Thanks for bearing with me on this one. I just had this idea and just started writing it out seeing where it went. Completely wasn't expecting that at all so I appreciate those that read it through to the end. Thats not by any means the end, lets just call it a first installment. I do have a good idea where I'm going to take it.
PS. This isn't really editted at all so expect some mistakes.
A man sits alone in a corner cafe, perusing through the Sunday Times, scratching out his best guesses to the crossword puzzle. He stops on occasion to sip from his piping hot coffee, each drink stings his mouth with pain as he is too impatient to let the breeze from the nearby door cool his beverage. A half eaten piece of toast rests askew on a plate nearby, he had his fill. In between answers he would stare off into the distance, comfortably chewing on the tip of his black ink pen, not really noticing a youngster two booths down making goofy faces at him. Ethan never cared what others thought of him. He didn't mind putting himself out on limb for the world to scrutinize, after all he was a writer and he was subject to all sorts of criticism whether it be constructive or destructive. This also was so in his personal life. Ethan would usually put himself out there on a first date with someone he had just met in order to display his true colors. For him dating was more than a serious of awkward encounters. It was more than trial by fire, seeing if a random convergence of personalities struck a chord which would lead to more serious matters. Ethan laid it on the line from date one. While he knew full well that such bold and drastic moves on such short notice would probably scare many lasses away, he justified it as being his filter. The ones that could tolerate his personality from the start maybe were the ones worth further study.
Ethan took another bite from his now dried up toast and threw it back on the plate. A quick swig of coffee cleaned out his mouth of the bitter taste before glancing once again at the paper. He was about to answer twenty across when he heard the door bell chime followed by the sound of clicking of heels against the tile. Ethan looked up instinctively to notice a tall, slender woman standing in the entryway of the cafe. She was fussing with her scarf and hat, which seemed to have gotten tangled by the harsh December wind. At first he couldn't see her face, all that was visible was her long black coat that nearly covered her entire body. To him it seemed that it was more than a cover for her physical body but maybe for her inner self. A mystery she was. No face to go with a body, just a person, nameless, and without meaning.
He took another sip, the coffee was more manageable to drink so he took a larger drink this time. Ethan noticed that his young viewer was staring at him again, so in his embarrassment he pretended to return to his crossword. For some reason this time he cared whether someone was noticing his curiosity about the new mystery customer who had just entered his life. The pen returned to its former position, resting comfortably in his mouth as he attempted to fill in one of the few remaining blanks he had left.
Ethan dared a quick glance from the paper and watched as the woman in black gracefully made her way to the counter almost directly across the way from him. Still clueless as to what her face looked like, Ethan found himself almost intrigued by the mysticism that she wore in plain sight. She didn't pay him any attention as she made her way to her seat. Resting her coat on the seat beside her, she grabbed a menu from the holder and began to flip through its pages as if it were Vogue. At this point there were so many thoughts and images racing through Ethan's head that he had to write some of them down. He reached into his messenger bag and removed a small black journal. Flipping to the center pages, he found a clean sheet and began to scribble a few lines of a poem that had creped into this head. Poetry was not his strongest suit so it seemed strange to him that he would first choose to express his curiosity in this form, yet as a writer he knew never to question nor over analyze where his creativity came from.
A few revisions and half a cup of coffee later he had finished the beginnings of a poem that he decided to work on later when he had returned home. For now he wanted to take in the present as much as he could while he could. Any assortment of things could happen at any moment that would ruin this perfect picture, well at least perfect for him. Within mystery lies the room for all sorts of creative imagination to take over, to take hold and shape whatever lifeless ball of clay there is into a variety of end results. Nothing was certain and that was what fueled Ethan's desire to write.
PS. This isn't really editted at all so expect some mistakes.
A man sits alone in a corner cafe, perusing through the Sunday Times, scratching out his best guesses to the crossword puzzle. He stops on occasion to sip from his piping hot coffee, each drink stings his mouth with pain as he is too impatient to let the breeze from the nearby door cool his beverage. A half eaten piece of toast rests askew on a plate nearby, he had his fill. In between answers he would stare off into the distance, comfortably chewing on the tip of his black ink pen, not really noticing a youngster two booths down making goofy faces at him. Ethan never cared what others thought of him. He didn't mind putting himself out on limb for the world to scrutinize, after all he was a writer and he was subject to all sorts of criticism whether it be constructive or destructive. This also was so in his personal life. Ethan would usually put himself out there on a first date with someone he had just met in order to display his true colors. For him dating was more than a serious of awkward encounters. It was more than trial by fire, seeing if a random convergence of personalities struck a chord which would lead to more serious matters. Ethan laid it on the line from date one. While he knew full well that such bold and drastic moves on such short notice would probably scare many lasses away, he justified it as being his filter. The ones that could tolerate his personality from the start maybe were the ones worth further study.
Ethan took another bite from his now dried up toast and threw it back on the plate. A quick swig of coffee cleaned out his mouth of the bitter taste before glancing once again at the paper. He was about to answer twenty across when he heard the door bell chime followed by the sound of clicking of heels against the tile. Ethan looked up instinctively to notice a tall, slender woman standing in the entryway of the cafe. She was fussing with her scarf and hat, which seemed to have gotten tangled by the harsh December wind. At first he couldn't see her face, all that was visible was her long black coat that nearly covered her entire body. To him it seemed that it was more than a cover for her physical body but maybe for her inner self. A mystery she was. No face to go with a body, just a person, nameless, and without meaning.
He took another sip, the coffee was more manageable to drink so he took a larger drink this time. Ethan noticed that his young viewer was staring at him again, so in his embarrassment he pretended to return to his crossword. For some reason this time he cared whether someone was noticing his curiosity about the new mystery customer who had just entered his life. The pen returned to its former position, resting comfortably in his mouth as he attempted to fill in one of the few remaining blanks he had left.
Ethan dared a quick glance from the paper and watched as the woman in black gracefully made her way to the counter almost directly across the way from him. Still clueless as to what her face looked like, Ethan found himself almost intrigued by the mysticism that she wore in plain sight. She didn't pay him any attention as she made her way to her seat. Resting her coat on the seat beside her, she grabbed a menu from the holder and began to flip through its pages as if it were Vogue. At this point there were so many thoughts and images racing through Ethan's head that he had to write some of them down. He reached into his messenger bag and removed a small black journal. Flipping to the center pages, he found a clean sheet and began to scribble a few lines of a poem that had creped into this head. Poetry was not his strongest suit so it seemed strange to him that he would first choose to express his curiosity in this form, yet as a writer he knew never to question nor over analyze where his creativity came from.
A few revisions and half a cup of coffee later he had finished the beginnings of a poem that he decided to work on later when he had returned home. For now he wanted to take in the present as much as he could while he could. Any assortment of things could happen at any moment that would ruin this perfect picture, well at least perfect for him. Within mystery lies the room for all sorts of creative imagination to take over, to take hold and shape whatever lifeless ball of clay there is into a variety of end results. Nothing was certain and that was what fueled Ethan's desire to write.
cyureus:
Ok, just to let you know i'll be waiting for the 2nd installment... like soon. *snapsnap*