Post by childofthehunt on Dec 25, 2009 12:40:13 GMT -5
A pair of eyes scanned the intersection between Kerry
and Dale street. It was another cold but perfect day in the
city of Grayling.
He sat quietly at a small iron table just outside the cafe
at Arthur's,holding a pen in one hand. Then he started writing down:
"If I could give you the world,
Would you spend all eternity with me?
If I could give you the stars,
Would you promise not to fly away from me?"
He stopped writing, pressed his lips together and read
what he wrote on a small notebook.
The sudden presence of a waitress placing down a huge mug of foamy cappuccino
interrupted his thoughts. Looking up, he saw the waitress smile at him, blushing.
"Thank you." He said softly, while flashing her a casual smile.
With his pale skin, his tousled brownish blond hair, the 3 0'clock shadow on his face
and his blueish gray eyes, it's hard not to notice Tristan Wickham.
He spends his morning, outside, having breakfast in some diner or cafe, because he's
too lazy to do the groceries and cook for himself. Aside from the fact that he's
a prodigy in playing the guitar, the piano and the violin, and is incredibly charismatic
not to mention good looking, not a lot is known about Tristan.
He's very mysterious, soft spoken and sometimes likes to be left alone. He'd rather stay in his apartment
playing his guitar or his piano and sometimes writes poetry if he's inspired. Tristan
is a struggling musician and would often play at jazz clubs and resorts as a living.
Unlike kids his age, he's more comfortable talking to old geezers he meets at
work or at the park. He finds them more mature and interesting than the brats in
this city.
Tristan took a sip of his steaming drink. Some of the foam got stuck on his upper lip,
so he took the napkins on the table. Just when he was about to wipe his lips, he saw
something written on the napkin. It was the name of the waitress, Amanda, with a
phone number written on it. Instantly, his eyes darted inside the cafe. The waitress
winked at him and mouthed the words "Call me."
Smiling, he folded the napkin and kept it inside his jacket's pocket. He got the spare
napkins on the table and wiped his mouth. When he was done with breakfast, he stood up and gave the waitress a casual smile again before walking away.
He threw his guitar bag's sling over his left shoulder, wore his dark sun glasses, puts on his earphones and walked off, back to his apartment.
"Morning ladies." He greeted with a salute, the elderly women sitting outside a flower shop, enjoying the sun.
The song "Fireflies" by Owl City was playing full blast on his Ipod.
Tristan reached into his jacket and pulled out the napkin he got from the waitress. He smiled to himself. He crumpled it in a ball and threw it on a trash bin outside a diner. His mind was filled with a lot of thoughts, ideas, that he failed to notice the ball of napkin hitting a girl on the face, instead of landing inside the trash bin.
"Hey!" The girl exclaimed, surprised.
He continued walking, oblivious to the fact that he just threw trash at someone's face. Tristan crossed the street to Plum and entered an apartment building. He climbed up the stairs and went inside his apartment with a sigh of relief.
Carefully, he placed his guitar bag on the couch, removed his jacket and earphones and went straight to his grand piano at the center of his living room. He picked up the deck of cards sitting on it and shuffled them playfully.
He crashed on the chair in front of the grand piano and looked outside his window.
"I'm never coming back. I like it here, where it's peaceful. Where I don't have to be someone else's son to be adored and respected. I can earn those. I wanna live free. Away from everything. I want to live a life that I want, and not a life someone chose for me..."
Tristan sighed again and started playing a sad tune on his piano.
and Dale street. It was another cold but perfect day in the
city of Grayling.
He sat quietly at a small iron table just outside the cafe
at Arthur's,holding a pen in one hand. Then he started writing down:
"If I could give you the world,
Would you spend all eternity with me?
If I could give you the stars,
Would you promise not to fly away from me?"
He stopped writing, pressed his lips together and read
what he wrote on a small notebook.
The sudden presence of a waitress placing down a huge mug of foamy cappuccino
interrupted his thoughts. Looking up, he saw the waitress smile at him, blushing.
"Thank you." He said softly, while flashing her a casual smile.
With his pale skin, his tousled brownish blond hair, the 3 0'clock shadow on his face
and his blueish gray eyes, it's hard not to notice Tristan Wickham.
He spends his morning, outside, having breakfast in some diner or cafe, because he's
too lazy to do the groceries and cook for himself. Aside from the fact that he's
a prodigy in playing the guitar, the piano and the violin, and is incredibly charismatic
not to mention good looking, not a lot is known about Tristan.
He's very mysterious, soft spoken and sometimes likes to be left alone. He'd rather stay in his apartment
playing his guitar or his piano and sometimes writes poetry if he's inspired. Tristan
is a struggling musician and would often play at jazz clubs and resorts as a living.
Unlike kids his age, he's more comfortable talking to old geezers he meets at
work or at the park. He finds them more mature and interesting than the brats in
this city.
Tristan took a sip of his steaming drink. Some of the foam got stuck on his upper lip,
so he took the napkins on the table. Just when he was about to wipe his lips, he saw
something written on the napkin. It was the name of the waitress, Amanda, with a
phone number written on it. Instantly, his eyes darted inside the cafe. The waitress
winked at him and mouthed the words "Call me."
Smiling, he folded the napkin and kept it inside his jacket's pocket. He got the spare
napkins on the table and wiped his mouth. When he was done with breakfast, he stood up and gave the waitress a casual smile again before walking away.
He threw his guitar bag's sling over his left shoulder, wore his dark sun glasses, puts on his earphones and walked off, back to his apartment.
"Morning ladies." He greeted with a salute, the elderly women sitting outside a flower shop, enjoying the sun.
The song "Fireflies" by Owl City was playing full blast on his Ipod.
Tristan reached into his jacket and pulled out the napkin he got from the waitress. He smiled to himself. He crumpled it in a ball and threw it on a trash bin outside a diner. His mind was filled with a lot of thoughts, ideas, that he failed to notice the ball of napkin hitting a girl on the face, instead of landing inside the trash bin.
"Hey!" The girl exclaimed, surprised.
He continued walking, oblivious to the fact that he just threw trash at someone's face. Tristan crossed the street to Plum and entered an apartment building. He climbed up the stairs and went inside his apartment with a sigh of relief.
Carefully, he placed his guitar bag on the couch, removed his jacket and earphones and went straight to his grand piano at the center of his living room. He picked up the deck of cards sitting on it and shuffled them playfully.
He crashed on the chair in front of the grand piano and looked outside his window.
"I'm never coming back. I like it here, where it's peaceful. Where I don't have to be someone else's son to be adored and respected. I can earn those. I wanna live free. Away from everything. I want to live a life that I want, and not a life someone chose for me..."
Tristan sighed again and started playing a sad tune on his piano.
