Status: Always done. <3
Twenty Years From Now
Twenty Years From Now
The train began to screech to a halt, and the solitary woman standing near the back looked up expectantly, shoving her glasses farther up her nose. She was tall, standing at 5'9" and a half, and healthily thin. Her hair was held in a messy bun, with two decorative chopsticks shoved in to make it "neater." The woman carried the look of slight self-confidence, but still holding that shy air that younger girls hold. She had a small digital camera in her coat's pocket, and three overstuffed notebooks clutched in her arms.
She was 34, but a very fun 34, not the usual at-home mom, or in-office paper-pusher. She was an author in her prime, knowledgeable of nearly the whole world, and she had her source to get the information she needed. She wrote fiction, mostly, but enjoyed throwing random facts in for fun. She was a photographer, focusing her camera mostly on the rare works of nature or the rare spectacles that human beings at their best. She was world-renowned for her literature and her photos. She spent her spare time vacationing wherever the wind would take her – literally; she waited for the wind to blow to show her what direction to go. She was independent of her family, a prize won at the age of 18.
The train rolled slowly along its track, and the woman smiled faintly to herself, twirling a finger through her curly mass of auburn hair. Her glasses slid once more down her nose, and she sighed in irritation. "You win, glasses," she murmured, shifting her weight to her right foot as the train's brakes screeched to bring the whole locomotive to a stop. A few people waited behind with the woman – though not necessarily with her – while the rest rushed off the train as if the plague was on their heels, waiting oh so patiently for them. The woman perked up and pulled a chopstick – which, conveniently double as a pencil, was just what she needed – out of her hair, opening one of her thick notebooks and scribbling her thoughts down. That would be a great line for a book. She smiled to herself, thinking of something waiting for her current favorite characters.
She finally found herself walking slowly off the train, as if she hated parting with it. She almost did. That was the first time in her life that she had been on a train. She had done nearly everything else in her life. She had her list. She found another notebook, a small one jammed into one of her larger ones, and crossed off number 342: ride a train. She smiled brightly to herself, finally relenting and pushing her black and green framed glasses back up the bridge of her freckled nose. She walked down the platform and straight to the stairs, but paused at the top, letting the wind blow past her. With a confirming nod, she set off down the stairs and to another adventure, ready for what life would throw at her.
She was 34, but a very fun 34, not the usual at-home mom, or in-office paper-pusher. She was an author in her prime, knowledgeable of nearly the whole world, and she had her source to get the information she needed. She wrote fiction, mostly, but enjoyed throwing random facts in for fun. She was a photographer, focusing her camera mostly on the rare works of nature or the rare spectacles that human beings at their best. She was world-renowned for her literature and her photos. She spent her spare time vacationing wherever the wind would take her – literally; she waited for the wind to blow to show her what direction to go. She was independent of her family, a prize won at the age of 18.
The train rolled slowly along its track, and the woman smiled faintly to herself, twirling a finger through her curly mass of auburn hair. Her glasses slid once more down her nose, and she sighed in irritation. "You win, glasses," she murmured, shifting her weight to her right foot as the train's brakes screeched to bring the whole locomotive to a stop. A few people waited behind with the woman – though not necessarily with her – while the rest rushed off the train as if the plague was on their heels, waiting oh so patiently for them. The woman perked up and pulled a chopstick – which, conveniently double as a pencil, was just what she needed – out of her hair, opening one of her thick notebooks and scribbling her thoughts down. That would be a great line for a book. She smiled to herself, thinking of something waiting for her current favorite characters.
She finally found herself walking slowly off the train, as if she hated parting with it. She almost did. That was the first time in her life that she had been on a train. She had done nearly everything else in her life. She had her list. She found another notebook, a small one jammed into one of her larger ones, and crossed off number 342: ride a train. She smiled brightly to herself, finally relenting and pushing her black and green framed glasses back up the bridge of her freckled nose. She walked down the platform and straight to the stairs, but paused at the top, letting the wind blow past her. With a confirming nod, she set off down the stairs and to another adventure, ready for what life would throw at her.
♠ ♠ ♠
// /: Blahh. I never really will like this, there's so much about it that could be better. So many people like it though, so here.