Whitter

80% Illusion
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2002-10-09 20:07:21 (UTC)

Longing III

She plopped down with a sigh on her favorite bench and
opened up her
notebook to a clean page. She unfolded her pocket knife and
carefully
sharpened her tiny sketch pencil she had been using since
God-knows-when. Tiny chips of wood mixed with tiny silver
slivers of lead
fell onto her black jeans and she swept them off absently.
Her eyes scanned
the croud for potential subjects.

Something about this park seemed a part of her. It didn't
seem like the real world, everything seemed perfect here,
but she never really felt real. It was like she was
watching people through a television, and she felt
completely safe
because no one could get her. She had lived across the
street from the park for about
two years since she moved to New York from a small town on
the coast of
Maine to attend college. She came here almost every
afternoon since she
discovered the place, and had loved to sketch people from
her position on
the old wooden bench.

This place she came to to escape her thoughts. She was
rarely bothered
here, it seemed to her she wasn’t even noticed. She didn’t
mind that,
though. She liked being able to sketch people in peace and
be able to chill
out under the large maple tree in the shade.

One of her good qualities were being able to completely
blend into the
background, and not draw attention to herself. She never
was noticed, and
that was good. She liked the comfort of knowing that no one
knew
anything about her, or her past. Even in spending two years
here, she never
was social enough to get to know anyone, not even anyone in
her won
apartment building.

Sarah had never dated, she had been single her whole life.
She never
trusted anyone long enough to get to know them. Her fear of
trust had
built her a great wall and that wall comforted her in such
a way nobody
could explain. Her isolation wasn’t severe, mind you. She
still looked, she
still flirted occasionally at parties that her only friend
in the State dragged
her to, her sister Heather. Sarah hated to be touched and
guys knew it. The
second one got close enough to her, she put up her wall.
She couldn’t even
hug a man without her heart fluttering in her chest like a
trapped bird.

She shouldn’t have been nervous, she was gorgous. She
always had been
even since she was four years old. Her long raven black
hair fell to her
back, in sharp contrast to her pale, unblemished skin. In
fact, the only
imperfection noticeable was a scar along the side of her
face, from her right
eye down her cheek. Her eyes, were strikingly green,
almost like an exotic
cat. She never paid much attention to her beauty. She
could care less, in
fact. She had never been seriously interested in a male
ever. That is, until
she met Arron.


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