This is something I did for English in year 10/11, which I found in my garage recently, and after some improvements, decided to write down.
It's one of those things you do when you're thinking isn't it? Or maybe it's just me. I wonder...? Oh wait, there I go again, day dreaming. What I meant was that when you think, you stare with a glazed look in your eye don't you? Well I always do, and I think I was doing that just now. I watch the rain pouring down the window like teardrops, drip, drip, down someone's cheek, like precious diamonds, each with a thought, lost.
I sit in this cafe with my expensive piece of cake, fluffy and soft, but with way too many calories in it. My coffee is a gloopy cold blob in the bottom of my cup, like the mud streaming down the road outside. I sip pensively and recoil at the taste;it makes sewage look like chocolate fudge cake. The plant on the window surreptitiously recieves the rest of this mixture and reluctantly sucks it down in to the soily depths of the pot. The rain increases, drawing my attention outside again. When it rains and you're inside, it seems cosier. I always feel that.
I pity those two men, outside in the rain. I recognise one of them, my friend's boss Stanley. She has had a crush on him since the first day she started working for him. He's a business man, and I cannot for the life of me understand what she sees in him. His lumpy nose and his oversized feet, his beady, piggy eyes that stare in to yours with laser- like acuteness. He makes me shiver, I always feel he might have a lawless past or a big secret that he's hiding. Maybe he's an escaped criminal.
He passes the other man without so much as looking at him and disappears out of sight. A car moves forward, it's light shining on the wet surface like moon beams on the sea. The light temporarily blinds me, and I turn my head, blinking, to the inside of the cafe. I look at the counter, and my eyes follow the line of photographs along the wall. As I do this, an uncomfortable prickling feeling crawls up my neck. A real hedgehog of a prickle, but without the spines. I turn and see, sat in the corner, a man, who I am convinced has been staring at me for quite a while. There is something familiar about his faace, and yet I cannot tell what it is. I look quickly away and delve in to deep thought. Who is this person, with his blonde hair, blue eyes and that undeniable sense of confidence in his face? As I think I rise and absent mindedly pay the bill. I hope the plant enjoyed the drink, or else that was a waste of money.
The rain beats my face as I step outside, but I stand, a soldier in battle, who has to get ready for a party which begins in an hour. I know that I will be late if I don't hurry so I plough through the rain and the wind. I reach my door, only to realise I have left my bag at the cafe. I turn and walk straight in to the stranger who was in the cafe. He smiles and holds up my bag.
"I think you left this." My brain goes in to overdrive. Can I trust this man? And where have I seen him before?
"Thank you." There is a pause in which we both smile awkwardly, then he nods his head.
"Well, I'll see you round," he says, and then the rain swallows him up, in to a stomach I may never see again. Wow, that was really bad, whatever happened to my imagination? Where did stomach come from? Why did he get me so flustered? And most of all,
WHY DO I ASK SO MANY QUESTIONS?