![]() Seven - ErinA Chapter by Cassidy Mask
He had light blue eyes the colour of ice, a fairly pale complexion, and gorgeous black curls that cascaded around his beautiful face and made him look like a dark angel. I didn’t notice him at first because I was hurrying along, desperate not to get caught in the imminent rain – the clouds had come out of nowhere and fast, ruining the perfect winter sunshine. But at least the clouds made it warmer, their closeness blanketing the city in a warm darkness – an electrically charged warm darkness. But as our shoulders met, I looked up into his sad face, and somehow I felt at home; It was like his sadness, his brokenness, was familiar to me. In fact, I realised after, it was the very reflection of how I felt inside. And so I smiled. When he looked up at me I just let myself fall into an easy smile – it felt so natural to smile at him – and the look in his eyes made me certain I had done the right thing. I don’t think I ever saw anyone so affected by a smile. “Sorry,” I muttered, aware how weak my voice sounded. But he just smiled back. “My fault,” he replied, and his voice was so perfect – low and easy, like breathing. But his words made my heart break because I could see from his eyes that he said those words far too often – I did not doubt that he blamed himself for far more things than just our accidental meeting – and that made me want to cry (I’m not a crying person) and hug him (nor am I a physical contact kind of person) all at once. And when you start feeling like that about a total stranger you know it’s time you disappear before you get the chance to do something embarrassing. So, with a last smile and a final look at his heart-breaking face – heart-breaking because he was beautiful, but also because he was so broken – I turned and walked away as fast as possible.
© 2008 Cassidy MaskAuthor's Note
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1 Review Added on December 2, 2008 Last Updated on December 2, 2008 Author![]() Cassidy MaskSingaporeAboutI'm at art college in Singapore. "...I never heard them laugh. They had, Instead, this tic of scratching quotes in air - like frightened mimes inside their box of style, that first class carriag.. more..Writing
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