Short Story (Incomplete)
So, I bought this wonderful application that gives me writing prompts. You get less than half a sentence and you’ve to take it from there. I found it interesting. Here’s my first attempt. I don’t write romance, it doesn’t interest me, and I don’t know where I’m going with this story. If you ask me, it’s the lead character doing it all, not me. It’s her story, my words. It’s like watching a movie and trying to write it all down, that’s what it is like.
So, what I would like from you guys is feedback. Anything you want to say, whatever comes to your mind, etc., and whether or not you actually want me to finish this story. Don’t say it to motivate me. I want the truth!
Here you go:
She didn’t want anyone to know about that man, least of all herself. Last night still felt like a dream, but she wasn’t the only one who thought that. Somewhere, near or far, a man was thinking the same thing. If anything, he was miserable.
Mary had this strange habit. Every night she would go for a walk, a run, or just in search of a quiet corner. Last night she found a corner by the main road. Autumn was setting in, it was late, and the entire street was empty. She walked in her loose white dress to the spot. It looked as if it had been especially designed for a person to sit on. The tree, it’s boughs heavy with white flowers. The saccharine smell. The concave trunk, perfect to lay back against. She took off her slippers and laid back. A flower would fall now and again. She rested her head and closed her eyes. With the smell taking over her mind, her senses calming down, her hearing became active. She heard the leaves, the sighing old tree, the whispers of the wind, and felt the flowers gently fall on her bare feet.
And then she heard claps. Louder claps. Now footsteps. When she opened her eyes, a man stood close by. Enchanted by her, gawking. These instances are unusual, and people who find them in such scenarios act in unusual ways. She smiled slightly, her blue eyes reflecting the moonlight. He smiled back, regaining composure, a bit awkwardly.
Then he walked away, unwillingly. What was he to do? She wanted to stop him, but she didn’t. Once he was out of sight, she walked back home. Then she cursed herself for not stopping him. That face had firmly fixed itself on her memory, as had the picture of her sitting under the tree on his.