Archive for the tag "creativity"

There was a predictable soothing to the morning rumble and somewhat erratic heartbeat thump of the train carriage. The usual range of suspects sat mannequin still in winter grey seats. Pork pie hats and limp headscarfs, snug overcoats and neatly wrapped umbrellas the order of the day. Newspapers rustled autumn leaf like and spewed their daily commentary, complete with unflattering snapshots of the recently fallen from Gods good grace. His own paper, still unopened and damp, sat on the seemingly always vacant seat beside him. Through the window a now familiar but unmemorable landscape moved like a silent movie whilst clouds, heavily pregnant with rain, muted any hope of colour. It was a Monday morning like most others, a sigh to start the week. Little did he know it was to be anything but. The window movie slowed and shuddered to a stop as the platform panned into focus. The carriage door hissed open and a number of hats, scarves and newspapers tumbled out to start the day. He remained seated, his stop further along, deeper into the claustrophobic madness of the city. The doors hesitated, just for a moment, as they squeezed closed, time enough though to let in a bright ray of ethereal light, other worldly and not meant to be on a Monday morning. His eyes uncontrollably drawn as moths to lamp light squinted at the glow, mesmerised. She wore sunflower yellow, saturated in her dress, gloves and wide collared coat. Her hat also yellow, brimmed a halo over her angelic almost ghostly pale features and was only broken by long ringlets of raven hair. The carriage lurched forward and stunned his gaze back to this world. She stumbled slightly as they left the platform and mumbled under her breath as she flopped into a seat facing him but not close enough. Her face opened in a wide yawn as she removed her halo and teased her unpinned hair. Not very angel like he smirked to himself. The rumble and heart thump of the carriage seemed to lighten and become almost symphonic as he caught himself lingering in her light and tracing every curl that kissed her cheek before cascading down her slender neck. She sat silently in her glow, lost in the movie that passed her window and payed no heed to him, as was an angels want of course. Why would she, he thought, the only thing standing him out on this otherwise run of the treadmill day was his lavender tie. Granted it was silk and a gift from his mother who otherwise had never given him anything so lovely. It hid modestly though beneath a charcoal waist coat and jacket, hardly a thing worthy of provoking the slightest of angel gazes. The city platform brought the end credits to the window movie and a column of hats, scarves, newspaper stories and umbrellas filed out of the carriage before him. Amongst them a flash of sun kissed yellow. He sat alone for a moment before dutifully following like a lemming out the door and into the hustle and bustle of the work-a-day streets.

More of – So the story goes

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