Veralidaine's Vampire Journal

Veralidaine's Journal

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The Stranger
21:51 Feb 17 2009
Times Read: 617

Today a man sat down by me on the city bus. I was sitting in the first front facing seat, and he sat directly in front of me in the side facing seat. We were close enough his knee was practically touching mine, and I could smell him. He smelled spicy. He was alf a head taller than me slouched, with me sitting up perfectly straight. His hair was medium brown, thin but not really thin. Too thick to be thin, but not thick enough to be called thick. It draped down his back and front halfway down his stomach. With no bangs to hide his eyes, they appeared black. Whether it was because of his pupils, or his eyes really were that dark, I didn't stare long enough to find out. I felt conspicuous enough looking at him from top to bottom. His face was hidden by scruff just long enough to be called a beard, and it was the exact shade as his hair. He had a short mustache that traveled all the way around his mouth to become entangled with his beard, but it was hardly noticeable due to his other features. His nose looked as if had been carved right from a model guide. Perfectly straight and just the right length. I stared at him, admiring his features, before I realised I was actually staring and had to turn away. He was beautiful. When I chanced looking back at him, he hardly seemed to notice I was there, which was fine by me. That meant I could stare some more. Maybe he knew I was staring at him. Maybe he didn't want to interupt me. Maybe he didn't care. I moved my gaze downward, noticing his slight slouching to try to make himself look smaller than what he was. I noticed how he kept his eyes averted, attempting to direct his gaze at nothing in particular to avoid drawing attention to himself. I continued my assessment of him starting with his clothes. He had a black shirt, though I couldn't tell what kind from the angle I was situated at, and he kept his arms in front of him, closing his jacket just enough to touch the sides of the front together. It was a leather jacket. Black, like his shirt and eyes. It had silver snaps and straps of leather on the front that were undone. Had they been done up, there would have been six, three on each side. The silver however, was tarnished. As if it was old, or well-worn. The leather itself also had a look of being well-worn. His pants were jean, black. to match the rest of his attire. They too had a faded look about them, as if they too had been worn longer than the norm. They fit his legs snugly. Not tightly, but close enough you could see the muscles in his lower body hidden by the clothing. At the base of his body, his slightly large feet were covered by a pair of leather boots, the kind that covers a person's ankles. Steel-toed too, from the looks of them, but I wasnt about to ask. They were laced tight, properly, tied with a double bow. I noticed them last, noting the tarnished silver of the holes where the laces were threaded through., and how they looked as scuffed and worn out as the rest of him. The only thing that didn't seem to suit him was his eyes. Sharp, bright, black eyes. Eyes that betrayed how clever this man truly was, and how alert he was to everything surrounding him despite his attempt to blend in. Seemingly preoccupied, I know he noticed everything around him, taking it all in for future reference. I am sure he even noticed the fact that I am pregnant, even though I was sitting down and facing his side, head on. His eyes made the way he dressed out to be a lie. He was not the tired, worn out man he tried to appear to be. His eyes old the truth. Even as preoccupied with studing this man as I was, I could still not ignore the distracting presence of his smell. He was drinking from a Tim Horton's cup, and I knew it was coffee. The raw, strong, rich scent of it lingered to him. He smelled.. wierd. I could smell the coffee in his hand, and the leather of his jacket, mingling with the unknown spicy scent. It was musky, but not a fake kind of musky like cologne. It was real. It was HIS scent. The mixture of smells tickled my own senses. My mind raced and my skin felt like there was an electric charge to it. I could feel currents shooting through my blood, electrical impulses winding through my veins. My ears hummed and my spine tingled, as if someone had lightly drawn their fingernail down it. I could feel the thrumming of my pulse and the pounding of my heart against my chest. I was so distracted by him, everything about him, that in those seven or eight minutes of sitting by him I had lost track of my surroundings, and tried to pull the bell that had already been rung for the next stop. Being the clumsy fool I am, I fell twice while reaching for the cord to pull the bell, due to the fact I tried to lean and reach in the middle of a turn. As I rose and left the bus, the whir of activity throughout my body and mind slowed to a silent rate and I reflected on the experience. Now I realise what it is like to be tuned in to your body and have hypersensitive senses. Everything I had experienced, had been elevated simply by his presence. During the brief walk to my brother's apartment I came to a conclusion. HE was the type of person that became a writer's muse, an idea that develops in the back of someone's mind into a grand tale. And some muse he would be, to a future writer, should one be lucky enough to encounter him.

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