— a short fiction by potpourris.
Andrea
How will he recover from this?
The thought of her unknowingly bewitches him. To him, she felt like the unstoppable burst of color that left his mind scrambled like how she loves her eggs and his being all fragile like the vitrified china figurines. He has his thoughts stretched miles after miles only to have him collect each one afterwards out of fear that she might see everything written so boldly in his expression.
He fears his prompt affection has made him see-through when in truth, ’twas nothing more than his own doing, really.
Like drugs that grow rampant on the streets or the naive addiction children have over sweets, the idea consumes him. Words had suddenly erased themselves from his knowledge, yet he knew that he’d spare no expense to learn more about her. He’s indeed intrigued for more.
Do you want to know what caused all of this? Her simple words of, “Hi, I’m Andrea!”
She felt a surge of power yet diminish the thought swiftly out of.. well, pity.
She’s blushed — all flushed, for she had no intention to embarrass him whatsoever. She had no idea that she was capable of such a doing; she had never seen a boy gawking so desperately as he’s missing all the words he could ever needed when all he ever wants to say was
his own bloody name.
