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writetomyheart2015-08-06 08:32 pm
jojibear.livejournal.com) wrote in writetomyheart2015-08-06 08:32 pm
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[Team SONIC] the sight of her
Starting word from here.
He actually closed his eyes this time, focusing all of his thoughts on that moment, that blessed, sacred moment when he had first seen her.
It had been on a street corner, late one summer evening. He had been his way home after working late at the school library; she had been helping a friend home after what looked like a night of heavy drinking.
He can barely remember what she had wearing — that wasn't what had attracted him to her in the first place. It had been her voice, tone soft and comforting as she rubbed a hand down her friend's back. His only regret was that he had been too far away to hear what she was saying.
A moment, she and her friend disappeared around the corner and into the night.
He had not seen her since, but sometimes at night, in his dreams, she would appear, her quiet voice whispering soothing words into his ears. In the mornings after, he would wake up wondering what her hand felt like rubbing down his back.
Which was why he was here, lying down on a hard table, electrodes attached to his head, buried within his hair. He was hoping the researchers could capture an image of her from his memories, a picture clear enough for him to learn her features so that he would recognise her if he ever saw her in the streets again.
He had a strong sense that she would be very important figure in his life.
It had been on a street corner, late one summer evening. He had been his way home after working late at the school library; she had been helping a friend home after what looked like a night of heavy drinking.
He can barely remember what she had wearing — that wasn't what had attracted him to her in the first place. It had been her voice, tone soft and comforting as she rubbed a hand down her friend's back. His only regret was that he had been too far away to hear what she was saying.
A moment, she and her friend disappeared around the corner and into the night.
He had not seen her since, but sometimes at night, in his dreams, she would appear, her quiet voice whispering soothing words into his ears. In the mornings after, he would wake up wondering what her hand felt like rubbing down his back.
Which was why he was here, lying down on a hard table, electrodes attached to his head, buried within his hair. He was hoping the researchers could capture an image of her from his memories, a picture clear enough for him to learn her features so that he would recognise her if he ever saw her in the streets again.
He had a strong sense that she would be very important figure in his life.
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