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It was as if the world was spinning too fast, spinning too fast to make sure that the things, the people on it were at the same pace. The world was like a train, and she was like a piece of paper, lost in the drift, not quite staying along with everyone and everything, levitating above the ground and just floating.
She was floating.
The people were moving too fast, rushing from place to place, determined to get what they wanted, thinking of no one but themselves. But she wasn’t. She was stuck in a beautiful place.
And she was colorful.
In the world of blacks and whites, and the grays in between, she was the color in the middle. She was the garden, the museum, the creature. People gravitated towards her; she was the source of happiness in the world.
She stood at the bus stop, clutching a notebook in one hand, staring at herself in a puddle, letting the rain wash her. She held an umbrella, but not for her head. She grasped it in front of her, covering her hands and notebook saying, "Wet hands ruin pages".
Of course, the world didn’t seem to notice her. Her bright blue dress stood out in the crowd of stormy sky, but nobody took a moment to look. Her brown hair curled around her chin, cut short because long hair only slowed her down. Her red lips were smiling, her eyelashes catching water droplets.
She missed two buses just standing there. Rain poured all around her, waves of mist spraying around her ankles. Streams of water drained down her face, running down her neck, her arms. She stood there colorfully, thinking colorful thoughts, lost in a world.
The rain decelerated, and then ceased. And people slowed down, and the sun shone. Faces looked towards the sky, letting the heat dry their faces. Almost. The world almost caught up with her. Time almost refastened itself
But as soon as it began, it was over. People realized they had somewhere to be, something to do. The street emptied slowly, buses carrying the people away.
But she still stood there, holding her umbrella. Her head was up now. She looked around thoughtfully and slowly. She smiled to herself and closed her umbrella. It seemed she’d escaped. She wasn’t caught in the drift anymore, she wasn’t floating.
She was flying.
Her blue dress dragged on the ground behind her as she walked away, smiling at people who didn’t, who couldn’t, see her. She walked into a world that wasn’t full of foolish people, a world that wasn’t dragging her down. She walked into a world of her.
Eva's note:
Personally, this is one of my favorite shorter stories that I have written. The idea came to me kind of suddenly, but I think it was sitting in the back of my mind for a while.
The inspiration for this piece was from a car ride downtown. I only saw it for a split second: a women at a bus stop, wearing a bright colored dress, looking as if she was about to go somewhere nice. All around her were people in neutral clothing, so she stood out. It was weirdly beautiful, and instantly I started thinking up story ideas.
I hope you liked!
She was floating.
The people were moving too fast, rushing from place to place, determined to get what they wanted, thinking of no one but themselves. But she wasn’t. She was stuck in a beautiful place.
And she was colorful.
In the world of blacks and whites, and the grays in between, she was the color in the middle. She was the garden, the museum, the creature. People gravitated towards her; she was the source of happiness in the world.
She stood at the bus stop, clutching a notebook in one hand, staring at herself in a puddle, letting the rain wash her. She held an umbrella, but not for her head. She grasped it in front of her, covering her hands and notebook saying, "Wet hands ruin pages".
Of course, the world didn’t seem to notice her. Her bright blue dress stood out in the crowd of stormy sky, but nobody took a moment to look. Her brown hair curled around her chin, cut short because long hair only slowed her down. Her red lips were smiling, her eyelashes catching water droplets.
She missed two buses just standing there. Rain poured all around her, waves of mist spraying around her ankles. Streams of water drained down her face, running down her neck, her arms. She stood there colorfully, thinking colorful thoughts, lost in a world.
The rain decelerated, and then ceased. And people slowed down, and the sun shone. Faces looked towards the sky, letting the heat dry their faces. Almost. The world almost caught up with her. Time almost refastened itself
But as soon as it began, it was over. People realized they had somewhere to be, something to do. The street emptied slowly, buses carrying the people away.
But she still stood there, holding her umbrella. Her head was up now. She looked around thoughtfully and slowly. She smiled to herself and closed her umbrella. It seemed she’d escaped. She wasn’t caught in the drift anymore, she wasn’t floating.
She was flying.
Her blue dress dragged on the ground behind her as she walked away, smiling at people who didn’t, who couldn’t, see her. She walked into a world that wasn’t full of foolish people, a world that wasn’t dragging her down. She walked into a world of her.
Eva's note:
Personally, this is one of my favorite shorter stories that I have written. The idea came to me kind of suddenly, but I think it was sitting in the back of my mind for a while.
The inspiration for this piece was from a car ride downtown. I only saw it for a split second: a women at a bus stop, wearing a bright colored dress, looking as if she was about to go somewhere nice. All around her were people in neutral clothing, so she stood out. It was weirdly beautiful, and instantly I started thinking up story ideas.
I hope you liked!
