A Short Story

     This story was actually written over the summer, and it’s been sitting in my drafts folder of Blogger since then. I don’t really know why I never posted it before, but I am now, obviously. I’m not sure how I got the idea for this story, but the sentences just started scrolling through my mind and I zoned out for like an hour just reading this story over and over to myself in my mind. It had originally been in the point of view of the girl but I wanted to challenge myself and, again, work on expanding my writing so I changed it around and wrote it from the point of view of the man. I actually found it easier to describe women than men because I’m a girl, so I know what girls would want people to describe them as, whereas I have no idea how a guy would want to be described. It’s a really short short story but hope you enjoy it!
                                                                                                                 -Taylor
 
     In the park there laid a girl who was radiant in every sense of the word. A book with a shiny blue cover laid beside her, unopened, though it was clearly well-loved, and I hoped she read that book every day. Headphones plugged her ears, isolating her from the world around her, but not in arrogance. I imagined she was listening to something like “Free Fallin,'” but the cover version by John Mayer because it always sounded smoother to her. Her ponytail was pulled loosely on her head, as high as it could go, because she would have thought it signified her high on life. The slightest trace of a smile crept its way onto her soft pink lips.
     Kids and footballers, who sneaked unnoticed glances at her as they ran by, played around her in darkness because the sun peeped from beyond ceaseless clouds only to shine on her. She basked in the light on her old, sandy, blue towel that she probably took to the beach every weekend from the age of eight. Some ten years later, she must have decided to get a tattoo. Small, scribbled letters were sprawled on her wrist in white ink, because black would have represented some kind of darkness in her, and she wasn’t dark. She was all things light.
     I snuck glances of my own, but I was no closer than fifty feet away. She would have loved me, but only because she loved all things, but she never would have wanted me. I was a businessman passing by on his way back to the office after lunch who could only feed her politics and candle-lit dinners. She deserved riches, but not of money and jewels. She deserved rich culture, chocolate, and music, the kind you could listen to when sunbathing in the park, crying in bed, or dancing with your friends. I was hidden behind those ceaseless clouds and no where near her spotlight of sunshine.
     But that was three years ago and the clouds have long since turned off her spotlight in the park and turned them on somewhere else for her. She left nothing behind except pieces of her lingering radiance; not a name or an address. The tragedy of it was that she had never once looked up. She will forever be imprinted in my mind, while only the sun will be imprinted in her’s.
    One day, in an old used-book library just around the corner from that same park, I found a book. The book. The unopened, shiny blue covered book that had shared her light. I knew that, logically, it couldn’t have been the exact copy she had owned, but its spine was creased and the pages smelt like sea water and sunshine. I reached out a shaky hand and pulled the book from a shelf, dust coating the tips of my fingers. When I opened it there was a note taped to the very first page in small, scribbled handwriting that read, “to the businessman in the park.”

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