A Stranger's Perspective

This is a short story of him and her but it is not a love story. Not in the traditional sense, it is when you count the feeling that stands hand in hand with love - Loneliness. The consequences of miscommunication and the unpredictability of life.

For the "Inspired by a song" competition, inspired by "Use Somebody" by Kings of Leon.

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2. Him

 

 

There has only been one incident in my life that a girl was worth spilling dessert. Yesterday. Monday. As though it really matters. The weekdays conspire together to torture people in an inhumane boredom induced hypnotic trance that we are only clicked free of on the weekends.  I momentarily lost balance of my yogurt pot in such a way to spill it over a girls hair. At least her hair smelt nice. The girl really worked herself up about it. Luckily I turned around and she asked me if I need a tissue. I didn’t even register her, just grabbed the tissue to attend to the diva beside me who shortly disappeared. I turned back to thank her and then I really saw her. Not just looked at her but saw her.  She was standing up tall; gorgeous locks of matte black curled perfectly framing her face, eyes like salt water and shy smile that lit up her face.  Beautiful. The type of beautiful that deserves to be noticed. I figured I could use someone like her. Organised and who thinks ahead, the opposite of me.  The cruel sound of the buzzer summoned the next customer so I thought I shouldn't waste anymore of her time. A simple salute as I walked off through the paint pealed doors with no direction as I sneaked a look back.
 

I missed the concert that night. I sat in the dark instead. My phone rang constantly with something near eighty missed calls. I didn't want to go in the first place. No motivation. No motivation for anything lately and there was so much thinking to do. Maybe things didn't have to be like this. Something moved inside me. I couldn't figure out what. I paced through my dark halls, stopping at windows looking at the stars and sympathising with the moon. The moon that depends on the sun to be seen. I turned on a dusty radio and laughed instantly. A pop infused sixties anthem whispered through the speakers. That night I turned up the maximum volume and danced frantically and desperately, crying and laughing at the beautiful, horrible unpredictable mess of life.
 

That morning I awoke to the tired, ghost of myself in the mirror. Recalling the night’s celebratory yet tragic events. I remember what I intended to do today. But there was a problem. A “but” there was no “but” yesterday. Something was holding me back. I knew it was her. I always knew it was her.  There was something incredible about her that made me think maybe the world wasn't full of bad people like me. Something honest. Something that gave me hope. I hadn't had that in a long time. At least now when I started walking I had a chance.
 

The world is a peculiar place when you know it is the last time you will see it. I wondered if the city really did look that magnificent or if it was the effect of my nostalgic perspective. The streets were almost silent. The gentle sounds of people’s slumbers lingered in the air. For the first time in a while that world felt like home. I knew I was becoming distracted. Intoxicated by the uninterrupted peaceful nature the city provided. So I roamed forward, looking down at the ground. Except when I heard another person’s footsteps. Then I would stare at their veiled faces that remained expressionless and unreadable which alienated me further. All I was looking for was one sign. A single sign. A smile or greeting would more than suffice. As I wondered through my scenic route received no sign from the dozens that rushed past with their briefcases and coffee cups.

The sky was beginning to turn the normal alkaline blue when at last i saw her. Standing, looking uneasy. I prayed for her to give me the sign. I couldn't speak to her. She didn't deserve the emotional baggage I dragged around. She deserved better. A beautiful girl like that deserves a beautiful life. I stuck my eyes down. Heart racing. She was my last chance. The last person between me and the bridge. One chance. One sign. One life. And then she looked at me for few seconds,looked right through me and walked across the bridge tossing some rubbish into the river. 
 

That was it. That was the sign that I was right in the first place. All I wanted was someone to prove me wrong with a sign before I reached the bridge. Now I know, so at least I am calm. Today’s a Tuesday the most productive, busy day of the week which may suit this. How I entered slowly and sleepily on a Sunday but got caught up and carried away by the busy current of a Tuesday. I’ll pray for her. As I climb up the barrier, two feet apart, staring down. She’s the one I feel sorry for, she’ll spend her life preparing for tomorrow and forget about today. Then I fell; I fell for her, I fell for us and I fell for the possibility of the beautiful life we might have been able to give each other. Finally I hoped with everything I had left that all of this would be enough for someone like her to notice me.

 

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