The Shadowlit Realms
| Labyrinth of the Mind |
The Girl with the GlassesThis was the third time she came into the store this week. It would be hard not to notice her, not to remember her. She had jet black hair hanging straight down her back framing her pale face. Black eye-liner lined her dark eyes. There was a piercing effect held within those eyes. When caught just right they seemed to look right into the soul as they stared out of windowless frames. A pair of glasses framed her face, they were round as owl eyes with black frames, but when you caught just the right angle you could see that they were lensesless. It was not often you caught her eyes, she usually kept her head tilted at a downward angle. Not bowed in shyness or embarrassment but perhaps concealing, or simply oblivious to the world around her. She wore a pair of short shorts, frayed around the edges, colored back, with black tights covering her skinny legs which jutted out and a pair of large black boots stopping just below the knee, velcroed straps along the sides. She had a sleeveless black shirt which along the back was lined with safety pins. Flicker silver metal as it caught in the artificial light. She was perhaps 17 or 18 years old and it was always the same routine. She made her way for the racks and began on trying on glasses. She might try on 4 or 5 in a day and then she left, always, never approaching the counter, never speaking to any of the attendants who worked in the store, or making an appointment. She never bought a single pair of the glasses she tried on.
She turned it into a ritual. Waiting in wonder everyday to see if she would come in again, anticipating it, oddly enough this routine became a break in the routine. She could be predicted, depended upon and yet, it never failed to fascinate. Sometimes you could catch a glimpse of her face reflected in the mirror as she tries each pair one, studiously observing herself, savoring the moment. To her this is not a game. She takes it seriously. It is her form of worship. Her fingers sing quiet praises to the glasses as they ponder over them. Comparing them by twos and threes. She will walk around the store holding two or three pairs in her hand as if weighing final decisions, narrowing down the field and yet in the end she always puts each one back and walks out.
10:40 PM - 3/7/2009 - post comment
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 For though All are not able to write books, all conceive themselves able to judge them. ~The Monk
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