Post by Ahryantah on Sept 3, 2004 4:40:15 GMT -5
This one found its way onto Xenith a while back, but I'm reposting here. I'm also thinking about submitting it to a writing e-zine that takes flash fiction (it's too short to be a short story). So any comments are appreciated. I also need to get rid of exactly 76 words, as it's 576 words long and flash fiction isn't supposed to be over 500.
Anyway:
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He was standing on the dock, the wind whipping his wavy hair, unruly from going uncut for several months, around his head. She could see the faraway gaze in his gray eyes, eyes that looked nearly silver now. Amy had said he looked blue, but Hope didn't agree. He was not blue; not sad or melancholy. On the contrary, he looked, for the first time since she had known him, completely relaxed. She had seen anger from him, sadness, mirth, and, more often than not, a sarcasm that endeared him to less serious company. To her it always seemed to cover something else. The sarcasm was not him. But now he was relaxed, unguarded, and Hope would have given anything for the ability to read minds.
She unconsciously stepped forward, overcome by his presence, and even though it was a tiny, silent step, he realized she was there. He turned and stared, surprised, and for a moment she saw him as he really was, felt his openness, saw how unguarded he actually had been. Then a metaphorical gate slammed shut, and suddenly he was James again, just James, cynical, scathing, and not in love with her, as she so desperately was with him.
Hope's heart broke, but it was now such a familiar sensation she hardly noticed.
"What are you doing here?" he asked. It was not a harsh question, but it stung. He shouldn't ask. Hope had a sudden vision of joining him on the dock. He would accept her presence, put his arm around her, and the two of them could be relaxed together.
I love you, she thought, but aloud she said, "It's a public place."
He scowled, and Hope again wondered if she'd gotten the thought and the words confused. Sometimes it was hard to tell with him. "I want to be alone," he said. "I've had nothing but constant social exposure for the last month. Can't a guy get any privacy?"
She wanted privacy with him. She wanted him alone, without her cousin or her brother muddying up his personality and revealing what he truly was: a fourteen-year-old boy with no particular interest in girls. Part of Hope knew this, but that part was very small and weak compared to the voice that said if she only tried hard enough, he would begin to like her, to love her. If she only tried hard enough.
"Is it something you want to talk about?" she asked, and knew she was desperate, and knew he would know she was desperate, and that even though she was offering help, he would see through that to her selfish plea, which was, "Please let me stay."
He did not disappoint. "No," he said. "There's nothing I want to talk about. I want you to leave. I want you to stop stalking me. I'm not interested in you, I won't ever be interested in you."
Stunned, Hope said, "How could you say that? How could you be so mean?" Even if he truly thought that, even if the sight of her disgusted him, it was unthinkable that he should actually say it. It shattered her illusions, which was all she had.
"I say it because that's what I think," he retorted. "I don't like people who think one thing and say another. I always know." With that, he stalked away from her, disappearing behind a row of trees.
Hope's heart broke, and this time she felt it.
Anyway:
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He was standing on the dock, the wind whipping his wavy hair, unruly from going uncut for several months, around his head. She could see the faraway gaze in his gray eyes, eyes that looked nearly silver now. Amy had said he looked blue, but Hope didn't agree. He was not blue; not sad or melancholy. On the contrary, he looked, for the first time since she had known him, completely relaxed. She had seen anger from him, sadness, mirth, and, more often than not, a sarcasm that endeared him to less serious company. To her it always seemed to cover something else. The sarcasm was not him. But now he was relaxed, unguarded, and Hope would have given anything for the ability to read minds.
She unconsciously stepped forward, overcome by his presence, and even though it was a tiny, silent step, he realized she was there. He turned and stared, surprised, and for a moment she saw him as he really was, felt his openness, saw how unguarded he actually had been. Then a metaphorical gate slammed shut, and suddenly he was James again, just James, cynical, scathing, and not in love with her, as she so desperately was with him.
Hope's heart broke, but it was now such a familiar sensation she hardly noticed.
"What are you doing here?" he asked. It was not a harsh question, but it stung. He shouldn't ask. Hope had a sudden vision of joining him on the dock. He would accept her presence, put his arm around her, and the two of them could be relaxed together.
I love you, she thought, but aloud she said, "It's a public place."
He scowled, and Hope again wondered if she'd gotten the thought and the words confused. Sometimes it was hard to tell with him. "I want to be alone," he said. "I've had nothing but constant social exposure for the last month. Can't a guy get any privacy?"
She wanted privacy with him. She wanted him alone, without her cousin or her brother muddying up his personality and revealing what he truly was: a fourteen-year-old boy with no particular interest in girls. Part of Hope knew this, but that part was very small and weak compared to the voice that said if she only tried hard enough, he would begin to like her, to love her. If she only tried hard enough.
"Is it something you want to talk about?" she asked, and knew she was desperate, and knew he would know she was desperate, and that even though she was offering help, he would see through that to her selfish plea, which was, "Please let me stay."
He did not disappoint. "No," he said. "There's nothing I want to talk about. I want you to leave. I want you to stop stalking me. I'm not interested in you, I won't ever be interested in you."
Stunned, Hope said, "How could you say that? How could you be so mean?" Even if he truly thought that, even if the sight of her disgusted him, it was unthinkable that he should actually say it. It shattered her illusions, which was all she had.
"I say it because that's what I think," he retorted. "I don't like people who think one thing and say another. I always know." With that, he stalked away from her, disappearing behind a row of trees.
Hope's heart broke, and this time she felt it.