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He didn’t believe in love. How could he when no-one had ever seemed to love him? They always said they had, but they also said lots of things that they didn’t mean.
He flicked through the Television channels and thought it must be great to be famous. Everyone loved you when you were famous. But then, he thought again, did they, or was it just another mask they all wore, something they could put on, then take off again when the mood changed and the people who were loved once were now forgotten.
It was another windy, rainy day. The view from his bedroom window showed nothing more than a blurry pattern of a garden, colours running into each other. The few people who had braved the weather were rushing past, heads down, trying desperately to get in to the dry. So much like life, he thought. Ever since he could remember, people had been trying to run for safety, head down, not looking up. Even his parents, though they worked hard to support him, had been distant and busy, always busy.
He sat their watching the rain sliding down the window and the grey streets with their building streams. At least he wasn’t out there, but at the same time, he wasn’t doing anything either. Trapped by his own doing, not wanting to go outside, staying put, that was what he did.
So he looked and watched and stood. But something caught his eye. Someone was standing on the other side of the road. They weren’t running, head down to safety. They were standing in the rain. Something about them glowed, stood out from the rest of the grey scenery around them. They weren’t still though, a hand beckoned, beckoned him. It beckoned HIM.
Dare he escape the safety of the home? The rain poured down outside, there was no doubt he was going to get wet, but he felt different, unafraid of the rain. He felt his body turn from the window and leave the warm and the dry, where no-one looked and no-one felt. He opened the door, crossed the road and stood there, in front of the stranger.
He was looking into the eyes of the stranger, not down, not running away. Her hair was glistening, her eyes lit a fire in his heart. The figure smiled at him, at HIM. They SMILED at HIM. The rain stopped, the sun appeared in a burst of bright rays, and as he looked back at his house, the vision of a rainbow faded into view and the colours flooded back to the streets.
She moved closer, into his space, into his heart. She hugged him and the world exploded in colour. Because he crossed the road.
He flicked through the Television channels and thought it must be great to be famous. Everyone loved you when you were famous. But then, he thought again, did they, or was it just another mask they all wore, something they could put on, then take off again when the mood changed and the people who were loved once were now forgotten.
It was another windy, rainy day. The view from his bedroom window showed nothing more than a blurry pattern of a garden, colours running into each other. The few people who had braved the weather were rushing past, heads down, trying desperately to get in to the dry. So much like life, he thought. Ever since he could remember, people had been trying to run for safety, head down, not looking up. Even his parents, though they worked hard to support him, had been distant and busy, always busy.
He sat their watching the rain sliding down the window and the grey streets with their building streams. At least he wasn’t out there, but at the same time, he wasn’t doing anything either. Trapped by his own doing, not wanting to go outside, staying put, that was what he did.
So he looked and watched and stood. But something caught his eye. Someone was standing on the other side of the road. They weren’t running, head down to safety. They were standing in the rain. Something about them glowed, stood out from the rest of the grey scenery around them. They weren’t still though, a hand beckoned, beckoned him. It beckoned HIM.
Dare he escape the safety of the home? The rain poured down outside, there was no doubt he was going to get wet, but he felt different, unafraid of the rain. He felt his body turn from the window and leave the warm and the dry, where no-one looked and no-one felt. He opened the door, crossed the road and stood there, in front of the stranger.
He was looking into the eyes of the stranger, not down, not running away. Her hair was glistening, her eyes lit a fire in his heart. The figure smiled at him, at HIM. They SMILED at HIM. The rain stopped, the sun appeared in a burst of bright rays, and as he looked back at his house, the vision of a rainbow faded into view and the colours flooded back to the streets.
She moved closer, into his space, into his heart. She hugged him and the world exploded in colour. Because he crossed the road.
Grix Thraves wrote:
> Enjoyed that.
But did it cheer you up? ;-)
I read it too, nice writing. Very representative (I think anyway) of so many people, (including myself a lot of the time) being scared to do things, try things that are unfamiliar...
