Let's Play a Game 1
Decided that I need to practice writing stories and not just RPing. Had this idea in my head for a while. Style is more to the point rather than descriptive, partly because I'm lazy and partly because I lack muse. :U
When the transfer student first walks into the classroom, I’m not sure what to think of her.
My rational self notes that she is like a child. A girl with shocking blue-green hair that drift all the way down to her waist and neatly tied up in twin pigtails with a pair of turquoise ribbons, its silky shine winking at me through the classroom lights. Her face is small and round, but not ovular. Rather, it’s a soft heart. Despite her diminutive height she’s thin, perhaps so thin that if I attempted to pick her up she would snap in my arms.
The grotesque image sends shudders through my body.
With a rather perky smile, she grabs a fistful of her white dress and politely curtsies to the class. I idly wonder what time period she grew up in. “My name is Ha-Miku Hatsune.” Having begun with her family-from what I could tell, at least-she quickly corrects herself, keeping her angelic smile as she then bows: her back is straight, her arms resting on her legs and her gaze downcast. In my head I uselessly comment, the typical Asian greeting-thank you, imported cartoons. “It’s a pleasure to meet you!”
Everyone remains stoic-faced, myself included. It’s much too bothersome to act excited early in the morning.
The teacher instructs Miku to take the abandoned desk behind mine. I raise my hand to make it easier for her to locate her seat and I immediately find her wide, sea green eyes locked on me. Her intense gaze unsettles me so that I nervously pull back my arm into the cavity sheltered by my chest. While I focus on the worksheet placed before me I hear her ballet shoes scuff against the scratched tiles of the floor. Her pigtails brush against my arm. Instinctively my gaze follows her movements until she begins to pull out her chair. By the time she’s at her desk my eyes is already back to the classwork.
My other self grumbles that something is off about her. Too perky, it lamely explains.
Too perky.
When the transfer student first walks into the classroom, I’m not sure what to think of her.
My rational self notes that she is like a child. A girl with shocking blue-green hair that drift all the way down to her waist and neatly tied up in twin pigtails with a pair of turquoise ribbons, its silky shine winking at me through the classroom lights. Her face is small and round, but not ovular. Rather, it’s a soft heart. Despite her diminutive height she’s thin, perhaps so thin that if I attempted to pick her up she would snap in my arms.
The grotesque image sends shudders through my body.
With a rather perky smile, she grabs a fistful of her white dress and politely curtsies to the class. I idly wonder what time period she grew up in. “My name is Ha-Miku Hatsune.” Having begun with her family-from what I could tell, at least-she quickly corrects herself, keeping her angelic smile as she then bows: her back is straight, her arms resting on her legs and her gaze downcast. In my head I uselessly comment, the typical Asian greeting-thank you, imported cartoons. “It’s a pleasure to meet you!”
Everyone remains stoic-faced, myself included. It’s much too bothersome to act excited early in the morning.
The teacher instructs Miku to take the abandoned desk behind mine. I raise my hand to make it easier for her to locate her seat and I immediately find her wide, sea green eyes locked on me. Her intense gaze unsettles me so that I nervously pull back my arm into the cavity sheltered by my chest. While I focus on the worksheet placed before me I hear her ballet shoes scuff against the scratched tiles of the floor. Her pigtails brush against my arm. Instinctively my gaze follows her movements until she begins to pull out her chair. By the time she’s at her desk my eyes is already back to the classwork.
My other self grumbles that something is off about her. Too perky, it lamely explains.
Too perky.