|Deviant Login||Shop||Join deviantART for FREE||Take the Tour|
I'd Love ToA swing sat alone in a secluded part of the forest surrounding the village, hidden in the leaves. The girl resting on the swing sighed; her black-blue hair shifted as the wind blew through it. She had ventured out in hopes of getting away from the stresses of her clan life. The thought of returning to it almost made her choke from anguish. Surely father would understand if I tell him what I feel. That thought made her chuckle despairingly.
Blocking out those thoughts, she began picking up her momentum on the swing; exhilaration and adrenaline was all she noticed as the air flowed around her usually covered skin, for she had shed her usual thick jacket for her favorite purple tank top. Getting further into the air, her forehead protector began to bounce around her neck. She laughed out loud and had to restrain herself from yelling with glee. Experiencing such childish delights in these war-torn days was rare and she made an effort to enjoy them w
Seize the DayIt was pretty obvious what was going to happen when I came upon Ella and Char.
Ella was sitting by herself on the bench holding Chars hand, while he stood up in a way I could only describe as fidgety.
I was about to call them out, to let them know of my presence. But I hesitated, knowing what was going to happen next.
Char fell to one knee still holding her hand; his face appeared as if he was just asked to try to drain the Niagara Falls with a bottomless bucket. Her face suggested surprise, and maybe delight too.
Then for the briefest moment the entire scene changed. And so did they...
Gone was the park and the couple, only to be replaced by a fairytale; The woman sitting on the bench became, for lack of better words: a princess. (Though shed spear me alive if she knew I compared her to such a person.) Ellas jeans and sweatshirt was replaced by a sea of blue. Azure velvet adorned her body to her feet. Silver accents touched her neck and h
The Coffee GodThe Coffee God behind the counter shuffles foot to foot, a dance of steam and espresso. Black painted fingernails, inch gauged ears and a gray striped sweatshirt, hood crooked on his back. There's a cigarette tucked behind one ear; it bobs and twitches with each step.
“Non-fat caramel latte,” he calls, just as he always does, part of a spell, part of a mantra, toneless (just a tuck at the end). I reach. He looks up.
The espresso maker hisses.
There's something like a grin, something like a spark, something like a shared secret linked eye to eye. When he passes over the drink (rough cardboard sleeve hot to the touch), he lingers. Our fingers brush, a shiver, a jolt, a ten-watt shock.
The Coffee God tilts his chin, shouts, “Hey, mind if I take my break now?”
and ducks around the counter without waiting for a reply.
He slips his cigarette between his lips without taking his eyes from mine. I follow him out the door.
Keep in Touch!