Writing About Blue Eyes -Phan-

Chapter 1

Dan's POV

I groaned as the shrill alarm clock forced me awake. As much as I hated it, hearing the annoying noise was the only thing that would wake me up. Besides, I never liked having a late start to my day. If I didn't force myself to get up then often nothing happened the whole day. Finally I managed to climb out from underneath all the blankets and shove them into a lump that slightly resembled a made bed.

Moving around my small house, I made a bowl of cereal and began to eat whilst watching an anime. I liked my place. It was small of course, but being only one person I didn't need very much space. I had lived here for about three years now and the place finally felt my own. It would be very difficult to move all the posters and furniture at this point, but I wasn't planning on going anywhere soon. I had moved to this tiny town to get away from everything and it worked well.

My parents had too much money when I was growing up. They were the type of people who always wanted more. They're still those type of people. They never appreciated what they had, including me. Nothing I ever did was good enough. Some people at school even hated me as well for having money. There was no way I could hide it as my parents liked to flaunt their fancy cars and dress me in designer clothes when I was just a child.

I am grateful for the money though. Don't get me wrong. That's how I was able to take my too-large-for-a-teenager bank account, leave law school and come here. I just hate the way they use their wealth. That's why I came here. To a little town where I can wear the few t-shirts I own and nobody knows anything about me. So now I go by Dan, instead of Daniel as my parents insisted, and the few times a year I call my mum is about all we stay in touch.

After I finished my cereal, I put the dishes in the dishwasher and began to pack my backpack. When I first came here I had no idea what I wanted to do, I just knew I didn't like the direction my life was heading. After a few months of aimless wandering, I began to start writing. I had always narrated everything inside my head, ever since I was a little kid. I liked to pretend that I was a character from a book and based my decisions for a day off them. I was also always noticing everything - cataloguing it for use later, describing it in detail. Once I started writing things down on a lazy day I never stopped. I've even managed to earn enough money from writing after a few months to stop using my parents' financial help.

I grabbed my backpack, filled with notebooks and pencils, and closed the door of my house behind me for the day. Today was going to be a woods day. I had these days a couple times a week and they were always the highlight. Normally I just walk into the woods, away from anyone in the town, until I found a spot to sit. Then I sit and write whatever I feel like until it gets dark or I'm ready to leave. There's something about being outside that makes the words come so much easier.

As I walked through the main part of town on my way to the woods, a few of the shopkeepers and people walking by offered smiles or hellos. I always smile back but that's about the extent of my social interaction, which is how I prefer it now. I had one good friend but they moved away a few months ago. I have my writing to keep my occupied and I prefer to wander through the trees in silence. Other people are too loud and pretend to care too much.

I stepped into one of the restaurants to pick up a sandwich for later. I just waved to the worker and he began to make my usual order. After a few words and the exchange of money for the food, I had everything I needed. As I left the place where I got my sandwich, I noticed that the restaurant across the street had a moving truck parked in front of it. We didn't have many new people here ever, and I had been living in this town long enough to develop intense curiosity on the rare occasions that something out of the ordinary happened. We have to find some way to keep occupied.

This particular occurrence was probably related to how the previous owner of the restaurant had passed away about a month ago. She was a sweet old woman and everyone in the town was genuinely sad when she passed away, including me. The restaurant had been closed since then but it seemed like someone was opening it back up now. Maybe they were her family?

I might have stood staring for a bit too long, as someone came back outside from the restaurant to grab something else from the moving truck.

Fuck, he's cute, I immediately thought.

And I'm just standing here staring across the street and probably squinting really weirdly into the sun. He glanced across the street and I considered throwing myself behind the trashcan to hide. Instead I gave a weird half smile that hopefully he would only see if he was already looking at me. At that he grinned, making full eye contact with me before winking and going back into the building, leaving me speed walking away.

Yeah, I was nothing but smooth.

Besides I was just flustered because of the bad first impression, right? I can never deal with new people. I thought there weren't supposed to be new people in small towns. People just move away. Nobody had moved in since I got here and now the first new person I saw was making me flustered. It was definitely just because he was new. Nothing else.

That encounter kept me distracted for most of the walk and before I knew it I was far from anyone else; finally able to breathe. I took a moment to just stand there. Breathing in and out until it didn't feel rushed. Then I found a tree to sit against and pulled out my notebook.

I always try to go to different spots when I do things like this. It's supposed to be something different that gets me out of the rut of writing in my one spot in my office every day. Still, there were some places I always went back to. Like the rock next to the creek that was smooth and comfortably cool on hot days. Or the circle of trees where birds were always singing sweet songs and the sunlight streamed softly through the branches. Really anywhere was wonderful, but there were some I would never forget.

Being here also makes me want to write poems. Which is about the most pretentious thing ever so I never show anyone. Still, it's nice. Better than normal writing. If someone ever got even near the notebook I write poems in I would probably beat them up. It's not like I even know anyone who would have interest in seeing my notebooks anyways.

Today is a poem day though. Writing stories or working on a big project sounds like too much work. I tried to clear my mind and just focus on what was around me. What I could see, hear, smell, touch. That was the way I preferred to write most things. Concentrate on the senses and it would make the reader feel like they were actually there. Once I had started to write more I began to catalogue my feelings and experiences more. That way even when I was writing a fictional story I could piece together different experiences and create the tone I wanted.

After a while of writing I always lost track of time. At some point the words just began to flow onto the paper and I stopped having to remind myself enough to concentrate. I only really stopped thinking and writing for a few minutes at lunch to eat my sandwich.

Soon enough, it was getting dark and it was time to head back to my house. I loved days like that. It was days like that which reminded me of my I left my parents and chose the life I have now.