A/N: Why, hello, my lovely, lovely readers. Within the afternoon of me posting this brand new story on my brand new account, over twenty of you read my story, and whether that was just me rechecking it for errors or actual people reading, I don't care. I am absolutely thrilled that any of you would spare your time on my story with me being a mere novice. Commenting would mean the world as any constructive criticism is good in my writing process. I cannot develope and evolve without adaptation.
And, as always, thank you for reading.
My walk ends when my ass hits the wooden bus stop seat. I drop my brown cloth bag on the dirt without a second thought and start to trace a design into the dry soil with the toe of my shoe. A few moments later I stop when a car slows near my seat with its passenger window down.
"Hey, sweet thing," the young driver calls from his small white pickup, strangely welcoming. "Need a lift?"
"No, thanks," I bluntly reply, looking back at my design in the dirt.
"Y'ah sure, sweetie?" He questions in a thick southern accent. "It's might'ay hot out there..." He doesn't properly end his sentence, leaving it open for suggestion.
"I'm pretty sure," I reply looking up to his truck and nodding my head.
"Can I at least give y'ah a beer?" He acts tapping a hollow object in the passenger seat that I can't see, but what is surely an Igloo.
"No, I'm good, thanks," I sigh, getting tired of the conversation already.
"Y'ah sure?" He says, disappointment threaded through his words.
"Absolutely positive," I say, making eye contact finally to convert sincerity and realize that he's actually sort of attractive, minus the cowboy hat and white wifebeater.
"Alright'ay. Be safe, 'kay?" He says leaning over to manually roll up the window a bit.
"Will do." He drives off with another longing look and a tip of his hat. I form a calf smile in farewell then return my attention to my design.
That's happened plenty times before, though sometimes the drivers are not nearly so young nor so lonesome. Added, the interruptions are always when I am almost in an almost meditative state with my preoccupations. It gets quite annoying, really.
I continue drawing my picture - today it's an eye with no distinguishable iris - and begin to fall into a trance with the quiet. The only noises are the faint and infrequent breezes that blow across the fields and passing cars that are as spontaneous as the winds. The toes of my shoes dig and scratch for detail, and before long my picture is too large for my legs to reach. I stand to trace extensively long lines, making some passing drivers stare in amusement. I sort of make a dance to it, and before long have made my own beat and rhythm. A smile is plastered onto my cheeks.
"That's beautiful," a deep voice comments.
I jump so high and suddenly that I leave my heart and other major organs in the sky.
"Sorry. 'Didn't mean to frighten you," it replies again.
I look up and see the source of the deep through slightly dry voice. A tall man, not much older than I, stands in front of me, dressed in Levi's and white T-shirt. A leather necklace is wrapped around his neck with no adornment. His face withholds stubble on his chin and eyes that are almost completely black in hue, which contrasts spectacularly with his almost alarmingly white hair. The combination is strange though somehow complementary. I just stare at him with a crease between my brows, waiting for an explanation for his sudden appearance.
YOU ARE READING
Black Eyed (Original)
Paranormal[1st draft of the Black Eyed series. Permanently retired] Willow's life has never been the personification of 'normal,' and recent events just seem to keep proving that. She's never had loving parents or a friend to talk to, but when a new family...
