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Rough Draft, Chapter one. |
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A plane, magnificently descending from the sky. People in blazers, suits, and various bussiness attire talking on cell phone's, pagers, and each other as if they were on their last life line. Alot of it looked fake. Even the plants were plastic.
Beside the airport, a harbor, less well gaurded. These are simple tourists, and the ship ride was long, unpleasant, and rickity. Many passangers were clutching their suitcases tightly, as if scared the wind will blow the large carrying cases away, and most gawp at the eastern decorations at the exit centre, which were placed there for exactly that reason. Tourists. One suitcase in particuliar was heavier then the others, and as the man owning it walked outside with his six children, he set the person sized capsule down on a bench, and turned to look for the taxi cab line which his home town, Toronto, had at it's airport.
The children were busy squabbling over whether the lion statue would be in their first picture or not, and the suitcase was in the open, completely ungaurded. Ten minutes later, the man picked up his suitcase again, and started on his way, completely oblivious about the 119 pounds of missing weight.
Bustling crowds, full of pedestrians and high officials alike, bicycles, and cars, stunned the heck out of the male. He had not been expecting it to work, and though he still suffured from the most horrible of stomach aches, he felt a wave of warmth. His mind, his only caretaker and friend, had done it again. He'd traveled through countries and over land and lake all the way from the far west to the far east. Making the sign of a circle inside of a square, his way of expressing the name of the country he had traveled so far to reach, a deep sigh passed through his body.
While here he was as much a freak as any other place, here, he might find something to captivate him, something other then his mind and body to call his home. He'd heard that all brilliant minds go some time or another to Japan; and though he was sure he was not a genius, or he would have learnt to speak by now, he knew he was half of a quarter of one. Clasping the front of his t-shirt in his hands as if it were a blanket, the silent young man set off, red eyes focused on an unseen destination, almost white hair falling over his pale face over his eyes. He needed now the basics. Food, water, shelter. And then...? Well, he'd have to see what his mind guided him to do. It hadn't let him down yet.
A Candied Apple · Sat Nov 01, 2008 @ 07:40pm · 0 Comments |
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