Greetings my fellow bloggers , writers, followers and anyone else who happens to read this post.

I was thinking ( and to anyone who knows me well , knows how dangerous this can be). The train of this thought was this.

Inspiration, what inspire us to do what we do , meaning specifically producing pieces of creative writing or poetry, this in turn led me to an idea that ran as follows.

A challenge to your good selves and wonderful creativity.

Find a picture of a person that you do not know,they can be young, old, male or female, it doesn’t matter as long as the image says something to you. Now write a story or poem based solely on the image you have chosen.

I have answered my own challenge and you can read the piece I have written below if  you wish and are not bored already by this  introduction.  My piece is based upon the cover image of this post it Is called The Lonely girl.

I do hope some of you take up this challenge , I would be interested to see what you come up with.

Happy writing

A.p.

The Lonely Girl.

The dark-haired girl sat in the corner of  the cafe , occasionally gazing out of the window, before turning her attention back to the notebook in which she was writing and doodling.

To the other patrons of the establishment she seemed solitary and even a little arrogant maybe, but she was more engaged in the world than her outward demeanor suggested, taking the unknown faces and writing them into her tales. Yet she held herself apart from the generally straight-laced , mainstream everyday folk that surrounded her.

She lifted her head from the page again to finish her now cold caramel latte, then pushed her notebook into a wornout, too full leather bag and  tried to leave as unnoticed as she could manage, there was an awkward incident of ” After you” , No after you” with an older lady as they arrived at the cafe door at the same time.She hated these moments where she was forced to converse on a strangers terms , exiting she hurried away finding something, anything to stare at on the ground , desperately trying to hide the reddening of her pale cheeks.

It was mid afternoon on a Sunday in August the air was warm and humid, the lonely girl was now sitting on the grass banks of a nearby river, her black dress spread around her making it appear as if she were melting into the ground.

Notebook in hand she took her fountain pen out of her bag and began to write again , inspiration glinting in her dark eyes .while searching her mind for the correct word she needed she looked almost lovingly at her old pen , a half-smile played across her lips. She  adored the organic nature of writing in ink , the way the nib scratched across the page leaving the odd Rorschach test splogde as the pressure of her fingers made it catch. But it was more than that, more than just a tool she held, but a conduit for her tangled mess of feelings to flow through.

“Is there a problem do i appear strange to you” she thought defiantly as a pair of  teenage fashionista type boys walked passed her, staring to long for her comfort .Her eyes flashed, with the practised withering glare she usually used to fend off derision or unwanted attention, the  boys looked away feeling decidedly less manly than they had a moment ago.

She returned to the half- written poem she had started in the cafe, jotting down a few more rough verses. A solitary raindrop splashed onto the page, making the last letter she’d  scrawled run like a black tear, she was overcome by a sadness, feeling deeply for its isolation. She felt a tear run down her cheek ,  coloured by the dark pigment of her eye make up, it mirrored the running ink on the page.

Will i always feel lonely  she thought to herself, gathering her belongings she stood and left.

 

The End.

So there you have it my story of an unknown face i hope you enjoyed it.