Teaser
This has been sitting in the back of my mind for some time. Please let me know I'd you'd like to see more!
The snow is soft. It settles in my hair. I reach up to brush it off, ducking my head. As I lean, I catch my reflection in a puddle.
My name is Sparrow. I suppose it suits me. I’m tall,, with brown hair and brown eyes. I like hiding out in the old treehouse, and taking photos with my Nikon camera. I guess I’m birdlike enough.
But today, I’m on a bridge in the park, trying to find something interesting, something shadowed perfectly, something eye catching. It’s not easy. The only people who come here are that one couple who likes to sit on the bench in the park and talk and talk and talk, the old man who feeds the ducks every morning, even if they’ve migrated, and a black cat with blue eyes.
I guess the cat contrasts enough with the white snow. I position myself, then photograph it. The cat blinks at me sleepily. I frown. I wish the cat’s eyes weren’t blue. Blue and white is a little clich, when you’re considering winter as the topic. Maybe green, or yellow. Yellow would be best.
A piece of paper floats down in front of me. It’s thin, and the handwriting on it is thin, and spidery. A corner peeks out at me, and I glimpse the writing.
A boy. Brown hair. A cat. Blue eyes.
He’s looking for something; you can see
It in his frustrated black eyes
The cat has no cares; it stares at him
Sniffing his camera.
Is this about me? How would you be able to write something like this in just a few seconds? I wouldn’t know. I’m currently failing English.
I grab the paper in my fingerless gloves and stand, looking for the owner. I want to know more about this..
A girl I’d never seen before, with dark brown hair and a white beret, stands at the bridge’s edge and grips the railing. There’s a backpack at her feet, and it’s open, sheets of paper smushed into it. She seems to be holding herself back. From what, I don’t know.
All I know is that with this girl’s dark hair and bright green eyes, I have the contrast I need. I bring my camera up to my eye, and snap. I’ve got it.
Now I really need to speak with this girl. This paper flew out of her backpack, and I just took a picture of her without her permission. She turns before I can touch her shoulder. “How is it?”
“What?”
“The poem. I see you’ve found it.”
I look down at my hand. “Oh, yeah. Here.” She takes it back.
“What did you think of it?” she repeats.
“I liked it, I guess. Is it about me?”
She nods, green eyes looking over the frozen creek. “Yes. You were the only interesting thing I could find.”
I agree. “I don’t think I’ve seen you here before?”
