That Figure
This is an entry for the write4fun writing comp for 2013. I originally planned to use more juxtaposition, but it was only a 500 word limit. I did use an awful lot of repetition though. tell me what you think. I'm always looking to improve.
I don't know when they will announce the winner, but if I win I will post a journal about it. I don't really think I will win, as I am going up against the creme-de-la-creme (very best) of Australian young writers.
~Vebesmasher
There. There he is. That mysterious figure. That man. That man, in the trench coat and floppy hat. That man that everybody knows, but no one knows anything about.
There he is. The unnoticed figure, who stands out against the crowd. The man with the smile that is cold, yet warm.
I pull out my binoculars. I focus in on him and, as if he had sensed me peeking, he turns. He nods to me, and I meet his empty, full gaze. But of course, he turns away and keeps watching, waiting.
I remember the one word he said to me, the only word I ever heard leave his mouth.
I remember that day, when I met him up close. That day, when everything went wrong.
When my life was in ruin. When my ex-boyfriend stole my car. When his 'friends' beat him up. When he couldn't pay them. When they came to my house.
I remember, when my ex burst through my door. When he came running back to me with his bloody, bruised face. When he hit me, and rummaged through my stuff, trying to find my purse.
When his 'friends' burst in. When they smashed my TV. When they stole my necklace. When they rushed towards me, with crowbars and lead pipes.
When that man, that mysterious figure, smashed through my window, a broadsword in hand.
And that word. That one word. The only word he ever said to me.
"Go."
I pull an object out of my pocket. A wallet. Not mine. The figure's wallet. I open it, the click of the press stud shattering the silence of my life.
I had opened the wallet before. But I had never felt the urge to look. I felt the urge to look away. To close it again. But today, I felt the urge to look. I'm not sure whether it's because the figure was there, or because he finally knew I had it. But I look.
I pull out all the cards. I shake out the wallet. I poke through the objects. Suddenly, I think of something. The driver's license. What was the name on it? I grab it and stare, the image burning into my mind.
He had my surname. Never, in the history of my life, had I seen someone with my surname. Except for my parents. But my mum died. My dad disappeared. I went to an orphanage.
NO ONE, had my last name. Except, maybe one. One who, however unlikely, may just have come back. Someone who wants to repay a debt. Someone who still cares for me.
I look in the wallet again, and find a slight bulge underneath the fabric. I claw at it with my finger nails and rip out a small, square, folded piece of paper. I unfold it and see something I never expected to see again.
A drawing from my childhood. A drawing for a special man. I look up to see him there.
"Father."