the shepherd's sword

part i

her hair is actually down today, and swings carelessly in the wind. a strand momentarily tangles in one of the hinges of her glasses, and she remembers why she usually pins it away and on top of her head with a few industrial-sized bobby pins. it's straight, and brown, and she hates it. even though everyone else seems to think it's perfectly fine.

she's bored, but she often is, and she acknowledges this as she sits at the small table outside of the tiny cafe she seems to have developed a habit of visiting. she doesn't know why. the acrylic paintings on the walls inside are too bright and messy for her taste, and the entire place reeks of coffee, which she hates.

the girl, who is named shelby, appears to hate a lot of things.

but yet she still shows up here at least twice a week, orders apple juice, and sits outside at the little dark green table in the matching chair, both made of iron. even though she hates the color green. they're both in a sort of weave design, making the chair uncomfortable, so she's learned to bring along a cushion. it's borrowed from a friend, and since it's intended to provide relief from the hard bleachers at football games, it has a local college's logo printed on the front. she flips it over before sitting on it, because she hates football.

maybe she comes here because they have her favorite kind of apple juice, usually the only kind that she'll drink. yes, she thinks as yet another car whizzes by, that must be it. why else? but, she realized, she could simply order the drink to-go and leave, or buy it from the tiny grocery store about a block from here when she shopped for other necessities there. so why? why did she keep returning to this little cafe with noisy paintings, the suffocating smell of coffee beans, and uncomfortable, unattractive seating outside?

she was thinking these thoughts that she would never admit to anyone while staring at the street, her chin propped up on one hand. an older woman with a ridiculous straw hat bustled about outside the petite bakery across the road, fixing this plant and that. someone else might greatly admire the collection of flora surrounding the bakery, as some sort of something was always growing there, no matter the time of year. however, it was springtime, when the locals praised the meticulously-kept window boxes, hanging pots, and beds the most. this time of year, the exterior of the white building was bursting with flowers of every color, and every variety. but shelby hated flowers.

her ire was suddenly arisen when an she became aware of an obnoxious chorus of honks, increasing in volume by the second. she whirled to see a construction team setting up down the street. she had no idea what they could be fixing- she didn't concern herself with such things. however, one thing was certain: no cars would be coming down this way for quite some time. she would have reveled in this had it not been for the horns.

she mentally cursed at the incompetent drivers, who didn't appear to consider the irritation they might cause others due to their outburst. she continued to grind her teeth and think of this as her gaze wandered aimlessly, but it locked onto a curious passerby in little time.

a young man was looking up and down the street, seeming somewhat apprehensive about something. he seemed to be checking for cars, though shelby could not think of why he would be so nervous about such a thing. when he finally determined that no vehicles would be able to venture near him, he took a deep breath and walked out into the street.

and he began salsa dancing.

shelby blinked once, twice, three times; yet he was still there. a boy, probably about her age, salsa dancing in the middle of the street. she wondered at who he was, and why on earth he would do such a thing. though most people were not near the road, it being blocked off and most pedestrians inside of one of a number of buildings, eventually, he began to elicit stares from anyone who did happen to see him in their passing by.

she expected herself to be repulsed. in fact, she grew a bit angry when she realized that she wasn't. he was probably some silly boy acting on a dare, being a complete imbecile and practically begging for attention.

yet she sat in the uncomfortable chair and leaned on the ugly table next to the pretentious cafe and listened to the unspeakable blaring of car horns and, most of all, watched the man who was salsa dancing in the middle of the street. shelby thought a great many things while watching him, but chiefly, she thought about how perhaps not all flowers were completely vile, and how she really ought to take up on a friend's offer of dancing lessons.

unspeakable.