Fragments - Flash Anthology

One

Fidgeting in the corner. Legs up, feet on the lip of the seat, knees holding their chin. Floodwater high jeans, two sizes too small. White socks dirtied brown and gray, laces loose and darkened, frayed at the ends, and ratty black shoes with rubbed thin soles.

Looks at me, along with everyone else, but just for a moment like they were watching out for someone or something. Headphones cover their ears, long hair cover the black muffs, the band on top of their brown mop speckled with dandruff, lockets and strands bent awkwardly by the plastic forced past and onto. The thin cable is snuck down the puffy band-hoodie to a silvery non-skip CD player in their hands which was resting under their legs, fingers laced like a woven mat just for the prized possession.

Something changes, their drooping eyes light up behind smudged glasses. Green-brown color fights the sleep-deprived black and pale face as a smile sneaks in, then their eyes close as their head bobs to a beat. Hair falls back down across their glasses, lips whisper lyrics. They aren't looking at me, and everyone else, and for someone or something. For now, curled up, legs up with their CD player tucked underneath, they are alone with their song.

After a time, before too many pass by, they seem to return to their corner again. The song must have finished. They pull their headphones up and thread their bangs out of the way, clearing their face. Back to the search, the nervous avoidance of stares.