deskripsi.ekspresi.konsiderasi (flutterbyz) wrote in grantmewings,

Neverland -> Crit please?

She's never been the type to sit still. She's moving around, walking from window to window across the concrete floor, past the rounded, blue box bench seats, side to side and end to end around the bus station. Skinny jeans and a brilliantly yellow jacket. He's always been more stationary. He wanders in tight circles, aimlessly, or takes a seat, slouching slightly, on a the end of a bench. Off-white cargoes, butt stained and too big, under a dark top. She wanders out the doors, then in again, and back to him, then out the doors and around the building, then in again by the other doors, and to him. They speak. He slouches. She wanders. He jingles and counts his bus change.

She has a face that just shows pranks and jokes and laughter at its edges. The planes of her face display tired and long years when things weren't as easy as they had been like a mask that isn't quite big enough. Her eyes are dark but hide a spark. Her gait has spring.

She finds fun. She made people laugh, she made up the fun, she always knew where to go and she always knew what to do there. Fun is still there, but there aren't as many people to go with.

He will always go.

Young, they came together like magnets, eyes meeting in a group, plans making links. He to her fun, she to his appreciation of fun. Before they wore the masks of Real Life, when there were more people to go with and fun came oftener. Old, he always comes.

His mask shows more wear and fits better. Lips sagging into a pout, skin marked and wrinkled. Tired. His body shows more wear. Stance bowed, limbs weakened, gait swishy. He fumbles into his pocket as he stands by a wall, jingling his bus change, and calls to her, "hey!" then whispers urgently and joyously in her ear. They grin as if sharing a secret. She wanders on, he counts his bus change. They wear their pants tucked into their ass cracks.

No lovers. Just fun.


Crit please? I don't like the ending.
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