The Hero's Journey-Original Writing
The train had barely left the station when she spotted him walking towards her. He wore a grey shirt and light blue jeans, his hair was cropped as always and his face as grim as ever. She hated his grey shirts, they made him look paler and colder than he was; she had told him that several times, but he was not the one to listen, not to her.
He smiled as he effortlessly pulled his six feet frame on the side upper berth and sat next to her, his left arm touched hers and was cold as always. It seemed as if the frigidness of his heart was manifested in his body. His hands had been cold for as long as she could remember. They had been cold that night too -- even inside her shirt. It was one night that she would cherish all her life. But she very …show more content…
The long, awkward silence was broken only by the chugging of the train and the occasional whistle. Although she had much to say to him, she did not know how to. In the last few months he had been aloof, indifferent and withdrawn, leaving her alone to wonder what went wrong. She wanted to confront him, to tell him how much he hurt her, how much she missed him, how stupid she felt waiting for a guy who did not even bother to leave a message when he left. But she knew it would not help, the argument will go nowhere and she will end up taking the blame and feeling foolish, like …show more content…
Only when he held her hand across her shoulder did she notice it. She also noticed the contrast – his sculpted hands against her peasant hands, his pale complexion against her dark skin, the coldness of his palms against her warm sweaty palms: the contrast was not limited to their hands.
He looked into her eyes and started to talk again, 'Life is not a bed of roses, Blacky! I have much to prove to my family and to myself. I have no time for anything else."
All her life she had visualised this conversation, she had thought of a million possibilities, of a thousand ways in which she could tell him how much she loved him. But this is not something that she was prepared for. Her mouth parched, her heart raced, she broke into cold sweat. She wanted to talk but words failed her. She just listened -- as
He smiled as he effortlessly pulled his six feet frame on the side upper berth and sat next to her, his left arm touched hers and was cold as always. It seemed as if the frigidness of his heart was manifested in his body. His hands had been cold for as long as she could remember. They had been cold that night too -- even inside her shirt. It was one night that she would cherish all her life. But she very …show more content…
The long, awkward silence was broken only by the chugging of the train and the occasional whistle. Although she had much to say to him, she did not know how to. In the last few months he had been aloof, indifferent and withdrawn, leaving her alone to wonder what went wrong. She wanted to confront him, to tell him how much he hurt her, how much she missed him, how stupid she felt waiting for a guy who did not even bother to leave a message when he left. But she knew it would not help, the argument will go nowhere and she will end up taking the blame and feeling foolish, like …show more content…
Only when he held her hand across her shoulder did she notice it. She also noticed the contrast – his sculpted hands against her peasant hands, his pale complexion against her dark skin, the coldness of his palms against her warm sweaty palms: the contrast was not limited to their hands.
He looked into her eyes and started to talk again, 'Life is not a bed of roses, Blacky! I have much to prove to my family and to myself. I have no time for anything else."
All her life she had visualised this conversation, she had thought of a million possibilities, of a thousand ways in which she could tell him how much she loved him. But this is not something that she was prepared for. Her mouth parched, her heart raced, she broke into cold sweat. She wanted to talk but words failed her. She just listened -- as