The Character

I'm sitting on a bench in the park, the one place of nature I can find in this god-forsaken city. I moved here for my dreams of being a singer, of making people happy with my lyrics, but I was born in a rural town no where near New York City, though I id live in New York. The crisp fall air hits my nose, but it doesn't bring the same smell as it did at home: fallen, crunchy leaves, ripened apples, cool winter air bringing snow. Now it just smells like perfume, cologne, hobos, sewers, and garbage, all mixed in the giant bowl of smog jokingly called 'air' in NYC.

A girl sits down next to me, she looks to be about the same age as me. Her hair is light brown and straight, with a pen sticking out of it from behind one ear. Her long lashes blink as she opens her note book and fumbles around in her bag, presumably for a writing utensil.

“Um, it's behind your ear.” I say quietly.

“Hm?” She asks, looking up at me, her hands still feeling around in her bag. I point a tentative finger to her head and she lifts her hand up and her fingers clasp the tip of the pen.

“Oh!” Her eyes crinkle pleasantly as she laughs, “Thanks.” She takes it out and clicks it repeatedly, staring at the lined paper in frustration. I look away, not wanting to seem like I'm staring and look at the red leaves in the tree across the pathway.

“You have gorgeous eyes.” She breathes, and I turn to face her, startled. “I mean they're like... like the ocean on a sunny day, but there's a storm in the distance. The waves choppy and crashing against the shore, enough to frighten even the bravest little kids from the water. They sparkle in the sun, but grow darker with the approaching clouds. I can only imagine what they're like when you cry, like the storm has hit the shore in a full on hurricane, all the emotion swirling around like whirlpools and the rain in your eyes creates rain on your cheeks. Sorry, I'm rambling aren't I?” Her eyes clouded over as she spoke, but now grow focused again and she smiles, holding out a hand covered in mittens with the tops folded back to expose her fingers, “I'm Anna. I'm a writer, in case you couldn't tell.”

“Katherine.” I say, my tiny voice showing itself and I tuck a stray strand of light blonde hair behind my ear.

“Has anyone ever told you your voice sounds like those little birds that are always bullied by the pigeons? You know, the ones that are no bigger than your fist and are brown and tawny?”

“No, no one's ever told me that.” I have been told that my singing voice is surprising because of my speaking voice. She shrugs and looks down at her notebook. Her hand moves slightly, writing words, I suppose, though I can't see because her hand is in the way, and then in a larger motion in what I guess is scribbling it out. “What do you write?” I ask, my curiosity getting the better of my shyness.

“Well, it's my dream to be a published author, probably young adult novels and stuff. But I write short stories and poetry too.” She says, breathing into her mittens and then putting the tops on for warmth as a breeze blows, sending a leave flying my way. I pluck it from the breeze and flatten it. “But I'm having a bit of writer's block lately.” She sighs.

“Well...” I say, smoothing out the scarlet maple leaf on my jeans, trying to figure out how to give her inspiration.

“Can I write about you?” She asks, after a minute.

“There's not much to write about.” I shrug with a small smile.

“Try me.” She says, clicking her pen closed and putting it down. “What do you do?”

“I'm a singer, or want to be.”

“See? I knew there was something special about your voice.” Anna teases. I shrug.

“So, Katie- do you mine being called Katie?”

“Katherine is fine.” I say.

“So, Katherine, what brings you here?” She asks.

“To the park or the city?”

“Does it matter?” She asks, smiling, her pen poised at the ready, an excited look in her eye.

“I really hate cities. They smell like perfume, cologne, hobos, sewers and garbage.”

“What do you think?” My best friend of three years, Anna asks as I close the book after reading the first few pages.

“How did you get inside my head so well?” I ask.

“I know you, Katherine, and so I wrote you.”

Author's Note

Just playing around with stuff.
Reviews please!

Reviews

[Odayin]

This was really nice! It feels like you were writing about yourself from an outside perspective. It was really a nice story, very realistic. I like all the little details you put in like the pen, the smell, and the personality range. Very nice job, gave me shivers at the end:)

[Michael Bujtas]

You made a a very quirky character who likes to notice the details there, which certainly us as the audience to notice the world you've created. A cool short story, is there more?

[Sophie]

No there isn't just a short story :/

[Sylvana]

That was so pretty! And you're improving on adding detail as well :D It didn't seem rushed at all. Good job ^-^

[Sophie]

thank you :3

[Amanda]

Hobos lol :P