Monday 19 November 2012

The lonely writer

He certainly was not a person who frequented the gym often, judging from his broad shouldered but thin frame and pale skin, his eyes were dark and currently focused on the pile of papers that lay haphazardly scattered over the surface if the table. The evening light coming from the open windows cast a soft glow over his face, highlighting the sharp cheekbones and the hollows of his throat that were exposed by the black coat he had slung carelessly over his shoulders and he often murmured phrases to himself as he worked. His long fingers flew over the thin papers, the left scribbling swiftly and the right touching them lightly as if they could feel pain. Often he would stop and gaze sadly into the distance, his dark eyes unfocused. By the time darkness had drained the sky of light, he would have finished writing on most of the papers piled on the desk, the finished ones standing neatly in a pile to his left. He stood up to his full height, straightening from the hunched position that he had adopted during the day and gave the papers a melancholic smile as he closed the windows. The mess would be cleared away and returned to their secret place, his work hidden away from the eyes of the world again. He unslung the coat from his shoulders and dropped it onto the bed before stripping down to his jeans. He stood a little unsteadily, ran a long-fingered hand through his already tousled waves of black hair before flopping onto the bed where he curled up into a tight ball of loneliness,hoping his dreams would take him further away from his solitude.

~Rei Shiori

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