dull and plain – sharp cheekbones offset by eyes a little too big and sunken, brow constantly creased – only his mother ever called him handsome. Which was, to be honest, embarrassing. Contrary to his name, Christian Jones was not religious. Work had no time for prayer, like New York had no place for asking a non-existent man in the sky for a promotion. It just wasn’t going to happen. Capitalist society didn’t allow for fantasies like that.

    But in this moment, Christian Jones was praying to whatever god there was to get him out of this situation. He hadn’t been able to say no when Jacob Walker had invited himself to the uptight man’s after-work respite, and had regretted his cowardice every second since. This guy just doesn’t shut his mouth.

    By the time the pair arrived at the automat, Christian Jones was quietly seething – he swore his teeth would grind to dust before the night’s end and his timely rescue from his co-worker’s unwanted company.

    He stared into his white mug and stayed that way for half an hour. If Jacob Walker had noticed, it didn’t show.
 

She stared into the swirling coffee of her white mug, still in motion from her brisk return from the dispenser. The frothy bubbles swam in concentric circles, then disappeared – popped or dissolved. Not that it mattered how – they were gone all the same. Just like they would be forgotten. She rested a rosy cheek on the ball of her palm and sighed.
She had a bad feeling about tonight.
 

He had watched her walk in, attention sudden adverted from the pulling hypnotism of his mug. She had strode in, her coat a muted emerald green, heels a steady rhythm against the marble floors. There was no outward indication of what had made Christian Jones look up from his mug when he heard the diner’s door swing open. All the other chiming bells that had fallen on his deaf ears, but not this one.

    There was nothing about this woman that screamed for attention, if only her coat were a little glossier, her dress a shade brighter. In fact, she seemed to shrink. As if hiding in plain sight were as comfortable as donning the clothes she wore. She had a certain look – no, not a look. A feeling, an air. He couldn’t describe it, but then again, Christian Jones was as much one for enigmatic phrases as he were for, say, feats of strength and courage or romantic gestures. But if Christian Jones had not been such a lesser man as he was, he would’ve said the girl was holding her breath. For what, he would not know.
She did not take a tray, nor a meal. Just a white mug, an identical product of manufactured perfection. She filled it and walked back the way she’d came, and seating herself at a table not far from the swinging doors she’d just entered. She put down the mug and sighed, ruby lips parting in weariness or dissatisfaction, Christian Jones could not tell. But he did know that he couldn’t take her eyes off her.

    It wasn’t a lustful stare, nor was it one of pure unsullied attraction – not that Christian Jones did not think this woman was attractive, but he had little experience in such matters – but one compelled by fascination and curiosity. Though if that exact thought were to cross his mind, he would think it quite rude and would force himself to stop staring immediately.

    The door jingled once more, and she rose to greet the new stranger. A patchwork of brown hues, he embraced her but her smile was stiff. They left together. Christian Jones did the same. Two cups of coffee, cold and unfinished.    

    Two paths never to cross again.

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  • March 26, 2019 - 4:48am (Now Viewing)

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3 Comments
  • r|A|i|N

    i like this - quirky & very funny. kind of like the diary of mundane things. your repetition of both first & last name is quite good too - gives it a superhero-y kind of vibe. the romance is sweet too. this is a very well-written piece.


    2 months ago
  • ~Kate T

    Oh wow, fantastic job with this piece. It's not too short or long and drawn out, and your word choice really makes everything come to life. This makes me want a part 2!


    4 months ago
  • Quille

    Hey, sorry your reviews are taking so long, I'll try to have them done soon :)
    Also, excellent job on this; I could really feel the emotion even though (maybe because :) you didn't say anything outright :) The last two sentences pack a heartbreak :DD


    4 months ago