Non-challenge
Sep. 9th, 2008 11:20 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
taistoi.livejournal.com posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
kh_drabbleOkay, so I couldn't resist my own prompt. I waited until the very end to write/post this, because I didn't want to skew the competition and/or make people think I was looking for something specific. Didn't want to influence myself either, XD. ANYWAY.
Title: Strangers
Word Count: 489
Spoilers: No
Notes: Reincarnation doesn't mean you keep your appearance and name.
The subway clatters into the station and people file on. One young African-American man sits down, book in hand, reading intently and memorizing the lines of archaic prose in Middle English - Whanne that April with his shoures sote - lips moving as he reads the words, sounds them out.
A skinny homeless man, bedraggled and worn with age, guitar in hand, grinning a bit gap-toothedly stands by the door, shifting, trying not to offend anyone.
There’s already a mother of three on the train, and she folds her hands across her girth, before giving each of the children a stern frown that silences them immediately.
A young couple cuddles across the aisle from her, and she pouts and bats her eyelashes at him while he calls her “babe” and “kiddo” and discreetly cups her breast in his hand. She frowns and shoves his hand away, and his blue eyes plead with her to let it slide.
A teenager with metal lining his ears, his eyebrows, his lips, is sitting somewhere else, absorbed in his iPod, hair dyed black as his clothes. He’s wearing eyeliner, and yet in spite of his sour appearance, he smiles graciously at an elderly lady and stands up for her immediately. The old lady smiles back and tells him that he’s a gentleman . She scoffs and calls him a “snot-nosed, ignorant punk” under her breath once his back is turned. He rolls a pair of dice between his thumb and forefinger, and leans against a pole.
There is a stern businessman in a designer suit, reading his paper and giving off one of THOSE vibes. A co-ed ignores his aura and sits down, sucking on her Green Tea Frappucino. She bobs her foot and plays with a stray strand of unkempt copper hair, waiting impatiently for the train to take off. He lowers his paper and frowns at her. She ignores him.
A man wearing coveralls and with dirty hands climbs on. He’s carrying roses, with a large card tucked in the bouquet. The clean blossoms are a stark contrast to his blue-collar appearance. Even so, he cradles them like his children and frowns at a small child that continues to blather on and on to his father about weather patterns and low pressure systems and flying. The boy’s father smiles gently at his son, and says “we’ll visit the museum again soon, Dilan.”
And just as the doors close and the train begins to lurch forward, Dilan’s father looks up and sees an unusual man standing in the middle of the car, surveying them all. He appears to be in his late 20’s, but in a way that seems almost ageless. His hair is white, his skin is dark. Their eyes meet briefly – blue and amber – and the stranger looks away, as if remembering something painful
The subway clatters out of the station, and thirteen passengers can’t explain why they feel connected.
[by the way, I've included all thirteen. See if you can figure it out ^^]
Title: Strangers
Word Count: 489
Spoilers: No
Notes: Reincarnation doesn't mean you keep your appearance and name.
The subway clatters into the station and people file on. One young African-American man sits down, book in hand, reading intently and memorizing the lines of archaic prose in Middle English - Whanne that April with his shoures sote - lips moving as he reads the words, sounds them out.
A skinny homeless man, bedraggled and worn with age, guitar in hand, grinning a bit gap-toothedly stands by the door, shifting, trying not to offend anyone.
There’s already a mother of three on the train, and she folds her hands across her girth, before giving each of the children a stern frown that silences them immediately.
A young couple cuddles across the aisle from her, and she pouts and bats her eyelashes at him while he calls her “babe” and “kiddo” and discreetly cups her breast in his hand. She frowns and shoves his hand away, and his blue eyes plead with her to let it slide.
A teenager with metal lining his ears, his eyebrows, his lips, is sitting somewhere else, absorbed in his iPod, hair dyed black as his clothes. He’s wearing eyeliner, and yet in spite of his sour appearance, he smiles graciously at an elderly lady and stands up for her immediately. The old lady smiles back and tells him that he’s a gentleman . She scoffs and calls him a “snot-nosed, ignorant punk” under her breath once his back is turned. He rolls a pair of dice between his thumb and forefinger, and leans against a pole.
There is a stern businessman in a designer suit, reading his paper and giving off one of THOSE vibes. A co-ed ignores his aura and sits down, sucking on her Green Tea Frappucino. She bobs her foot and plays with a stray strand of unkempt copper hair, waiting impatiently for the train to take off. He lowers his paper and frowns at her. She ignores him.
A man wearing coveralls and with dirty hands climbs on. He’s carrying roses, with a large card tucked in the bouquet. The clean blossoms are a stark contrast to his blue-collar appearance. Even so, he cradles them like his children and frowns at a small child that continues to blather on and on to his father about weather patterns and low pressure systems and flying. The boy’s father smiles gently at his son, and says “we’ll visit the museum again soon, Dilan.”
And just as the doors close and the train begins to lurch forward, Dilan’s father looks up and sees an unusual man standing in the middle of the car, surveying them all. He appears to be in his late 20’s, but in a way that seems almost ageless. His hair is white, his skin is dark. Their eyes meet briefly – blue and amber – and the stranger looks away, as if remembering something painful
The subway clatters out of the station, and thirteen passengers can’t explain why they feel connected.
[by the way, I've included all thirteen. See if you can figure it out ^^]
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no subject
Date: 2008-09-10 08:13 am (UTC)Echoing de yaten's question as to whether or not you're going to tell because dammit I want to know.
no subject
Date: 2008-09-10 02:41 pm (UTC)