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Title: The people watcher, at Hyde Park...

by Rachel from Berkshire | in writing, fiction

I bit my loquacious tongue, for I did not want to disturb her peaceful, calm nature. I must've looked awkward; my companions would've laughed to see me sitting side by side with this small, quaint girl. I wondered why she was still crying. I had been sitting next to her, casually observing her movements for some time now. Bitterly she had wept, and even now her suppressed tears fell silently onto the page of the novel she was supposedly reading.
Half an hour later and here we still were. The only means of conversation seemed to be a silent understanding. It seemed almost as if we were conversing noiselessly. If one of us had to break the silence- I knew it must be me. The only man sitting on this bench, I felt large with authority beside my company. I shifted slowly towards her thin body aching with suspicion as to what sort of character this girl was hiding. I did not wish for confrontation, rather I was interested in this young woman,
From afar, it was clear to see that she had not slept well, and her eyes were sunken in; her mouth a thin pink line against her oval face. Her hair was blonde and mousy, with almost no life in it at all, it was pulled back into a loose ponytail, and the odd wisps of hair making an escape curled round and shaped her face. She was wearing a dark woollen shawl pulled loosely around her sloping shoulders, and a baggy brown dress hiding what looked like a gorgeously voluptuous figure. Her boots were a dark suede, wet seeping through the toe due to the vast puddles throughout the park. Yet somehow the way she was sitting suggested she was more than comfortable with her façade.
I looked across at her. Surreptitiously I glanced over at the page she had been staring at through blurred eyes for the past hour, I noted the melancholy off the piece of literature, and began to scan through the text, immediately her senses prickled. I turned away sharply- but was not quick enough. She looked up at me; I was startled to see such dark eyes against her pale skin and blonde hair. Her eyebrows were neatly plucked, yet her clothes and overall appearance was hardly aesthetically pleasing. She clutched her purse tightly in her left hand; she was waiting for me to speak.
'I apologise,' was my weak reaction to her sudden gesture. She sighed, her grip loosening on the bag as she stared hesitantly at me. 'Why have you been watching me for such a very long time?' she whispered, her voice was thin and wavering, hardly catching the air. 'I was interested, that's all' I replied as nonchalantly as was possible in the current circumstance. 'What's you name?' she implored. I told her it was James. She smiled, closed her book and wrapped a pink woollen scarf round her neck. 'Why don't we go inside? It's getting awfully chilly' she said, her eyes shining mysteriously. She gestured to a small café nearby, I accepted her invitation, and together we walked, an ungainly pair, to 'Joe's Café'.

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A novel I was reading recently, situated in London. Reminded me of how places like Central Park etc are so quiet, yet full of diverse people. This is a short excerpt from a longer piece of writing.

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