Strangers

II

Dear friend,

I haven’t dreamt anything involving my uncle Sam for a long time. I only remember bits of each dream I dream anyway, and they’re so very unreal, that I find it rather dim to hem and haw over them. Dreams are fragments out of our own wild imaginations, and they are not meant to be dwelt upon. You know what I mean?

The last couple of weeks have been an absolute drag. Everybody’s been making arrangements for the funeral. I’ve stayed away from home as much as possible. Get away from it all. I’m not sure where I belong anymore. Home’s too depressing. Too full of … of him. School’s like another world. All the people there just seem like soulless, lifeless paper dolls. Nothing’s changed other than that. People have passed me comments on how sorry they are, how my uncle was a great man. Scrabbling for my attention, trying to make themselves out to be my best friend. Had it not been so annoying, I would have found it quite amusing.

The only thing that seemed to be a benefit was that now I had an excuse to sit quietly in class, to skip football practices. There’s a glitch in that too, though. It seems that sitting at home with nothing to do can get … well, quite boring. So I think, maybe I should take up a new hobby, like … fencing! God, yes. You know, I read an article in the paper this one day that said if you’re a really good fencer you can be a film star’s stunt double. I pick up a rolling pin and lunge it experimentally towards the wall, then yelp when it lands on my head.

Okay, so maybe not fencing. I decide to take a walk outside, thinking I’ll come across something to do. Strolling down the Main Street, I make little notes on the different bubbles people live their lives in. The mother and child, holding hands and licking ice cream cones seem worlds away from the teenager with sunken eyes and a dull expression – yet he’s walking right behind them, just a couple of feet away, heading in the same direction even.

The World really is just a canvas, isn’t it? And painted on it are people, sharing the same space, but with entirely different perspectives. To each and every individual, the world is something of their own. Feeling inspired, I find myself walking inside the local art department. The woman at the reception looks up, and the first thing I notice is that there’s lipstick on her teeth.

‘Uh, I’d like to sign up for … to, uh’ I stare at her blankly, not quite sure of what to say. I look up to see a mass of wild curly hair and caramel skin disappearing around the doorway leading to the studio. Blinking a couple of times, I gaze at the empty space.

‘… Yearly subscription, its slightly expensive of course’ The woman in front of me is saying something, but I’m not really listening.

‘You can come in whenever you like. So season subscription, yeah?’ She smacks her gum and looks at me expectantly.

‘Er, yes please. Thank you’

She looks at me suspiciously, then pushes a form across the desk towards me. I hastily fill in it, pay her, collect my temporary ID card, and walk into the studio.

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I know the chapters are really short, like one page, but this book is actually for a school project. 

I decided to upload it incase I wasn't able to finish it in time for the deadline- so then i'll be able to continue working on it on wattpad. 

Anyway, comment and vote! Tell me how you like it. 

- Raven