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Creative Writing - "Confused Feeling".

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The Dawning rose GCSE Creative Writing - "Confused Feeling" Walking the dawning streets. It had become a habit, a ritual, really. It was a way to remind himself what he was, once, and how far he had gone since then. The taste of toothpaste and orange juice sour in his mouth, Jaq shrugged his black duster tighter about his shoulders and dug his hands deep into the pockets. The winter sun's pale tongue licked gently up the pavements; he half-strolled half-skipped down towards the market square. Squinting stoically against the rising glare, he smiled as snippets of music and voices rose along the snaking alleys of the settlement... Far away, he could hear the market salesmen warming their voices for the day. Growing closer, the sharp footsteps of a surly suit on the way to its other life. Jaq tried hard not to laugh as it barged past him and down the street, briefcase flailing with exertion. ...read more.


There she was, sat primly under a red tarpaulin, setting out her books. He stopped for a while, admiring the gentle curves, the intense gaze, the indecent way her fingers danced across the unprotected spines. He grinned despite himself, stealing a fresh rose from an old flower woman's stall as he slalomed his way towards the caf´┐Ż. Once there, he sat down on the terrace and ordered a fresh cup of coffee, never letting his gaze drift from Her as he placed the rose softly on the table and waited, watching. Above the dead rose slowly bloomed into an angel ring, carved by the wind's ageing fingers. Jaq whistled a snippet of ancient symphony, and ducked when she looked up; a little fearful, perhaps. The waitress chose that time to bring him his coffee. "Yours, sir?" she asked with a slight smile. He made his best effort to smile back and took the tiny cup from her hand, handing her a coin in return. ...read more.


"This is for you." He threw, grabbing the dewy rose so quickly he cut himself on it's thorns and handing it to her. She paused and sat back down, taking the rose respectfully, as if it were some kind of offering. Examining it as if it was the rose itself, not the thought, that mattered; then she placed it back on the table and looked up at him, confused. "Are you making fun of me?" She asked. And in that instant; he realised that very fibre of her being waited for his answer, that a yes or a no would spell out the Word. He suddenly realised that he shouldn't, couldn't, never wanted to hurt her. On an impulse, he reached his hand forward to brush hers, held tight against her body. "No, no I'm not." He replied, pleaded. "I like you, you're different." "So now you're calling me a freak." She replied, but looking up, he saw a gentle smile crease her cheek. He pulled her unresisting hand up to his lips and smiled happily at her. "Yes, I suppose I am. Is that such a bad thing to be?" ...read more.

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