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Post by forte on Aug 21, 2010 22:50:41 GMT -6
Jann looked down at his boots, toeing those of his shadow, slightly depressed into the sparse gravel. The toes of the boots were worn and scuffed, the soles slightly separated from the rest, but the leather fit to his foot like a dream, and he never felt so at home except in those boots. Funny, really, how far away from home he actually was. An ocean away. But that hadn't ever felt like home, really. Home was buried in the black mane of the tall horse who he had loved, who had loved him. Unconsciously, he reached up to the crook in his nose, feeling the dark nightmarish scene seize hold of him briefly. Then it was gone, and his own shadow was stretched out across the door to the office.
He would knock, but really he was still a giddy schoolboy himself. Waiting for something that would never come. He couldn't see much in the office, the window was at an odd angle to his body. He didn't want to move, either. He just wanted to stand here a moment longer, wait until he got a little older. For once, he was on the cusp of something different.
The last eleven years had been a bad dream which he was just now moving away from. And this would be his new life. His heart leapt in anticipation, anxiety, maybe. Would he even be good at teaching? Well, yes. He would. He had coached some kids before, in another life, and he knew that he could do it if they would let him. Would they let him, though? They didn't even know who he was, even though all the staff probably did. Knew who he had been, at least. That was probably why they'd hired him - a Grand Prix level rider. But not anymore. He was a different person now, and he didn't want to think about that. But it was a part of him in the way his skin was, clung to him like glue.
The past sucked. The present did, too. But the future... the future was uncertain. And that is what prompted him to lift his hand and rap on the door, twice, softly, almost hesitantly, craning his neck as if that would help him to see better. He dropped the cigarette butt he'd been holding into some nearby shrubbery nonchalantly and brushed a bit of fine ash fluff off of the collar of his shirt. It was white with faded gray stripes, ragged at the edges, long sleeved but loose around his skinny arms and airy. His pants were also long. It was much too darn hot here, in his opinion, but that was no reason to wear shorts. |
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