Ummagine

"Wear a different pair, just something out of step, throw a stranger an unexpected smile...."

She walked down the street with a fake confidence, the sun shining through her transparent gaze. The people almost stopped to stare at her as she walked. The image was startling, and they just had to look twice at the marvelous danger before them. Her boots and coat and hair and face seemed to blend together like water colours, and flow together like silver satin sliding over your skin. Smooth, and cool. So fragile, you feel as though it's falling apart right before your eyes, when it's actually completely intact.

She was thinking. Everything and nothing, and she didn't notice the people. She just walked through them, sliding around their corners with a whisper. Straight ahead, or on the ground, her gaze shifted and passed over the fleshy skeletons, waiting for something.

"Miss...?" he said. Waiting at the train station, he saw her, but she wasn't watching for him, or really listening. She felt as if she was still walking, going nowhere; everywhere. Smelling, tasting in the air the places she went.

"Miss?...Um..." he spoke again, nervous. Intrigued, but shy, as these men often were. It was a miracle he'd spoken at all, and even more of a miracle she spoke back.

Still walking, thinking, everything, nothing. The satin, the whispers. The piercing eyes, the double takes. The cliche of desolate winter.