"She's that book nobody bothered to read, or a painting everyone underappreciated."
* * * *
Faith Johnson, was one of those rare people, who possessed a feeling for beauty. The capacity for endurance, a desire for happiness, and a gift for...
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• k i s s i n g
☼ ☼ ☼ ☼
"A kiss is a lovely
trick designed by nature
to stop speech when
words become
superfluous."
- Ingrid Bergman
☼ ☼ ☼ ☼
• w h e n s h e r e b e l l e d
"she was the beautiful in the world, or she was rather, until she was taken."
[1 d a y c l o s e r t o d e a d]
Graham pushed his tortoise shell glasses further up onto the bridge of his nose with the tip of his index finger before staring back at Faith. His pencil lying on his American Literature homework where he'd dropped it in surprise only two seconds earlier.
"Come again?" He said, his voice lilting from concern, not taking his sea-green eyes off of the girl sitting across from him.
Unlike Graham, Faith's gaze seemed to be infinitely fixated on the pristine black and white floor tiles. She took a shaky breath that rattled in her chest, "I wish you wouldn't look at me like that." Graham leans forward on his elbows, lips penciling into a thin line, as he awaiting Faith's response and being given only silence. He'd been absorbed in a haze of analyzing T.S. Eliot's poems as a extra credit assignment, while she had been scooping abnormal amounts of sugar in her Earl Grey tea while talking at him. Of course he hadn't really been listening, but he'd learned over the years from his various strings of girlfriends, even if you weren't paying attention, it was generally best to say you were.
Between boring, and slightly creepy poems destined to lull him to sleep, coupled with Faith's sometimes mindless rambles he wasn't exactly sure which was which. But during a break of thought he was ninety percent sure Faith had mentioned the words, death and cancer in the same sentence.
Those terrors were enough alone to make his heart stutter painfully in his chest.
"Repeat," he growls, every aspect of his handsome face growing colder by the minute.
Her shoulders slump in defeat, and she visibly coughs before talking in a tone barely above a frightened whisper, "I said, that I have cancer, leukemia and it's only a matter of time before I'm, well, you know . . ." Shock settles over Graham's body like a thick coating of cement, making it physically impossible to do anything else but think - he can't breath, can't move, can't even, make his mouth form the right words.
He sits there, with the same impatient expression, that seemed to be engraved into his very being, someone he cared about was dying, and that had never happened to him before. Faith's eyebrows raise, alarmed when she finds the courage to look at him, she waves her hand in front of him - testing for some sort of human reaction. Graham doesn't stir.
