CeriseFern
Fern Queen
The park buzzed with all the usual bustle of the Sunday morning market. Father's carried their tired kids on their shoulders, dogs jumped up and about excitedly on their leashes, vendors and buyers peaceably negotiate prices. A sunny day with slight clouds and a calm breeze. It could almost be considered a perfect.
At the entrance of the part stood several benches, often crowded by tired errand runners, those enjoying their fresh cooked lunches, or children eager to jump off any surface they manage to find themselves on. Yet if by some invisible force the often preoccupied benches sat empty except for one man as the people simply walk past to find somewhere else to rest their feet. He sat quiet, tattered notebook in hand, two pens in the other. Seemingly writing out nonsense.
If not for his clean and flatly minimalist attire one might jump to the conclusion that this man was homeless. Tired was not painted onto his face but etched into his bones. His grey eyes once like storms were a thick sunken fog. His black hair not long out of choice but out of neglect. Bones primed and ready to pierce through ashy white skin. This looked like a man who had not slept or eaten in years, a man who looked like he was dying, and somehow that was not a large stretch from the true. But he was not dead yet, life goes on.
Why was the man sitting there. Here. In this park, in this town even. So far from home now. He felt like he'd been wondering aimlessly for weeks now, and yet knew this is where he was meant to be. Then it hit him, what he came here for. Without thinking he stood up but after that could make no further steps in her direction. Doubt washing over him. How long had it been? Could it really be her? Or were dilutions finally catching up to him. He swallowed hard on nothing and pushed forward. There was nothing to lose if he was wrong, and nothing to gain if he waited. He managed to slip into the crowd and caught up to the women. Caught off guard noticing the boy following her adjusting his plans rather quick.
He cleared his throat and managed to gain their attentions.
"Hey bud," he pulled a bill from his wallet and handed it to the child. A boy that by his estimations was 10. "Why don't you go buy a snowcone over there," he gestured to a stall just a short walk away, "while your mother and I do some catching up."
He watched the boy walk off and forced himself to finally look the women in the eyes wondering if she would even recognize him at this point.
"Evie it's, nice to see you again."
At the entrance of the part stood several benches, often crowded by tired errand runners, those enjoying their fresh cooked lunches, or children eager to jump off any surface they manage to find themselves on. Yet if by some invisible force the often preoccupied benches sat empty except for one man as the people simply walk past to find somewhere else to rest their feet. He sat quiet, tattered notebook in hand, two pens in the other. Seemingly writing out nonsense.
If not for his clean and flatly minimalist attire one might jump to the conclusion that this man was homeless. Tired was not painted onto his face but etched into his bones. His grey eyes once like storms were a thick sunken fog. His black hair not long out of choice but out of neglect. Bones primed and ready to pierce through ashy white skin. This looked like a man who had not slept or eaten in years, a man who looked like he was dying, and somehow that was not a large stretch from the true. But he was not dead yet, life goes on.
Why was the man sitting there. Here. In this park, in this town even. So far from home now. He felt like he'd been wondering aimlessly for weeks now, and yet knew this is where he was meant to be. Then it hit him, what he came here for. Without thinking he stood up but after that could make no further steps in her direction. Doubt washing over him. How long had it been? Could it really be her? Or were dilutions finally catching up to him. He swallowed hard on nothing and pushed forward. There was nothing to lose if he was wrong, and nothing to gain if he waited. He managed to slip into the crowd and caught up to the women. Caught off guard noticing the boy following her adjusting his plans rather quick.
He cleared his throat and managed to gain their attentions.
"Hey bud," he pulled a bill from his wallet and handed it to the child. A boy that by his estimations was 10. "Why don't you go buy a snowcone over there," he gestured to a stall just a short walk away, "while your mother and I do some catching up."
He watched the boy walk off and forced himself to finally look the women in the eyes wondering if she would even recognize him at this point.
"Evie it's, nice to see you again."
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