(unfinished pieces)
There she sat, in her long blue dress, hunched
up knees to chin with her arms wrapped round her legs. She swayed softly as if
moved by a gentle breeze. The sun was shining but she seemed cold.
Her choclately skin seemed pale, almost grey
and she stared listlessly at the ground. The sun was out, slightly toasty but
she seemed unaware of it. Everything around her was bright and green drawn in palettes
of colour and she and only she was drawn in shades of grey. She cast an aura of shades of grey.
But not all was grey. Here and there you could
see colour. Her finger tips were a delicate pink. Here hair band was a
brilliant blue and her lips held just a hint of colour, evidence that life
still coursed through them. Her eyes
lashes were long and black thick as an African mush. The tips of her hair, natural and curly
fluttered ever so slightly when the wind picked up slightly.
I walked to her gently, my brown suit drinking
in the sun. I had a few minutes to spare and thought I walk through city square
would do me good, after all it was the only place between my current stops that
gave me a chance to sit and rest. Hers was the only bench with room. I had
stopped when I had seen her.
Everybody seemed to avoid her as if she cast a
spell that kept them away. Or perhaps they did not see her. They obviously did
not seem to notice her at all, or the space on her bench. I guess not one was
brave enough. I shivered thinking of the chill she most probably exuded. But I
was drawn to her, that and my feet hurt.
