Insanity
Waiting.
Her legs have already collapsed and her knees are scathed--arms crushed as her fingers tremble--from the cold or from her unrecognized emotions--and it all showing in the furrow of her brow. Her hands are clenched and they involuntarily twitch beneath the heavens. She sniffed, and in between arguing with herself why she ever thought of bringing the all too big violin case with her, now she's just waiting.
Her eyes are shut tight, but in concentration, not pain. His last day on Japan, and here she is, huddled uncomfortably trying to stay dry while the rain fell around her, and she waited for him to pass before he took his flight abroad. She can almost see it: her own reflection, weary but willful. And now she can almost feel him with her, a friend.
Maybe.
Maybe she's just going insane from it all. Perhaps she's focusing too much. But maybe she isn't. If she can let herself unravel, she can almost clutch at the notion. It's funny, she can see him stare her square in the eye, and feel her mind go blank. But when it does, he's somehow clearer, eyes fixed on her intently. Maybe. It could be just her imagination, a mirage spurred from will instead of reality. But one thing's sure.
She won't be waiting much longer.
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seven minutes, approximately 215 words. now, now, i don't know how to explain this one. heh.