An old, black leather boot hesitantly stepped onto an even older wooden
board that was splintered and weathered after years of being tread upon.
The other boot soon followed, just as reluctantly. The boots were attached
to a pair of stocking clad legs covered by a heavy floor-length dark gray
skirt that swished with every step the boots took.
The girl didn't turn around although it took all her willpower. She never had to leave anything before. Things had always left her.
Am I about to make the worst mistake of my life? she wondered for the millionth time that day.
She could almost feel a hand lightly touch her waist, begging her to come back. But it was just a desire and not his -- self-torture at its worse.
A dark gray glove gripped a polished wooden seat back as she sat down on the hard seat and turned to the window. All she could see was his face. His hazel eyes, his brown hair that sometimes hung in chunky strands that framed his face…there was something endearing about the way his cheeks often seemed a little flushed. What attracted her most was the expression of apathy he often wore. It was hard to tell what he was thinking most of the time, and she wanted to know. Obviously to her, it wasn't that he didn't care about anything, but that he couldn't show it. She wanted to be the one he could confide in and the one to whom she could tell all her problems. Sighing, she closed her eyes and tried to sleep among the memories that whirled around her.
A whistle blew, the train jolted to a start and her eyes fluttered open. With another sigh and the familiar pounding of her heart, she looked around. Everywhere around her people were escaping the crowded, dirty city just as she was. Either they were running away from something, or running toward something, or even a little bit of both, like her.
Her eyes rested upon a mother, a father, an older boy and two younger girls that shared two rows near her and reminded her of a family she knew a long time ago.
It wasn't that long ago, was it? she asked herself. But it was – she felt like a completely different person from the shy, naïve girl that worked for the Huntingtons. And yet there was a quiet, unrelenting anger that plagued her all those years. It burnt her from the outside as much as the inside until she finally broke free.
The girl didn't turn around although it took all her willpower. She never had to leave anything before. Things had always left her.
Am I about to make the worst mistake of my life? she wondered for the millionth time that day.
She could almost feel a hand lightly touch her waist, begging her to come back. But it was just a desire and not his -- self-torture at its worse.
A dark gray glove gripped a polished wooden seat back as she sat down on the hard seat and turned to the window. All she could see was his face. His hazel eyes, his brown hair that sometimes hung in chunky strands that framed his face…there was something endearing about the way his cheeks often seemed a little flushed. What attracted her most was the expression of apathy he often wore. It was hard to tell what he was thinking most of the time, and she wanted to know. Obviously to her, it wasn't that he didn't care about anything, but that he couldn't show it. She wanted to be the one he could confide in and the one to whom she could tell all her problems. Sighing, she closed her eyes and tried to sleep among the memories that whirled around her.
A whistle blew, the train jolted to a start and her eyes fluttered open. With another sigh and the familiar pounding of her heart, she looked around. Everywhere around her people were escaping the crowded, dirty city just as she was. Either they were running away from something, or running toward something, or even a little bit of both, like her.
Her eyes rested upon a mother, a father, an older boy and two younger girls that shared two rows near her and reminded her of a family she knew a long time ago.
It wasn't that long ago, was it? she asked herself. But it was – she felt like a completely different person from the shy, naïve girl that worked for the Huntingtons. And yet there was a quiet, unrelenting anger that plagued her all those years. It burnt her from the outside as much as the inside until she finally broke free.