Look Up

Beams of sunlight shredded through her tumbling golden hair, the pages of the notebook under her fingers writhing in the sharp wind. He’d always watch her from a distance – the closer he was, the more the sun glinted off of her emerald eyes and in to his soul.

She scribbled again, black scrawls on the pale lines in the book, unreadable from this distance. Sometimes she would draw, sometimes she’d take her time with the words, carefully curling her letters and dotting her i’s, or sometimes she wouldn’t even write – she’d just stare at an empty page, words spilling from her eyes and willing themselves into reality, but the ink wouldn’t appear. Today she quickly scribbled spidery sentences that rose and fell like the waves lapping onto the shore, hemming the rock on which she sat.

The fast disappearing sun marked her interest today. She would shield her eyes and try to look in the direction of its glow, then scribble. Then she’d look at the sea, the foaming waves, and scribble. She’d smile. She’d scribble.

He sat on a bench, higher up than her, watching her every movement; every single strand of hair erratically wisping to tickle her scarlet cheeks was the object of his undivided attention, every tiny movement of her lips as she slowly breathed, every soft flutter of her eyelashes. Everything.

That day had felt just slightly different. The wind whispered different words into his ear – words of encouragement, words of delight. What might he be missing?

He might be missing the feel of her soft pink lips on his own.

He might be missing the tingling feel of her touch on his cold skin.


He thought about all the things he might be missing.



He knew that it just had to be today.


She stood up, sliding in heavy, uncoordinated steps down the slippery rock. Her notebook lay fluttering where she had just been sitting. And, to his surprise, she started spinning. She twirled, her flowery dress delicately floating around her knees as she danced. Her feet left tiny indentations in the sand, leaving a trail over where her little toes had touched.

And she stopped.


And for the first time.



She looked up.


About pasameerday

I haven't got a lot of time to keep you interested, so I'll be quick. I'm a writer from the UK, primarily of fantasy and sci-fi short stories, and occasionally of strange, nonsensical poetry. I like cats, the Sims, and pizza, and I go to sleep to the sound of a keyboard. I've been writing for my entire life; to be honest, I don't think I could ever bring myself to stop. I have a feeling I'm losing you, so I'll bring this to an end before you slowly start to back up, hoping I'll stop talking long enough for you to make a quick getaway. Wait... Where are you going? Hey! Wait! ... Stop!!
This entry was posted in Stories, Writing and tagged , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

Give me your Thoughts!

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s