A Broken Hallelujah
He sits at a table in the back corner, partly obscured by a display full of travel mugs and bags of this month's special roast. His bronze hair is a beacon, revealing his identity instantly and serving as a warning, like a hazard sign on a dangerous curve.
She knew he could be here, be anywhere really, but it does little to quell the shock she feels - shock so profound, she's frozen in place until a concerned citizen informs her that her dog has escaped her and is now running down Main Street, his leash trailing behind him.
Shaking herself free from the vision in front of her — of a man smiling a smile she thought dead along with the boy he used to be— she backs away with heavy feet.
They drag as she turns and walks away.
It's the only thing she can do.
Hi There. *waves*
So, um... no, this is not Arms, or What Drives Her, or An Immortal Wish. SO go ahead, shoot me or shout at me if you like, but this is what I call therapy for a broken writer.
I'm starting to think we're all broken over something, and I know we're all just trying to make our way. This idea made it's way out of my head today, and for once, I'm not stopping to think. I'm just writing it down.
I don't know how long this will be, or if it will update daily. But I do know it will be lots of short chapters, and a pretty quick glimpse into a specific time in two people's lives.
So that's all for now. See you soon,
PS- If you're reading Arms- the next chapter is with the pre-readers and should go up sometime this weekend. So woohoo for that! :-)