Title: Begin to See

Pen Name: istandcorrected

Sense: Sight

Genre: Romance

Characters: Jasper & Alice

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Written as a timed writing piece in 30 minutes.


Alice's POV

She sits, a tangled mix of impatience and resignation. The moment for which she waits is certain, more assured than any other she has pined for. Only the timing is in question; the outcome guaranteed.

All she must do is watch and wait. However, for one inclined to motion this is pure torture.

For most, sight is concrete. People rely on their vision above all other senses, grounding them to the here and now as they navigate the world. However, this is not a truth for everyone. This is not a verity for the dark haired wonder seated in the third booth on the left, stirring her coffee in the cracked mug labeled Sal's Diner. It will go unconsumed, used as a prop to pass idle time. She stares at ripples that extend when she adds yet another dollop of sugar. Memorizing the shades of brown that form with the mixing of cream, carrying her cup from raw umber to fallow to khaki.

As always, time passes slowly. So Alice runs the things that she has seen through her mind to fortify her crumbling perseverance.

He will come on a day with gray skies and morning fog. The pooling of moisture on the outer windowsill, inches away yet blocked by thick glass, shows the compliance of the weather patterns this day.

The blonde waitress, whom Alice has learned to be called Sara, will be working the counter on the day he arrives. This, however, is not as helpful because Sara has been working ten hours at the counter six days a week for the last four years. As far as Alice can see, ten more years of this routine await the discontent waitress.

Her visions come in clips viewed through the mist of choice. A simple twist of will or spontaneous act can morph and bend the future like clay upon on the potter's wheel.

The forming of future does not come from her own hand. She is merely a witness of the technique, learning tricks of the trade from careful observation.

Her fingers push spilled sugar around the table, aligning the small particles with the picture she forms in her mind, bringing her vision of the line of his profile to life on the resin surface. Even the sweet sugar is not a worthy medium to portray his toothsome appearance, she muses.

Alice is so absorbed in her sanguine creation she nearly misses the chimes of the door.

Nearly.

Then the sun shines in, pushing through the clouds just as she saw it would. The beams of light are diminutive enough to warrant no alarm of discovery, just as she saw they would be.

Her feet are moving, at last free from her directive to abide as she sweeps across the floor. Her eyes take him in, drinking him in from base to crown. The curve of his lips, the form of his body, the sweep of his tousled blonde hair, and the crimson shade of his eyes all are cataloged and tucked away to form a lasting memory.

And she knows; this is what it truly is to see.

"You've kept me waiting a long time," her voice conveys her thrill, her relief, her joy, her wonder.

"I'm sorry m'am," he tips his hat, as she saw he would.

Finally, the trappings of the vision fall away and she is about to just be, rather than forced to only see.

She is able to step into the concrete and shed her world of visions, to offer her hand to the tangible man of her waking dreams.

At last, her future is beginning.