I made just a few, most likely un-noticable changes. Tell me what you think please! -xoxo Kaeleen
Although it wasn't a chilly night in London of 1903, several men and women were over dressed, wearing their tailored trench coats and expensive shoes, they lined up, by the hundreds, in the theater while mingling and laughing about, awaiting the open night performance, Little Mary. J. M. Barrie, play writer and producer, nervously gazed out the red curtain, watching the empty seats suddenly fill before his eyes as quickly as the sun rises and falls each morning and night. Barrie's shadowy chocolate eyes then fell towards the audience, when he noticed his lovely wife, Mary, whom assembled herself smiling and socializing with everyone around her. James was different. He was on no account the type as she desired him to be, he was distant, and his judgments or thoughts typically remained to himself, or were expressed through his plays. Mary's tidily prepared auburn hair glowed under the stage's reflecting lights, and he remembered how well her previous occupation as a impressive, and well-loved, actress had taken, and he intently stared at her emerald green eyes which seemed to dance as everyone enjoyed her company, and for once, James envied her societal skills. Turning back to the stage, James closed the curtains, as he perceived the sound for the lights to dim, and the play to begin. It started, and ended. There was nothing in between. As people said, "Simply rubbish, and nonsense," he did not fret or sigh, merely smiled and replied, "I can do better," and he would.
"Mary," James Scottish accent slightly showed as he spoke, though he had now been living in London for over five years, "I'm headed to the park if you'd like to join me. It's a beautiful morning."
Mary lay in her room, door closed and asked, although she already knew her answer, "You'll be working, will you?"
James placed his hand on the cold, brass doorknob, deciding whether or not he should greet his wife the proper way, though quickly thought against it. "Yes."
Silence between the two would be discomfited for a recently married couple, yet for Barrie and she, it was not. It always seemed quiet in their house, with the exception of the echoes in the grand hall, of the servants occasionally visiting, and this certain silence occurred before Mary answered, "I'll leave you to your work then."
"Very well then. I will be home later tonight," Barrie responded, reaching for his writer's journal on the table stand next to her door. As he approached the park, James, with his outsized dog following directly behind him, sat upon his preferred bench, near a large oak tree, overlooking the park's most glorious views, in which today appeared splendid. Opening the daily newspaper, he did not seem to notice the article titled, "Barrie's Play Another Disaster", which had been cut out by one of the maids earlier in the morning, he simply looked beyond it, noticing his dog, playing with a few children in the distance of the park, when a voice from underneath him called out, "Excuse me sir, but your standing on my sleeve."
A little boy, no over the age of six, with cropped brown hair, lay beneath Barrie's bench, and he removed his shoe without any need of another request, and said, "May I point out that your laying under my bench."
