A Passing Accident (freewrite)

They crawl at her feet and she looks away, because she has forgotten their names and worst of all, she does not care. The people that have crowded around her seem so faced, so lonely and unimportant. She twirls her parasol, absent somewhere far away, in her many dreams, and she makes her way through the masses, without looking them in the eyes.
She feels their outstretched hands, trying to catch a lock of her long, blonde hair, thin as grass and she smirks, disgusted by their filth, by their pettiness that is so much like hers, in a way.

Disgusted though she may be, she keeps her head high up, like she's been taught and looks ahead, at the park and her impending future. Only a little more, a dozen or so steps, and then all will be as it should. But only if she could walk those few steps. The people are so many and it's like they're drawing closer with every inch she moves forward, pulling her back.

She'd like to forget her manners for a second, to shake off her grace and to just tell them all to sod off. They are not for her and she is definitely not for them, so they should really stop wasting their time. Really, don't they see who she is? And how can they even think they deserve such a beauty, such a privilege? She forgets herself, for a second and glances at one of them – a man, in his late thirties, she estimates, with deep worry lines around his eyes that seem to somehow g away when he catches her eye.
Like magic.

Quickly, the woman looks away, straightening her gaze and chiding her inner self for doing such a stupid thing. She looked into the eyes of that filthy peasant and now, she can't shake off his gaze. Deep and wondering and so...so unlike what she'd expected. Closer to man than to a dull beast. His brown eyes follow her through the crowd, as she goes away and he wishes there weren't so many people, so that maybe he could follow her, even if only up to the park gates.
Once she is inside the park, she breathes a sigh of relief, because the mob is not allowed inside. It is a private park, one that is high above their station. After all, people like her need to have a place to relax, don't they? Somewhere to just lay off and be themselves, even if they don't know what those words mean. She hears the screams of the crowd at the gates, behind her, and wonders if he is among them. The man whose eye she so foolishly caught. In passing. It was all a passing accident.
She takes a few more steps as the crowd at the gate begins to disperse. And then she sits down on the appointed bench and can't hide her smile. He is coming. Her him. Her very own angel, her perfect man. And the man in the crowd is suddenly out of her thoughts and deep into the black of her mind. She forgets him, at the thought of his imminent coming.
The other him.
The real him.
The one who's meant for her, who has been meant for her forever, since the day she was born. They'd met at a party, not too long ago. Clara remembered the banister and that she was feeling slightly ill that night. And then her father beckoned her over to him. As she approached, she saw he was talking to a man and a woman. But forget the woman, because who could see anything beside him. He was...strange. He was everything she'd ever dreamed of meeting. A key, if you will, to the locked door that rested inside her.

And the stranger looked at her, as if it was the easiest thing, almost as if he did not feel the electricity between them, the connection so old. Her father introduced him as Mr M. and she looked up at Mr. M and saw her future in his eyes, although she didn't realize it then. She just remembers being very excited at the sight of this stranger, no longer ill.
And as she sits, on the bench inside the park, she feels the outlines of her mouth growing numb, her lips growing heavy from all the smiling. He will be here soon, like he promised, and he will tell her how much he loves her and how he felt the same that night.
And she sits and waits and wishes and winders and hopes. And fears.
A bird flies above her head and wakes her from her thoughts. Clara looks up at the sky and finds herself in the dead of night. She has been here hours. But that cannot be.
He said he'd be here. She had marked the day in her calendar and she was definitely not late. Yet, he has not come. And by the looks of it, he's not coming.
She waits for ten more minutes, fighting back the tears that well behind her eyes and biting her noble lips, no longer smiling now. And then, she stands up, closed parasol in her hand, and walks out of the park.
There are no more crowds at the gates, no more unworthy suitors and folk who look up at her. It's just her, alone.
She walks back home, through the empty streets, wondering what went wrong, and hoping against home that she will find a message from him when she gets back. She walks with a bowed head and heavy shoulders and thinks what she wouldn't give to pass someone, to meet someone's eyes and have them see her. Tell her it would be alright.

And somewhere out there, a man with beautiful brown eyes sits in the dark and thinks about the woman he saw today. One he could never hope would love him back and he thinks, in vain, of the future he saw in her eyes.

Prompt of the day was 'parasol'. If you'd like to join the freewriting fun, check out @mariannewest's blog or head over to the @freewritehouse, for our 200 Day Party.

Thank you for reading.