A little Story...

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Romance  |  House: Booksie Classic
a short, seemingly inconsequential encounter, edged in a greater importance.

Submitted: August 02, 2008

A A A | A A A

Submitted: August 02, 2008



She strolled down the hill, her gaze never averting from the ground. She managed to wear her white, cotton dress without appearing dazzling. It was crisp and fresh defying the light breeze with its own lightness as it danced around her legs. She was simplicity.

He saw her coming from a while off and as she got nearer he could see the thick, silvery smudge of lead that graced the side of her right hand. She had been writing. When she wrote, she always smeared pencil onto her hand from going over the letters. From the shade of the lead, he could tell she had been writing furiously. All he wanted to do was read her.

He approached her with a casual air of confidence and asked, “What were you writing?”

For the first time she looked up. Her eyelashes fluttered, giving way to a startling, cobalt blue with a hint of something more. It killed him not to be able to figure out what it was.

She answered dreamily,”…nothing…”

“You seemed to have written a lot about nothing.” He stared meaningfully at her hand.

“Well I’m descriptive,” she countered, penetrating him with her eyes that killed.

All he did was smile at her with a grin that was a little too wide, bearing teeth that were a little too straight.

Before they both knew it, they were parting ways. A silence had fallen between them and the only thing that could fill it was walking.

She sighed as she tripped down the path she had fallen onto. Her feet treading on familiar twigs. In a way she was sad he had gone, she was comfortable with him. There was no need to fear falling in love with him, for how could she ever fall in love with someone with too wide of a grin, and too straight of teeth? And let’s face it, love is dangerous.

Again she sighed, letting everything out in a breath of air. She knew she was a picture of elegance, but then she looked down at her hands. They were exposed, showing that emblem of her writing. She thought that to be on the safe side, next time she would wear gloves.

© Copyright 2018 Amanda Paige. All rights reserved.

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