I started writing this morning on my journey to sixth form, it felt good to write so early, it wasn't forced and the words felt natural, they felt real especially being the atmosphere and setting of what I was writing.
A tsunami of mist flooded the village. Each house you could only see the tops peeking from the white cloud. It was almost as if the secrets, people and all things living were imprisoned by the vapors. It's a small community, at least until they grab their pitchforks and become an unstoppable army ridding their villages of dirt and unwanted visitors.
A tsunami of mist flooded the village. Each house you could only see the tops peeking from the white cloud. It was almost as if the secrets, people and all things living were imprisoned by the vapors. It's a small community, at least until they grab their pitchforks and become an unstoppable army ridding their villages of dirt and unwanted visitors.
As I walk through the early morning, the cold bites at me, like it does every weekday morning.
The only life visible is those of the field animals, minding their own business, most of the time.
As weird as it sounds I like to people watch, in my head I sometimes give them whole background stories and what not. It might make me crazy but I cannot resist.
Since getting into a routine, waking up, peeing, sipping at a cup of tea whilst checking Instagram, getting ready, talk to dad for a bit and leave for ten past eight. I then get on the same bus I do every day, the black eleven. I say black because it used to be purple, I preferred it purple, not that it matters really. As I've become accustomed to the number eleven, there is a pattern of people, who it seems have their own routine. I don't talk to them of course, but I see them all every if not most days.
Weirdly enough I've become fascinated with two people, I say fascinated mildly, they are always in plain sight, I don't know why. Except today, today they sit at the back which is unusual for their routine, maybe there is a glitch, or maybe it is because the bus is packed a lot earlier and quicker than usual.
The two people, a boy. A girl. You probably know where I'm going to with this. I noted how beautiful they both are, natural beauty. She with her dark curly brown hair, kind of like spaghetti, she has kind of tanned ivory skin, not an inch of any beauty product evident. Him, handsome muddy blonde hair, also tanned skin. He sounds quite cliche but he isn't, he isn't clean cut like most males of that description, instead he wears a beard.
Let's name them, Clarissa and Dwayne. I liked them immediately, they were close. You could feel the tension between them though, the need for one another. The biology between them. They get on the bus together, they sit together, she even leaves her sister to sit next to him, at least until he gets off. I say sister, maybe she isn't. And they coincidentally share the same hair.
Let's name them, Clarissa and Dwayne. I liked them immediately, they were close. You could feel the tension between them though, the need for one another. The biology between them. They get on the bus together, they sit together, she even leaves her sister to sit next to him, at least until he gets off. I say sister, maybe she isn't. And they coincidentally share the same hair.
The moment I first saw Clarissa and Dwayne, I routed for them. They obviously made for each other. Each day I wondered if their friendship would sprout into something more. I had a suspicion that perhaps they were in a relationship. Yesterday I got my answer.
He pressed the bell before hoisting his backpack over his right shoulder, and before turning to leave he bent down, Clarissa tilted her head up. And that's when I got my answer.
I type away on my phone as my earphones blare music into my ear drums, one day it will damage them, but I love the sounds too much to even turn it down in the slightest. I look up every now and then, to see the new arrivals of the number eleven journey.
As usual another person has taken their fate beside me, today I don't mind. That's weird, I'm not nervous or anxious. Very weird. I merely don't mind, is this social improvement?
I feel like I should maybe stop, stop typing away. Afraid someone will read what I'm typing or simply maybe because I can feel myself begin to ramble on. Until next time...
