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#81 - One hundred stories by one hundred people
I stoles #81 from aussiemozzie...OK, she let me have it without a fuss.

   He sighed sadly and glanced at her from the corner of his eye before dropping his gaze back to his hands folded on the book in his lap.
   “I-it’s been so long since I’ve drawn anything of any worth; I doubt these hands even remember how.”
   She watched him thoughtfully for a moment before speaking, “Do you have a pen and paper?”
   “What?” He asked, looking up at her curiously.
   “A pen and paper,” she repeated, lifting her bag from the floor and rummaging through it. “Now, I may have a pen but I can’t say for sure if I’ve got…ha!” She smiled and pulled out a ballpoint. She thrust her hand in again and came up shortly with a scrap of paper. She grinned triumphantly. “It’s not much, I’ll admit, but I think it will do.”
   He gaped at her, bewildered. “I’m sorry, what are we doing?”
   She chuckled, rising out of the armchair in front of him and crossing to the left side of his chair. Sitting on the armrest, she handed him the slip of paper and the pen. “We’re going to draw something. Use the book for a surface.”
   “But…I told you. I can’t draw!”
   “But I can! Relax, OK? I’m going to draw for you.” She swiftly reached around his narrow shoulders, taking his emaciated hand in hers. He jerked away from the sudden contact, causing her to withdraw, and the book and paper to fall to the floor.
   “S-sorry!” He stammered, his face flushing. “It’s just-I’m not used…I don’t like being touched.” He admitted quietly.
   “No, it’s my fault,” she objected, picking up the fallen objects.
   “No, I should’ve told you. I couldn’t see where you were going with this, but I think I get it now.”
   “Yeah? Do you mind if we try again?” She asked hesitantly. “I’ll try my best not to touch you this time.”
   He nodded, taking the paper and book, and placing a ready hand on top of them. Again she reached around him, leaning in a bit farther, but being careful as to not bump against him. Taking a hold of just the pen, she began to sketch something out.
   As tense as he was with her proximity, he made sure that at least his hand stayed limp enough for her to be able to control its movements. He thought briefly how he should be enjoying at least the semblance of drawing again, but with her being so close, she was the only thing he could think about: her gentle breathing, her warmth, and the delicate fragrance of a light perfume. For a moment he was overcome with the sensations, and a faint smile played across his features. He was jolted from his reverie by the spark as her fingers brushed against his hand when she released the pen.
    “Sorry,” she muttered.
    “It’s OK,” he replied, staring at what she had drawn. “Is that what I think it is?”
   “Yeah,” she chuckled. “One of the public television channels has been rerunning this old English show late at night-”
   “Hey, yeah, I know the one.”
   She laughed again, “It-it was the first thing that popped in my head. What can I say?”
   “I quite like it, though.”
   “Yeah? Well, it’s just a doodle. How did it feel, though?”
   He paused a moment, and reflected. “Wonderful.”

Current Mood: pleased pleased
Current Music: "Misa no Uta (Piano Solo)" ~ Death Note III

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