Samples.

1. Christopher McCrory

The rain was hammering down in torrents as I tried to find the nearest shelter. I'd been out with friends when it started lashing and now everyone was separated. The perfectly planned evening of drinking on the sly now ruined, the bag of cans left abandoned in a bush at the park unless one of my friends picked them up. 
I had no idea where I was going, but I was moving fast and praying I didn't trip because both of my hands were being used to hold up my hood. 
Then it happened. My foot slipped off the curb and I fell sideways, tumbling down a grassy embankment. Narrowly avoiding hitting my head on multiple rocks, I came to a stop on the loose gravel below and got to my feet groggily.
The rain continued to pour down with no remorse, my entire body soaking wet and shivering. It was then I realised that I had ended up somewhere unfamiliar, but the train tracks- rusted and corroding from disuse- running down the gravel gave a good idea of where I might be. 
Wiping water from my face, I followed the tracks and walked on, soon noticing a bridge over the tracks. 
As I got closer to the bridge a figure, dressed all in black came into view. The person was slouching against the wall and appeared to be smoking, as every few seconds I saw a small cloud of smoke accumulate and dissipate. 
Suddenly intrigued by this mysterious stranger, I quickened my pace. 

Upon reaching the bridge, I awkwardly approached the person but couldn't think of what to say. I probably looked a sorry state- my hair dripping wet, my clothes soaked through, and my makeup running down my face.
The guy must've heard my footsteps crunching in the gravel because his head shot up and made direct eye contact. His glare seemed dangerous, yet so alluring. His face was pale, a stark contrast to his dark hair and choice of attire, his jawline was sharp and his cheekbones looked as if they were crafted by gods. The most striking element of his appearance were his eyes. A shade of blue most captivating, I never wanted to look away. His eyes were like the ocean, calm and tranquil on the surface, but beneath that there was chaos and turmoil. The current pulled me under and I did nothing to resist, even when I began to drown in his gaze. I let my lungs fill up with water before choking on the words he spoke. 
"It's funny, how complete strangers can have familiar souls." 
"W-what?" I spluttered in response, his deep Manchester accent pouring honey into my ear. 
"Your eyes. They hold the words that you refuse to speak, the feelings you refuse to accept, the past you run away from, the future which you are trying to avoid."
"Do they?" I asked stupidly, my tongue feeling too big for my mouth as the words carelessly and clumsily tumbled from my lips. 
"They do. I fact, eyes are the windows to the soul. You can tell much about a person just from looking into their eyes. Look into mine again, and tell me what you see. My soul is impure. It is lonely and damaged, and holds dark secrets that will remain untold."

I looked into his eyes again, and began to realise what he was talking about.
"When I look into your's, I see a similar thing- loneliness, damage, regrets- but unlike my own, your soul is still pure. It has hope and burns with a fire that mine no longer possesses; it was quenched long ago."
I was at a loss for words. This beautiful stranger was making more sense than I'd ever heard, and at the same time, none at all.
"I-I-"
"My apologies. I shouldn't have started off the conversation like that. I'm guessing you don't have time to be listening to me."
"No, it's fine I just, I've never heard anything like that before. It's new to me."
"That's understandable. I have a habit of talking too much. It usually scares people off, that's why I came here."
"Are you new in town? I don't think I've seen you around before."
He was silent.
The only sound that could be heard was the pouring rain around us.
"Nevermind. Sorry that was a bit invasive."
"It was nothing compared to what I just objected you to." he cracked a small smile.

I sighed loudly, desperately trying to string words together in my head to form a sentence. I already felt as though I'd embarrassed myself in front of him, but I was determined to keep talking to him. I almost craved his presence. 
"How often do you see the night sky?" he asked suddenly, turning to face me as I leaned up against the wall. 
"Every night?" I answered awkwardly. 
"I mean, have you ever actually watched the sky?" 
I shook my head. Despite living on earth for sixteen years, I had never taken the time to 'watch' the sky. 
"I have. I watch the sky every night, and up until today I have not found anything that compares to the stars. 
Two of the fairest stars in all the heaven, having some business, do entreat your eyes to twinkle in their spheres till they return.
It is your gaze, in which I have found something brighter than the stars I have watched for as long as I can remember." 
His way with words rendered me defenceless, and the beauty of what he uttered had me at his mercy. Nothing I could respond with could equate to that.
"That's Shakespeare's Romeo and Juliet, isn't it?" 
He nodded with the tiniest trace of a smile.
"She's beautiful, and therefore to be wooed; she is woman, and therefore to be won. Henry VI if I'm not mistaken." I replied, trying my best to keep up. 
"And is thou wooed?" 
I blushed a deep shade of crimson that was impossible to hide. Of course, he noticed immediately. 

He moved swiftly, holding both my hands in his, a newly lit cigarette held between his lips.
"If I profane with my unworthiest hand this holy shrine, the gentle fine is this: My lips, two blushing pilgrims, ready stand to smooth that rough touch with a tender kiss." he gushed, our eyes locking once more. The days I spent studying the play for English class had finally paid off, as I continued.
"Good pilgrim, you do wrong your hand too much, which mannerly devotion shows in this; for saints have hands that pilgrims' hands do touch, and palm to palm is holy palmers' kiss."
"Have not saints lips, and holy palmers too?"
"Ay, pilgrim, lips that they must use in prayer."
"O, then, dear saint, let lips do what hands do; They pray, grant thou, lest faith turn to despair."
"Saints do not move, though grant for prayers' sake."
"Then move not, while my prayer's effect I take. Thus from my lips, by yours, my sin is purged." He breathed, letting the cigarette fall from his mouth as he leaned in and pressed his lips against mine. It lasted no longer than a few seconds, his touch cautious. 

"Then have my lips the sin that they have took." I whispered in his ear. 
"Sin from thy lips? O trespass sweetly urged! Give me my sin again." he moaned.
As soon as the words left his mouth, his lips met mine again. He kissed with hot, fiery passion which numbed my senses and left me breathless. As our lips were together, the world fell away. I could no longer hear the rain hammering furiously on the ground and everything else melted into insignificance. His hand rested below my ear now, his thumb caressing my cheek as our breaths mingled. I ran my fingers down his spine, pulling him closer until there was no space left between us and I could feel the beating of his heart against my chest.

I did not return home that night, instead I lay on the train tracks with the the stranger and watched the stars. The rain had ceased, leaving only the scent of petrichor and a slight dampness over the ground. Curled up in his arms, I drifted into a blissful slumber where my dreams were filled with my starry-eyed lover, replaying the same memory over and over again.