fictional prose: gathering clouds

The smell of cheep coffee and overcooked breakfast pastries permeated the air, wafting in the light breeze through the walkway as she traversed it. The acrid smell of nearly burned grinds made her nose upturn as she choked back a breath. Quickening her pace she barreled headlong into the crowd that felt suspiciously like lost tourists congregating near the shop. A din of confused chatter drowned out the music flowing into her earphone, temporarily overwhelming most of her senses with a chaotic notion.

This was not how she intended to spend her day. She’d had enough of her own personal issues to become entrapped in the swirl of the city streets and drawn further into madness. Flipping her hook back over her head with one had and gripping her fist tighter with the other she made her way diagonally across the intersection and to the park’s entrance.

A few paces in and the sentimental calm she was longing for started to take hold of her. Feeling the tension melt away along the corridor of trees lining the pathway she loosened her fist and slowed her pace to a more docile motion. Pausing the music the sound of the branches rustling and birds chirping in the browning ground cover replaced the caustic overtones she’d escaped from. She allowed her mind to begin to drift, at first aimlessly processing the contrasting aura of the park to that of the rest of the world usually surrounding her.

Serenity is soothing. It foils the cacophony of contradictions that makes up the mind. This was the focus she desperately needed right now to put into context all that happened. She never consciously intended for it to. Then again, who ever would intentionally subject themselves to what she had. It would seem counter intuitive to produce such an antagonist affair when one inherently feels diametrically different. There had to be an explanation.

‘But, what is it?’ Her chapped lips moving silently, she pondered this.

She’d been fixated for days and left completely perplexed by the seemingly popular notion that she was simply self-centered and socially awkward. On the second point, typically, she might concede. After all, she was anything but an extrovert and despite her occasionally chatty nature, small talk was something she felt inept at carrying on and usually strayed to the outside of conversations quietly until a topic caught her ear she might hop on a soapbox for. It always seemed to confuse people how she could turn on a dime from one personalty to another like that and it wasn’t just in social circles.

Taking a seat on the large gray rocks overlooking the lake, she gazed off into the distant sky. The jagged edges of looming skyscrapers carved it up into choppy geometric swaths against wintry cascade of blue and gray whisps.


About thedoormouse

I am I. That’s all that i am. my little mousehole in cyberspace of fiction, recipes, sacrasm, op-ed on music, sports, and other notations both grand and tiny:
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