Monday, May 4, 2009
Every time she looked at me it felt like a glare.
And every time she started talking to me, i would back off, involuntarily, preparing for some sort of rebuke for something or another.
I could never be sure whether she meant it or not, whether her eyes were really always focused on me, watching my every move, waiting for me to fail in one way or another, a murderous look in them. Or was it just my imagination?
The one who hates is a murderer. And yet, yet I had the feeling she hated me. Well maybe not so strong a word. She wouldn't murder anyone. But maybe dislike would be the word for it.
Frustration. She gave me nightmares. When I closed my eyes her face would appear, features exaggerated by my wandering mind.
Action. When I saw her i'd pretend to talk to someone. "accidentally" wander another metre away. Run past. Pretend not to notice. Shy away. because the awkwardness between us was too... strong.
Fear. I wasn't even sure how she felt. I didn't even know if maybe she was actually feeling the same way I did. But her eyes, the burning, the feeling that made me want to hide under a rock even when she wasn't looking at me... persuaded me otherwise. Fear? No, it looked like contempt. Like I was a clown in a circus. A pre-op charlie gordon.
Inner conflict. Could I trust her or not? Clearly my mind was exaggerating the situation. Clearly I was thinking to much.
Or was I?
Labels: short story
Patey blogged at 5/04/2009 09:05:00 PM
