As Others See You
“O, wad some Power the giftie gie us
To see oursels as others see us!
This is the prompt for Writers’ Ink Evening – Monday at seven o’clock, February 2nd. Write a fictional story about yourself, only you can’t use “I” or “me.” You the writer are a narrator observing you.
This is my response. Those of you who know me will recognize the lead character.
He walked into the room like he was a strong wind, and a window was just opened to let it in. The first words he spoke were soft, but you just needed to look into his eyes to know that the words were true, but the softness was a lie. Something was bothering him, but he was doing his best to keep from showing it.
He looked like a dwarf with a touch of giantism that had made him tall, full sized. His long hair was scattered down to his shoulders, and his beard was a gray version of a frozen waterfall. His eyes followed his every emotion. He dressed liked the teenager he had been had suddenly got old, jeans with non-descript stains haunting it in various places, a tee-shirt with holes on the right shoulder bearing witness to the frequent presence of parrots there.
The quiet of the room was disturbed by his entry, and his presence. The class and demeanour of the place was violated. No one spoke, as they did not want his gaze to fall specifically upon them. He was clearly looking for one of them. If he didn’t catch their eyes, then it wouldn’t be them.
Then his eye focused on one person in the room, clearly the reason for his entry. He stepped towards his target, with strides that looked like he was wading through some dense, undisclosed undergrowth. He stopped in front of a thin, immaculately dressed man in a suit, in so many ways of the antithesis of the intruder. He glared down at the seated man as if to burn him to ashes with his very look. Then he spoke:
“You’re the one. You, decided that a man’s home is not his castle. You were the one who declared that there was a limit on the number of parrots that someone could have in one house, and are making decide who we can keep, and who we abandon. Here is my response.”
With those last words he grabbed the thinner, quieter man by his fashionable lapels, hauled him out of his seat, dragged him wordlessly resisting and sent him crashing through the window of the classy Italian restaurant near the crossroads of the small town where both the antagonists lived. For the first time, the man smiled.