UnEnchanted

Ch. 3 In Which Cinderella Meets Alice In Wonderland

I was sitting in the last seat of the bus, writing furiously, scribbling in the black book. I must have looked like the mad hatter, with the agitated but small smile plastered on my face.

But hey... Everyone's a little crazy inside.

So far, it only consisted of a few thoughts and ideas, which I was sure weren't that worthy of being read.
Mrs. Goodwin, which was the older lady's name, as I had recently found out... She had not told me, or given me any indication of what to write, saying one sentence in her beautiful voice. It's up to you my dear.

"It's up to me? I don't even know if I'm sane anymore, so leaving choices up to me might be a bad idea..." I whispered quietly to myself, faltering as my pen's spastic movement slowed. But it quickly picked up to a furious and fast sort of pace when I had a small glimmer of hope inside me remembering that maybe I could get people to enjoy my writing.

But I quickly lost that hope as I continued to write and write, yet having it be just a fruitless effort. I leaned back in my seat as I let an exasperated sigh.

'5 minutes into writing and I was already this aggravated?' I thought. 'Great...'

I turned my head to look at the bus window, and not caring how dirty or grimy that window might have been, I reached out to wipe away the condensation with the desire to see the Wonderland that was outside. The snow gave it that certain beauty and shimmery-ness, that had always intrigued me so.

The bus was rushing past people on the side walks and a combination of that and the watery window made it look like a sea of colors, swimming below the bus. In fact, the whole window made it appear as if the sky and the trees and everything you could have ever seen or thought was bleeding together, to create a beautiful painting with the world as its canvas. The beauty of it all was just brea-

Just at that moment the bus slammed on the breaks and I flew forward and smacked my face on the seat in front of me. I managed to hit it at just the right angle so that I would hit my eye.

"Holy shi-"
I was cut off by the bus driver yelling in his gravely and old voice. "Sorry folks, it's a bit slippery out!"
I just rolled my one good eye while I cupped the other, trying to prevent any more harm coming its way.
"Yeah right..." I mumble quietly, afraid that he might still hear me even though we are sitting at opposite ends of the bus.
'Damn, that hurt my eye...' I thought, rubbing at it and smearing the wateriness around. 'Stupid eye ball. Stupid bus driver... Stupid correctly functioning nervous system...wait... Eyeball...'

I flipped the page of my journal to a fresh and new page, writing what I knew, and what I felt.

His eyes are like the rain. They can be, at times, cold and harsh... Or soft and careful while filled with concern. They could be peacefully beautiful, yet dangerous, and most magical, in almost every single way possible. And like the rain, these eyes of his could be light and warm, or cold and rough. But they would always be filled with care.
These were the eyes of the rain.
And his voice... His voice would ring of summer and the thought of it lingers, drawing you in. It would capture the attention of all and make all but a few feel joyous. It was warm and comforting, and you wanted it to last forever, as it held all the things you would ever love.
This was the voice of summer.

I ended the final sentence in my description with a finalizing tap onto the paper as I watched as the ink bled through to next the page. In big, swooping letters I labeled the top of the page.

Simon.

I read over the words I had produced onto the page, being surprisingly quite pleased with how it flowed and its sound in my mind, considering that I was only a beginner. And as the bus moved on, I read the sentences over and over again in my mind, craving more of what I had wrote, and the feeling of happiness it gave me.