A little bit that I was going to use for my GCSE, but couldn't make it work as a short story. I like it, the beginning is a bit average though, but revision calls.
And that’s when I first saw him. Standing there. I ran my eyes up from the ground, his feet, 11s at a guess, casually placed in a battered pair of loafers, up legs that seemed to have been cut and pasted from a Calvin Klein advertisement. Off his average shoulders clung a fitted white t-shirt that wrapped around his chest to just below his waist, too loose to be tight, but too tight to be loose. As I saw his face, it was not what I had expected; I forcibly clenched my jaw so as not to gasp. It was chiseled, with slight grainy stubble. His smile was huge, and slowly spread into a grin, bigger than you have ever seen, and eyes, dark like Minstrels, rapidly melting away my initial apprehensions. He came over and took my hand. He was familiar, but I couldn’t place him. He didn’t fit.
He didn’t speak, just took my hand. He hurried along, always checking back as if to see if I was still there, as if he was afraid. Afraid of losing me. My instinct told me to trust this man, but as he pulled me further from what I knew, a trickle of doubt filtered slowly into the whirlwind inside my head. My breathing was deep and heavy, not just from running and I didn’t know what was happening. It was surreal.
He carried on, seeming aware of me, but no one else. I needed to sit down, standing in high heels all evening is virtually impossible, never mind running for what seemed like miles. Although we were jostling through a crowd, I felt alone. I wanted to shout, to scream, to make him let go. But as I tensed his grip strengthened. He had a purpose, he knew where we were going but I didn’t. I was out of control, I knew that. He couldn’t hurt me, but this was psychological torture. As he tore on through the night, I could see his eyes ablaze, but gently, just flickering, like an open fire in mid- winter, drawing you in, in towards the flames.
It stopped, quite abruptly. Realisation occurred, I think. As I could hear the phone ring again and again, a thousand times over in my head. I realised he wasn’t coming back. He hadn’t and never would. Ever. I had finally let go, let go of this irrational, wild fantasy. I didn’t want to let go, I liked him coming, explaining every thing would be alright. He supported me, he kept me afloat whilst my life crumbled around my feet.
All I could hear were those three words going around in my head. We’ve found him. Dead.