> Enjoyed that.
But did it cheer you up? ;-)
I read it too, nice writing. Very representative (I think anyway) of so many people, (including myself a lot of the time) being scared to do things, try things that are unfamiliar...
Enjoyed that.
He didn’t believe in love. How could he when no-one had ever seemed to love him? They always said they had, but they also said lots of things that they didn’t mean.
He flicked through the Television channels and thought it must be great to be famous. Everyone loved you when you were famous. But then, he thought again, did they, or was it just another mask they all wore, something they could put on, then take off again when the mood changed and the people who were loved once were now forgotten.
It was another windy, rainy day. The view from his bedroom window showed nothing more than a blurry pattern of a garden, colours running into each other. The few people who had braved the weather were rushing past, heads down, trying desperately to get in to the dry. So much like life, he thought. Ever since he could remember, people had been trying to run for safety, head down, not looking up. Even his parents, though they worked hard to support him, had been distant and busy, always busy.
He sat their watching the rain sliding down the window and the grey streets with their building streams. At least he wasn’t out there, but at the same time, he wasn’t doing anything either. Trapped by his own doing, not wanting to go outside, staying put, that was what he did.
So he looked and watched and stood. But something caught his eye. Someone was standing on the other side of the road. They weren’t running, head down to safety. They were standing in the rain. Something about them glowed, stood out from the rest of the grey scenery around them. They weren’t still though, a hand beckoned, beckoned him. It beckoned HIM.
Dare he escape the safety of the home? The rain poured down outside, there was no doubt he was going to get wet, but he felt different, unafraid of the rain. He felt his body turn from the window and leave the warm and the dry, where no-one looked and no-one felt. He opened the door, crossed the road and stood there, in front of the stranger.
He was looking into the eyes of the stranger, not down, not running away. Her hair was glistening, her eyes lit a fire in his heart. The figure smiled at him, at HIM. They SMILED at HIM. The rain stopped, the sun appeared in a burst of bright rays, and as he looked back at his house, the vision of a rainbow faded into view and the colours flooded back to the streets.
She moved closer, into his space, into his heart. She hugged him and the world exploded in colour. Because he crossed the road.
He flicked through the Television channels and thought it must be great to be famous. Everyone loved you when you were famous. But then, he thought again, did they, or was it just another mask they all wore, something they could put on, then take off again when the mood changed and the people who were loved once were now forgotten.
It was another windy, rainy day. The view from his bedroom window showed nothing more than a blurry pattern of a garden, colours running into each other. The few people who had braved the weather were rushing past, heads down, trying desperately to get in to the dry. So much like life, he thought. Ever since he could remember, people had been trying to run for safety, head down, not looking up. Even his parents, though they worked hard to support him, had been distant and busy, always busy.
He sat their watching the rain sliding down the window and the grey streets with their building streams. At least he wasn’t out there, but at the same time, he wasn’t doing anything either. Trapped by his own doing, not wanting to go outside, staying put, that was what he did.
So he looked and watched and stood. But something caught his eye. Someone was standing on the other side of the road. They weren’t running, head down to safety. They were standing in the rain. Something about them glowed, stood out from the rest of the grey scenery around them. They weren’t still though, a hand beckoned, beckoned him. It beckoned HIM.
Dare he escape the safety of the home? The rain poured down outside, there was no doubt he was going to get wet, but he felt different, unafraid of the rain. He felt his body turn from the window and leave the warm and the dry, where no-one looked and no-one felt. He opened the door, crossed the road and stood there, in front of the stranger.
He was looking into the eyes of the stranger, not down, not running away. Her hair was glistening, her eyes lit a fire in his heart. The figure smiled at him, at HIM. They SMILED at HIM. The rain stopped, the sun appeared in a burst of bright rays, and as he looked back at his house, the vision of a rainbow faded into view and the colours flooded back to the streets.
She moved closer, into his space, into his heart. She hugged him and the world exploded in colour. Because he crossed the road.