Fictional Mumblings

All the games we play

They walk toward each other outside the town’s dingy station. It’s five after midnight. The raspy wind nips at them gratuitously, forcing them deeper into their coats. She steels herself, breathing deeply. He still looks like a mischievous boy, she thinks nervously. He draws nearer and she stops, wordlessly prompting him to come towards her. She really has changed, he thinks, a smile tugging at his lips. It’s been too long. He extends his hand invitingly, the tiny specks of amber in his green eyes glinting fiercely, like embers of a banked fire. He knew she knew.

She meets his eye briefly and then looks away quickly, too quickly, belatedly noticing his outstretched palm. Hesitantly, she unfurls her hand towards his. The touch is brief, awkward, fumbling, nothing like the easy familiarity of old.

Between them not even a hello escapes. Her body shakes in fear. She opens her mouth, letting out a hiss of air. He rocks back on his heels, watching her carefully, his hands in his pockets. She looks away from him and the silence stretches past them out into the lonely night.

4 replies on “All the games we play”

>i cudnt help see the enthusiasm of some while they portray themselves as cold and heartless 🙂

wonderful work!

>im not too sure why, but reading this got that old catchy song by tAtu erm..running through my head (excuse the pun)

"All the things she said…"

So I think at the end of your scene that song might play in my head – sometimes people say more by not saying much 😛

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