(no subject)
So, if this was the first page of a novel, would you read it?
It was like a sad kind of duet that would never finish. He was frozen, just staring at her from across the field, with one arm bent almost awkwardly towards her. And she always looked right back.
The clothes he wore were getting old and tired - the dull gray buttons were slowly decaying and his hat hardly held together. He never bothered to fix it, for he himself felt just as old. His face sagged a bit, and the joints in his arms were creaking. His nose drooped and his sunken eyes kept right on watching her, with a lost hopelessness in those gray depths.
She did not fare much better. She, too, was so old that she felt she was already falling into the ground. She had shrunk so much that she was perpetually kneeling, as if begging for something. Her eyes were a bit off - one seemed to always be aimed at him, the other turned upwards towards the sky. It focused there, as if awaiting the sun.
The chilling wind that would sometimes sweep around them, brushing parts of them off into the Earth, seemed to sing a haunting melody. If music could have played out here, in this desolate nowhere, it would have been a waltz. The last one of the night, when everyone is leaving.
There are little patches of green showing through the white all around them. And as more and more of this newfound life started to show, the pair’s faces turned a bit more downwards. The man’s face had tear-streaks down it that ran all the way to his remaining buttons. The woman’s eyes drifted farther apart and the one looking at the sky faded more and more.
She noticed the change first. With the way she was facing, she felt the warmth more strongly at the beginning than he did. And it pushed her ever downwards into the ground.
They both despaired at the thought of this change. Spring could only mean the end. And in those final few moments before the warm winds took the last of them they thought of happier moments long gone.
It was like a sad kind of duet that would never finish. He was frozen, just staring at her from across the field, with one arm bent almost awkwardly towards her. And she always looked right back.
The clothes he wore were getting old and tired - the dull gray buttons were slowly decaying and his hat hardly held together. He never bothered to fix it, for he himself felt just as old. His face sagged a bit, and the joints in his arms were creaking. His nose drooped and his sunken eyes kept right on watching her, with a lost hopelessness in those gray depths.
She did not fare much better. She, too, was so old that she felt she was already falling into the ground. She had shrunk so much that she was perpetually kneeling, as if begging for something. Her eyes were a bit off - one seemed to always be aimed at him, the other turned upwards towards the sky. It focused there, as if awaiting the sun.
The chilling wind that would sometimes sweep around them, brushing parts of them off into the Earth, seemed to sing a haunting melody. If music could have played out here, in this desolate nowhere, it would have been a waltz. The last one of the night, when everyone is leaving.
There are little patches of green showing through the white all around them. And as more and more of this newfound life started to show, the pair’s faces turned a bit more downwards. The man’s face had tear-streaks down it that ran all the way to his remaining buttons. The woman’s eyes drifted farther apart and the one looking at the sky faded more and more.
She noticed the change first. With the way she was facing, she felt the warmth more strongly at the beginning than he did. And it pushed her ever downwards into the ground.
They both despaired at the thought of this change. Spring could only mean the end. And in those final few moments before the warm winds took the last of them they thought of happier moments long gone.