The girl had very spindly legs that made her look as though she might fall at any moment. But her eyes had a strength and a ferocity that suggested she was going nowhere but upwards; they gleamed determination and ire, as if admitting a history of bullying abuse with a testament of triumph over adversity. I just dare you.
The boy seemed uncomfortable around her, his knotted, unkempt hair bobbing about as he lolled from side to side, shuffling his feet to keep to the shorter girl’s slow, steady pace, eyes to the floor even as hers bore fiercely forwards.
She wore a patterned dress, blue flowers on a cream background, with a sash across her narrow middle; a lilac ribbon tied her straw-coloured hair back, accentuating her gaunt face and sharp nose. The boy reflected less spring, dark blue jeans, a size too large and held up by a thick piece of hawser; the bottom of his t-shirt sat, gathered on the rope and the faded Chewbacca face above snarled through the creases.
The old gentleman sat on the dry stone wall, a sheepdog panting at his feet, a weathered cane in his right hand as the left hand tickled under the happy dog’s ear. He wore pin-striped trousers, a tight crease ironed down the front, a loose-fitting white shirt, it’s casual lack of collar a contrast to the austere trousers, and a heavy woollen coat kept the cool morning air at bay.
“Hello, Daniel, is this Lily?” he asked gently, smiling. His voice was deep and calming but the smile had an edge to it, wrinkling his long, tombstone face, except around the eyes, where no crow’s feet tread.
The boy scuffed his battered walking boots against the floor, not lifting his eyes and jabbing his hands into his pockets. The girl put her hands on her skinny hips and looked at the gentlemen, levelly. “I’m Lily,” she said, “Daniel didn’t want me to come, so he’s in a mood”.
She poked her tongue out at him silently but Daniel didn’t notice, never lifting his face.
The gentleman turned his gaze to Lily, his head moving slowly as if his eyes were fixed in position, his smile unchanged.
“Well,” he said, with an easy tone, tilting his head to one side, his hand leaving the sheepdog to cup his square chin as he leaned slightly forwards. He tapped the cane once on a smooth grey stone, dislodged from the wall.
“And why would that be?”
Tags: Writing
