Prologue

The first day I laid eyes on her was the first time I’d drawn in a while. She was in the park behind my house. She had a camera in front of her face taking what looked like intimate shots of her claustrophobic surroundings.

            I looked out into the rest of the park. It was large enough to be plenty of material for a photographer; large enough for my canvas.

            There were trees that lined the back of the park and promised great sunsets and starry nights. The walkways winded and curved in harmony with the trees giving the area a music sheet look. The contractors must have noticed that because there were sporadic note shaped bushes and fountains with baby angels playing mandolins.

            Beautifully cared for grass welcomed feet and she’d obliged because I noticed that her shoes were a ways away from her. The claustrophobic park had the forest to its back and right and a music bush to its left providing what seemed like an entrance.

            I automatically knew that she came here often; so often that she considered it sacred and respected it enough to not bring in anything from the outside, degrading her place of solitude with her sneakers.

            I watched her take picture after picture for what seemed like hours. I was beginning to think the camera was permanently attached to her hands and face.

            I finally got my opening when she decided to take a break. She lowered the camera from her face and let it rest on her chest via the strap around her neck. She stayed angled away from me as though she knew someone was intruding on this private moment she was having and was used to having uninterrupted.

            She took a moment to admire a dark colored flower with fingers that appeared every bit as fragile as the blossom. A cool breeze flitted through her garden, jostling the hair on her neck and the collared shirt she wore.

            I secretly thanked the breeze for showing me one more thing about her because with the hair and collar blown away, I glimpsed that she had a tattoo just below her neck, between her shoulders. Unfortunately, I was too far to see what it was.

            She gently lowered herself to the ground, sitting with her legs bent in front of her, her hands on the ground and her face and knees up to the sky.

            “Wow.”

            She was, simply, gorgeous. Her dark brown hair shrouded her face but slowly fell away like a curtain moving aside to reveal its star. The light breeze that still lingered made her hair sway like wind chimes.

            My hand began moving along the empty page I’d opened my sketch book to. My pencil duplicated the pattern shirt with harsh and mild strokes where appropriate. Eventually, my pencil was moving to her face. Her eyes were closed so I estimated and moved on to her elegant nose that led to full tanned pink lips; lips that were slightly parted and seemed forever so. Just parted with words she couldn’t say or wouldn’t? Full of secrets and personal info that I longed to know.

            I took my time on her lips, getting the size of her fuller bottom lip just right along with the barely noticeable shadow beneath it. I stepped back to examine my work. The strokes I took on her lips were intense. I ran my finger over the drawing and imagined that she’d never been kissed. I smile to myself. Surely, she was someone’s girlfriend.

            As the thought crossed my mind, she opened her eyes. Looking into them, I truly felt like I was invading her privacy. She had the saddest honey brown eyes, low eyebrows, and the darkness under her eyes which were no product of any line of make-up but the product of a lack of sleep. Her eyes were unfocused and now I noticed this, her whole demeanor seemed to bleed hopelessness.

            This beautiful creature…was unhappy.

            So unhappy or mistreated or both that she couldn’t even hide it. With sleepless nights, she probably didn’t have the energy.

            I thought about this while I filled in the shadows and distortions that only intensified the bleak look on her face. I feel sorry for her. I want to comfort her. As I’m contemplating going down there, I hear a voice.

            “Who’s that?”

            I turn to my sister, Macy.

            “I don’t know. She’s-

            I look down into the claustrophobic garden and she’s gone.

            “Who?” she repeats.

            “I don’t know.”

Reviews

[Samantha Lynn]

"Beautifully cared for grass welcomed feet and she’d obliged because I noticed that her shoes were a ways away from her" this sentence is kind of confusing ahd difficult to read.

"I automatically knew that she came here often; so often that she considered it sacred and respected it enough to not bring in anything from the outside, degrading her place of solitude with her sneakers." how??

He saw a tattoo but didn't????


it's good but some of the sentences are difficult to read????? love the story line though! XD