This was an English 2 Honors assignment. I had to take a color, and so did the person sitting next to me, and create a story describing the color, without actually saying the color. Any shades of it were ok, such as scarlet for red, emerald for green, etc... Then we combined the stories. My original story was everything about red. My partner, I don't remember who since it was a while ago, did the blue part. Comments welcome guys. And tell your friends about my page.
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Sitting in the corner furthest from any chances of socialization, the girl in black sat, a gaze that could look into a persons soul upon her face. Her shoulder length black hair, highlighted with blonde, falls into her face, covering the chestnut skin of her forehead, and some of it conceals the piercing green of her eyes, streaked with a hazel-like pigment, which seem to have seen too much. The strawberry spikes in each of her earlobes extend out to the back of her head. Her lips, rust-colored, are drawn thin, and tight, as if she is thinking about something that she doesn't want to. The black hoodie, without any inscription or graphic, covers her arms and hands down to the dark red of her nails. The links in the silver chain hanging from the scarlet belt around her faded black skinny jeans clink together as she shifts in her seat to put her feet, clad in red, white, and black Vans with tomato laces, up on the desk in a near fetal position. Just as she begins to look comfortable, the bell rings for dismissal, and the girl in black exits in silence. she walks across the parking lot, where a nondescript maroon sedan waits for her. She gets in, and the driver, a teenager with the same outward appearance pulls out of the lot. Moments later, the girl steps gently out of the car, looks around, and crosses the sidewalk in to a bakery. She steps behind the counter, and takes her place at the cash register. A young yoga teacher opens the door, her fanfare a bell above the exit. The baby blue earbuds in her ears emanate a jazz tune very softly. She struts to the counter, and asks for fresh blueberry pie, and a hot coffee, cream on the side. She hands the teenager a crisp $20, and the register sends its chime throughout the small town cafe. Her change clatters into her hand, and she pockets it as she sits in a dark blue sofa in the corner by the window, watching the hustle and bustle of pedestrians very distantly. the chef, a portly man with a jolly face, personally brings her the order. As he gently sets it down on the table, her mouth begins to flood. She daintily picks up a fork, slices into the pastry, which has juicy blue filling oozing out of the sides, and takes a small, conservative bite. Her eyes widen, and a slight gasp of ecstasy escapes her lips.
