Hidden
Introduction
I wait, sliding into the shadows. I blend in well in such a large school. She has no idea of my existance.
Who is she, you might ask.
I don't know her name. I don't know her age. To be quite honest, I'm not even always sure of her race. I don't know if she's smart, funny, friendly, or stupid, dull, and mean. I honestly do not know her. I only know what she looks like, how she moves.
She's a tall, slender hourglass. She has long, thick, dark brown hair that come down her shoulders and back in shiny, multidimensional waves that shimmer in the light. She has big, expressive brown eyes that constantly seem to be far away from the wretched school. Her lips are perfectly formed; a full, rosy bough. Her features, other than her eyes, are relatively small compared to others in the school, but it just added to the delicate beauty of her face.
She moved with a quick, agilitic gracefulness, a certain elegance about her carriage; she carried herself very well. Her arms were long; she had a delicate wrist, with long fingers that she wore silver rings on; often times she had written on her hands in a bold, scrawling Sharpie.
As always, she moved swiftly by me, the unseen, her dark eyes distant. Even in the standard school attire, you could see the sway of her hips, the bulge of her breast.
"Shirley Logans!" she exclaimed, her voice unerringly feminine.
The girl that she was greeting sighed exasperatedly and moved forward rapidly.
My girl smiled, a sweet, close-lipped smile; her full lips stretched out, and I could see a small freckle on her upper lip, and another right next to her bottom lip. Her eyes glittered like black diamonds as she was brought to the present, and it pleased me for some reason.
I watched as she disappeared behind her locker, and I stepped out from my hiding spot, disappearing into the crowd.
Who is she, you might ask.
I don't know her name. I don't know her age. To be quite honest, I'm not even always sure of her race. I don't know if she's smart, funny, friendly, or stupid, dull, and mean. I honestly do not know her. I only know what she looks like, how she moves.
She's a tall, slender hourglass. She has long, thick, dark brown hair that come down her shoulders and back in shiny, multidimensional waves that shimmer in the light. She has big, expressive brown eyes that constantly seem to be far away from the wretched school. Her lips are perfectly formed; a full, rosy bough. Her features, other than her eyes, are relatively small compared to others in the school, but it just added to the delicate beauty of her face.
She moved with a quick, agilitic gracefulness, a certain elegance about her carriage; she carried herself very well. Her arms were long; she had a delicate wrist, with long fingers that she wore silver rings on; often times she had written on her hands in a bold, scrawling Sharpie.
As always, she moved swiftly by me, the unseen, her dark eyes distant. Even in the standard school attire, you could see the sway of her hips, the bulge of her breast.
"Shirley Logans!" she exclaimed, her voice unerringly feminine.
The girl that she was greeting sighed exasperatedly and moved forward rapidly.
My girl smiled, a sweet, close-lipped smile; her full lips stretched out, and I could see a small freckle on her upper lip, and another right next to her bottom lip. Her eyes glittered like black diamonds as she was brought to the present, and it pleased me for some reason.
I watched as she disappeared behind her locker, and I stepped out from my hiding spot, disappearing into the crowd.
♠ ♠ ♠
Just so you know, the girl is me. I don't really know why it occured to me; it was just a random little tidbit that popped into my head, and I couldn't resist extending it. I'm sorry if it makes me sound arrogant or whatever, but it's just how I pictured it to be written.