literature

Dreamer

Deviation Actions

sanatae's avatar
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Published:
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Literature Text

     Ka-tink, tink…
     “Thank you,” his quiet words drift mechanically from the shadows his blonde hair has cast over his face. He watches the tips of her brown boots exposed by the lace-hemmed skirt of his benefactor dancing on a slight breeze that picks up little bits of rubbish and sends them skittering along the floor. So many others just tip and leave, throwing out change to a beggar. She stayed, though, listening for his next song.
     He closes his eyes, he always closes his eyes as he plays. The chords dance under his fingers without practice, without words. It was so natural to him, as natural as the sun burns away the snow to make the rain clouds that blot out the skies. The notes are soft, melancholy. So many passersby would think this a song of love lost, and in a way it is. It is no woman that he has lost, though. It is a world that is slowly being consumed by the future.
     The noise of a steam-cart trembling down the rails starts to echo through the tiled walls of the subway hall. He knows his song is short lived, but he won’t rush it. The notes must come on their own, his hands must move of their own accord. But the song is drowned out as the contraption whirls and clangs its way to a halt. A myriad of footfalls lend their discordant tones to a cacophony of voices all yelling to be heard over the releasing steam and metal settling on metal.
     He sighs heavily as he lets his slender hands fall to his lap, loosely holding the guitar in limp arms. Another deep sigh, sadder this time, as he leans his head back against the grimy wall of the tunnel. His eyes slowly open and he looks up at the girl who still hasn’t left.
     There sharp artificial light of the tunnels catches in her watery green eyes, so brilliant and full of life. She slips the lens cover onto her camera as her lips dance a quiet sentence, the words eaten by the crowd. His heart skips a beat as he watches her, a breath caught in his lungs for the briefest moment before the jambling crowd shoves past them. He watches in stop-motion as she turns, a moment of crystal clarity before she is whisked into the sea of the crowd.
     “Wait!” His voice tries vainly to catch up to her. He fumbles numbly with the guitar case, but he’s too late. Before he can stand again, the hubbub of the noonday rush is gone, leaving only the quiet creaking of rails and the echo of his breath.
For :iconwen-m:'s contest.

Objective? Pick an original art of his, make a short story (5 paragraphs, eh, they're short :P).

I chose: [link]

The artwork is his, the story is mine.

I don't expect to win, but it was nice to finally write something new. :) I like it.
© 2007 - 2024 sanatae
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dedded's avatar
Looks good, sums up what the picture seems to be saying, imo! Good luck :)