Custom Zodiac is today’s daily prompt. Here’s my response and a revised version of Pisces told through the stories of four different people.
That girl who stood on the edge of that tower, they say she was a Pisces. That man who dived in front of that train, people claim he was a Pisces too. That woman who sits at the same table in that cafe everyday, there are whispers she’s a Pisces. That boy who protected the ones he cared about, they say he was born under the fish.
That girl who stood on the edge of the tower. Hundreds of feet up and yet she balanced precariously on one foot staring down at the traffic below. She smiled as she jumped landing nimbly a couple of centimetres further along on the other foot. She jumped again and again, slowly moving along the edge of the tower.
Across the street people stared out of the office building windows praying someone would reach her before she fell. Frozen in horror, as she happily moved onwards towards her goal, ignorant of the chaos she was causing. They watched as another person emerged onto the roof and started talking to her urging her to come away.
She turned and smiled at the man who came onto the roof not halting in her movement. “Come away from the edge,” he said, looking at her beseechingly. “Not until I finish,” she replied and then she carried on. Moving faster now taking less time to judge each jump. “Please,” he said unwilling to take a step forwards incase she freaked and fell. “One minute,” she replied distractedly.
Finally she reached the end and placed her second foot on the ground. She turned to face the man and walked away from the edge. “I told you I’d be fine,” she said as she walked past him and through the exit from the roof. “You said no such thing,” he replied catching up with her. She paused turning to look at him. “Oh, I’ll remember to do that next time,” she said and then walked off leaving him frozen there. What did she mean next time?
That man, the one who jumped in front of a train. Well there was a little boy on the tracks calling for his mother. A mother who was kneeling on the platform edge reaching down trying to gasp her son’s hands so she could pull him up. The train was getting closer though and she just couldn’t reach him, even when he jumped he was to far down.
The the man came. He came from across the platform, rushing to the aid of the distraught woman whose child was on the tracks when the train was coming. He dropped unflinchingly from the platform to the tracks before grasping the child and boasting him up to the woman above. The woman who grasped her child tightly and back away to keep him safe even as she stared in horror at the man not on the tracks.
The train was so close now. Even as it slammed its brakes on there was no doubt it would hit the man still on the tracks. Just before the train hit though he managed to pull himself off of the tracks and safely back onto the platform. He turned to look at the train and waved to the people inside before he headed over to the woman. “Thank you,” she said and he relief in her voice made him bow his head in modesty. “Couldn’t leave the little one down there,” he said ruffling the boy’s hair. The boy turned to look at the man who saved him, from his place in his mother’s arms. “You’re you?” The boy asked.
“Me,” the man answered, “I’m nobody.” The woman tried to protest and tell him he was more than that. That he was so much more but he had already walked away and boarded the train. He had already vanished from her life into a sea of other strangers.
The woman, the one who sits at the same table in the same cafe everyday. She always got a coffee by her left hand ready to drink at any moment. It’s always the same coffee. It’s always placed the same way with the handle turned away from her so she has to turn it before she can pick it up. It never sits on the tray she’s given when she orders her coffee. That’s always placed to one side against the window.
In her right hand she holds a pen. Not any old pen from a packet of twenty identical pens. This is an old ink pen that looks slightly battered but has been well-loved over the years. Not far from her hand is an ink pot filled with a beautiful ink. It’s a rich green that is the same colour as summer grass when it’s transferred to the page.
Before her sits a notebook. Not an off the shelf, twenty pence, notebook. This is a quality notebook with smooth pages and a beautiful design on the cover. The pages are covered in a gorgeous flowing script that fills them with green. The notebook is almost full now of that lovely writing, in that lovely ink, written with that lovely pen. The words though they are the true magic of this notebook.
Each word takes you into a land of fantasy. Great heroes battling it out for the chance to win the hand of a maiden. Filled with dragons, gargoyles and fierce monster all vying for a chance to kill the brave men who face them. And a heroine working behind the scenes, that fair maiden, making sure all her suitors come back alive. “More coffee, miss?” A voice asks as the woman writes the last flowing word. “No need,” she replies, “I’m done.” With that she’s gone her ink and her pen with her the notebook tucked under one arm. The server stands behind watching her go in shock, never before has the woman left before the cafe closes.
The boy, that one who protected the ones he cared about. He heard the fight before he saw it. The jeering and shouting of the crowd as they urged on the two fighters. Or more precisely, as he saw when he rounded the corner, all urging on one fighter. The other was stumbling back trying to escape only for the ring around him to push him back at his opponent laughing.
He was bleeding badly and he wasn’t putting any weight on his left leg. Touching it to the ground every now and again when he had to and wincing in pain. The boy approached quickly recognising his friend. He pushed through the cheering crowd to make his way into the circle standing between the two fighters. “Back off,” he snarled at his friends attacker.
He didn’t wait before he turned to check more closely on his friend. It was only the widening of his friend’s eyes that told him what was coming. He ducked and spun around just in time to avoid the blow heading for his head. “I thought I told you to back off,” he said angrily, glaring at the person who was now his attacker as well.
“What are you going to do about it?” The attacker asked with a sneer. “Wrong answer,” the boy replied throwing a punch that sent the attacker sprawling. “Stay away from my friends,” he growled before he turned and helped his friend to stand up. One glare at the crowd and they were parting to let him through, allowing him to walk away with his friend safe now from harm. Behind him the crowded stared after him wondering just who he was.
See there’s something these people have in common. These people who are all so different. They’re all born under the fish, they call themselves Pisces. These people who are reckless, who enjoy a bit of danger. These are people who are brave, who do what needs to be done no matter what. These are people who are solitary, who often drift into fantasy. These are people who are loyal, who will protect you no matter what.
These are the Pisces people. They’re all this rolled into one. You never know which side you’ll see but one thing is always true. They’ll always leave you guessing, always leave you wanting more. They’ll leave having made an impression, they’ll leave you not quite sure.