The Prompt Project’ are posts that are essentially a way for me to exercise my creative muscles, without all the pressure that comes from writing my WIP for example.
I post what I write on the spot, I don’t impose a word limit or time it, just go with whatever my brain spits out for as long it keeps up the momentum. I’ll literally see prompt, write and then post the results.
Today prompt is a random one I found from a google search, on this site.
Eye Contact: Write about two people seeing each other for the first time.
Here we go:
The boy with the ocean eyes
Eyes that blue should be illegal. Don’t get me wrong, I love brown eyes because they can turn a million different shades, depending on the light and there’s nothing quite like a pair of honey-brown eyes looking at you in the sunlight.
But these blue eyes? Oh, the first time he came into the store, my stomach did some crazy shit. You can the eyes before you see anything else, like ocean blue sunbeams. He has hair that is never quite neat, as he shoves his headphones up his head to hear properly while he’s being served. He is well dressed and tall-ish but mostly everything about him seems like a happy accident, like he’s surprised it all turned out so well himself.
He always looks at himself in the mirror we have on the wall in the corner by the staff sink, which someone his height can just about see into from the till. He uses the time while you serve him to straighten his tie, sort his collar, or whatever part of his ensemble is out of place that day, before giving himself a wry smile.
He only ever comes for breakfast and is always so preoccupied with getting himself into a presentable state that he hardly ever makes eye contact. Don’t get me wrong, he’s incredibly polite but I’ve never been able to catch his eye. I don’t tend to work the tills, I tend to do the making and getting of things. Every day I hand him his breakfast and coffee and I receive a polite ‘thank you’ back. One day I’m hoping he’ll look up from his phone or book, or whatever else he’s distracted by and we’ll make eye contact. The world will come to a crashing halt, the stars will align and we will fall in love.
Sadly, the universe is a dick. In three months I haven’t been able to have anything more than one word conversation with him. Mostly because I’m a massive chicken.
But then, maybe fate had other ideas because there’s literally only one or two bars in our town and low and behold, there he was with his stupid face and his stupid blue eyes, sat with some friends in the smoking area. I’ve only ever seen him in his early morning hazy state. He looks much better in this situation. His face alight and flushed, while he laughs at something one of his friends have said.
We do shots. My friends dare me to go talk to him. I say no. Then we do more shots. This time, I say yes but they have to come too. My friend Grace, whose blonde, petite and beautiful (a fact she’s very well aware of) takes the lead, asking one his friends if they have a lighter, before striking up a conversation.
And then, finally, it happens. He glances up from the grimy bench and looks me full in the face, a small smile causing his cheeks to dimple.
I don’t think he knew I was having a tiny aneurysm, I think I played it off quite well. Despite his monosyllabic approach to his morning coffee run, I’m surprised to find conversation is really easy. He’s funny. He asks us all loads of questions, making sure none of my friends are left out. He invites us to grab chairs and sit with them, invites to join in their drinking game. A couple times I catch his gaze lingering on my face, or I find those epic blue eyes darting to look at my mouth while I speak, one corner of his mouth turning up in a smile.
Then someone orders the taxi to the club without giving everyone enough warning and we have rush off to the taxi rank. Mr. Blue eyes and his pals don’t want to join us and there’s not enough time to say goodbye. Let alone get his number.
When Monday rolls around, I wait impatiently for him to come into the coffee shop but it’s the same as always, he barely glances up, puffy eyed with Monday morning blues. Shit. Well, fuck the universe, I decided it was time to manifest my own destiny.
“Hey Tom.” His head jerks up from his phone, puzzled as he reaches out to take his coffee and food. Those blue eyes lock onto mine, a wide smile filling his face, revealing both dimples and laugh lines around his mouth.
“Oh, shit, hey, I didn’t know you worked here.”
“Yeah, I thought I recognised you when we saw you out but I wasn’t sure where from.” He contemplates me, still smiling.
“So weird, I’m in here literally every day, I can’t believe I never noticed you.” I know my face has flushed by the wry, one sided to grin he gives me. “Did you guys have a good night, the other day?”
“Yeah, it was okay, Grace got a little too drunk so we had to leave kind of early but it was alright, did you guys have a good night?”
“It was alright, yeah. Listen, I’ve got to go otherwise I’ll be late for work but did you want to maybe hang out sometime?” If possible, I think I flushed an even deeper red.
“Yeah, that would be, er, nice.”
“Can I get your number then?” Heart thudding so loud, I’m fairly sure he could literally hear it, I quickly scribble my number out on a napkin in sharpie. He glances at it, all blue eyes, laugh lines and dimples, before carefully folding it and putting it in his pocket. “Catch you later, yeah?” I nod and smile, hoping I don’t look deranged.
Later that day, I feel a buzz from my phone and so I sneak into one of the camera blind spots to check it, which is strictly forbidden whilst out on the shop floor.
It’s from an unknown number, it just says “Hey, it’s Tom, what you doing later?’.
And I smile.
So the score is me one, fate zero.
There you go. Hope you enjoyed this one! I tried to go for a kind of different style of narration to my usual. You find my other prompt project/ writing stuff below. Happy reading!