3 Short Images

Below are three shorts images that came to me throughout different times, while passing through my usual daily routines. None are directly related to me, but are of an imaginative nature. Enjoy.

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Title: Language Barrier 

Originally Written: 8/19/2013

Neither spoke very good English. She imagined, as she observed them, that they were both foreign exchange students. Concocting an elaborate tale of struggle and tearful seperations, of how both left their respective homes and countries in the hopes of obtaining that coveted American education and this ensuring brighter futures for themselves. Nevertheless, the mutual attraction was evident in their wide eyes, faint blushes, and shy giggles. Language barriers were nothing for these two, not when the heart did all the necessary communicating.

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Wrote this after observing the innocent and sweet flirtations of a young man and woman on the train. 

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Title: The End Result

Originally Written: 8/19/2013

Crass.

Wanton.

But not quite rude. She is obviously a woman scorned and makes no effort to hide her wounds. She wears her scars openly, like badges of honor, and when she looks at you there is only the empty abyss of indifference in her eyes. Some would say she is quite un-fixable.

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No explanation for this one. 

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Title: Lounge Singer

Originally Written: 8/15/2013

The seedy, understated glamour of the bar scene. The image of the tragic, love-struck heroine of the lounge singer. Beautiful, alluring, tempting, but eyes always a little half closed, as if she refuses to wake up from dreaming. The purple mist of billowy smoke is her wedding veil, her hubby is the night itself. Her heavy lidded eyes always hold a mingling of sultriness and lethargy, a combining of sensuality and disillusionment. She glances at the men who cat-call to her, and there seems to be a look of constant disappointment in her black lined eyes. As if the world is nothing but one long, consistent let down. She sighs deeply as the piano player prepares for the next set, and the smoke swirls in spirals around her. Her full, garnet lips making a perfect "O," with only a gleam of white peaking past the dip of her top lip. 

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While listening to Lana Del Rey this image came to me. So, I wrote it down.

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Up Bunker Hill

She loved when the city looked new to her, when those same streets suddenly glow with an unseen, beguiling wonder. That was exactly what happened to her that day, on an unseasonably cool August morning. The sky provided a soft grey canvas, upon which the colors of the city appeared muted, as if still waking and stirring for its 8-hour shift ahead.

"I am here," it cried out silently.

Behind the one of the oldest and most respected buildings in the city, at its very heart, lies a corridor leading to a staired-passage way that takes one up and over to the hill leading to the bank building food court. She traveled through this corridor frequently on her way to one of many jobs. As she stood waiting to cross the 5^th street intersection, as crowded and overwhelmed with traffic as ever, one opposing skyscraper seemed to call out to her. Any other day, it would have appeared as any of the other sentinel structures in this city. A somber mix of earthen brown, steely grey and deep blacks, and polished to an impressive, lustrous finish. Its windows still dimmed from a lack of occupants so early in the morning. And yet, despite all its generic, typical qualities – as generic as a giant can be – it seemed to call out for attention on this August, dreary day.

“I am here,” it cried out silently. And she, hearing its beckon, paid heed to its vertical prowess. Tall, indomitable, steady, and imposing – it stood out pompously gazing down the drop of the avenue to one side, and peering above the rise of the same avenue to the other.

Captivated and awed, she had discovered an unanticipated magnificence. Not novel or innovative, but accustomed, historic, and well-acquainted. She smiled, sometimes this city forced her to acknowledge and respect its beauty.

The crossing signal turned green, she continued on.

Reaching the stairway, but opting for the escalator, she made her way.

Grand Central Library

Looking back from the slowly assenting stairs through the corridor, the Grand Central Library, the nostalgic runt among these modern-day behemoths, sprawled out before her. Its mosaic-tiled roof and spire coming just to her eye level as she reached the top of her ascent.

She thought, ‘Such a wondrous city, to appear so new amongst such familiarity.’ 

And she continued her walk up Bunker Hill.

Broken-Hearts are for Later

She had hoped for something better, but as always is the case, it was never her decision to make. Here she was now, at 28, staring down that inevitable tunnel that was soon to be 30 only a year and 3 months away. Her plans for her 29th birthday, still undecided.

The melancholy, velvety melodies of Lana del Rey were now her daily drug of choice as she attempted to cope with yet another break-up. As she contemplated yet another heartache. Despite all logic and reason she could not help feeling as though she had brought it all upon herself. As if she had walked into the lion's den knowingly in harm's way. Though to think she could have been such a masochist was more than she was willing to accept. No one wants to hurt, she had thought time and time again. And yet, she was in the same familiar situation. When had emotional recovery become her talent of choice?

Perhaps, if the day had not been so brilliant, so warm, so promising, perhaps a break-up would have been more bearable. At least under the guise of a grey day she could justify the sadness that now painted her features, her mahogany eyes now shone bluer than the cerulean waves of a Mediterranean sea. In the summer glare of a late-July sun, she only appeared more out of place than she already felt. 

She would owe her friends an apology, for they had gone above and beyond that which most would, in the hopes of helping her heal. Their efforts were not in vain, for they were greatly appreciated, if only a temporary fix. The healing process would take more than a few drinks could hoped to fix. 

She rolled over, the alarm blaring in her hears had now been going for well over a minute. She sighed deeply, it was time to put on that face... the one the world expected to see. She could be broken-hearted later.

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Just a writing test run. I'm a bit out of practice.

Test Enrty

Just testing out what an entry in my blog will look like.