Stories of The People [#2]

Her facade dropped when she slammed her door shut. She was tired, oh so tired of being the girl with lipgloss always on her lips. With every hair in place. The one who never got mad, the one who was always prom queen, the one on every committee. 

Her breathes came out ragged, with little hiccups every now and then. Reaching for the water on the nightstand, she took a sip. It had been placed there two nights ago, but now it was stale. Rather like her.

She lied back down on the carpet, counting all the plastic stars her mother had put on the ceiling so many years ago. Those were the happiest days of her life, the ones filled with love and compassion and the childlike innocence. Now there was just a gaping hole of nothing, with everything nothing. 

Somebody was waiting for her. She took deep breathes and wiped the tears off her face. As she opened the door, she left the despair in her room. the tears. the foolish wishes; and put back on her facade and met the face waiting at the stairs with a  fake smile.

-+-=+=-+-

He opened a book and practically breathed in the words. So many books, so little time, so little money. He couldn't afford this one, he knew. He knew he didn't have room for any of the books in this shop, but it didn't stop him from breathing in their essence. He paged through one book, two books, until he had opened nearly every one in the store and the hours had passed. It was wishful thinking, but maybe, just maybe, there was a corner in which he could hide in until the owner had left and locked up.

He didn't want your love, he didn't want the next iPhone. All his greedy dreams consisted of libraries upon libraries of books. 

Oooh, and the scent. It was a shame the bookstore didn't have a coffee corner, to mingle with the smell of books.

The shop announced it's closing in ten minutes, and he put the book back on it's shelf. His heart was light with happiness as he left for the darkened street. He was ready to face the hurt.