10_words submission - Understanding
Dec. 24th, 2005 12:41 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
This is my submission to today's
10_words challenge. It's an original ficlet and the ten words I was supposed to include in it and the ficlet itself are behind the cut. I'm not particularly good at poetry, so I stuck to prose.
rain
book
memories
moments
she
fever
think
watch
work
soup
An unexpected burst of anxiety burned through me like a fever when I saw my name printed on the dustcover of the book my co-worker slid across the table to me.
“I didn’t know you were a writer,” she said and looked at me with the most peculiar expression.
“Neither did I, actually.” I admitted, pushing away my half-eaten bowl of soup.
Thin vapor drifted into the air as the soup slowly cooled, but I had lost the scent and taste of it, too self-conscious to do anything but glace at my watch and wish I was somewhere else. It wasn’t just some book that lay before me, but a collection of memories from my life that held a deep and secret meaning… or had until I whispered them onto a sheet of paper with my pen and destroyed their magic.
Now they lay bare and exposed to the world and I stood as one naked before her penetrating gaze. Did she think less of me now knowing the dark truths of my life? Was that pity I saw in her eyes?
“And what did you think of it?” I asked, numbly. Rising slowly to my feet, I gathered my dishes knowing I had to return to work soon.
For many long moments she remained silent and I didn’t know if this was a good or bad thing. Then finally she looked at me, really looked at me, her eyes shimmering like rain, a small, sad smile on her face. And I knew without a doubt that she understood everything.
“I never thought anyone would be able to feel my pain, let alone understand how I felt,” she whispered, “but now I know that you do and that I’m not as alone as I thought.”
![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
rain
book
memories
moments
she
fever
think
watch
work
soup
An unexpected burst of anxiety burned through me like a fever when I saw my name printed on the dustcover of the book my co-worker slid across the table to me.
“I didn’t know you were a writer,” she said and looked at me with the most peculiar expression.
“Neither did I, actually.” I admitted, pushing away my half-eaten bowl of soup.
Thin vapor drifted into the air as the soup slowly cooled, but I had lost the scent and taste of it, too self-conscious to do anything but glace at my watch and wish I was somewhere else. It wasn’t just some book that lay before me, but a collection of memories from my life that held a deep and secret meaning… or had until I whispered them onto a sheet of paper with my pen and destroyed their magic.
Now they lay bare and exposed to the world and I stood as one naked before her penetrating gaze. Did she think less of me now knowing the dark truths of my life? Was that pity I saw in her eyes?
“And what did you think of it?” I asked, numbly. Rising slowly to my feet, I gathered my dishes knowing I had to return to work soon.
For many long moments she remained silent and I didn’t know if this was a good or bad thing. Then finally she looked at me, really looked at me, her eyes shimmering like rain, a small, sad smile on her face. And I knew without a doubt that she understood everything.
“I never thought anyone would be able to feel my pain, let alone understand how I felt,” she whispered, “but now I know that you do and that I’m not as alone as I thought.”
no subject
Date: 2005-12-24 08:56 am (UTC)