User blog:Kat2wind2archer/A person.

"What was the person doing before the incident accured?"

"He was."'

"What 'was' he doing Sir?"

"He was, but he isn't anymore."

"What do you mean Sir? Speak clearer."

"He was ment to be, he was, but fate spilled coffee and clouded his ending."

"What do you mean?"

"He created happy ending, he made people be, but his own ending-his own story wasn't happy. It wasn't to be."

"Excuse me, who are you talking about?"

"A Person."

A person stood at the street corner.

7:45.

The sound of a bus in the distance was heard, the slight thumping of wheels againced the pearly white snow.

The shadow tilts it's head at me, as I stare back.

The birds chirp loudly, as a squirrel runs across the street.

A echo of a voice comes from the alleyway behind the person.

7:46.

The person was a nice person; you could see it by the way he stood; he didn't stand proudly like most, he stood hunched over a notebook, writing letters for those who need help.

The sound of the bus turning the corner was heard, slightly clouded by the pen dancing againced the paper.

Some snow falls of a tree, covering the frightened squirrel that just crossed the street.

My shadow sighs as I continue looking at the person.

The voices continue to echo through the alley.

7:47.

I watch as the person continues to write, only looking up as the squeak of wheels on snow bring him out of his head.

The birds now die down.

My shadow follows my gaze to the person, only to shake it's head at me.

The alley is now quiet.

7:48.

The bus continues on. Next one will be at 7:55.

The person then takes out his crow, and hands it the paper, whispering;

"Give this to someone who needs a smile"

And the bird goes to do just that.

Goes to give someone a smile that has been bled through a pen, spread out on the paper in different words.

The voices in the alley are back.

7:49.

The sounds of the second bus coming are heard.

Probably early.

The person continues draining emotion into paper.

A rare power, he has.

A good person he is, to.

The squirrel has dug itself from under the snow.

Two men exit the alley chatting.

7:50.

One of the slips.

That one pulls the second one.

The ice throws them onto the road.

The sound of the bus's wheels sliding is heard.

The person isn't creating love and smiles with pen and paper anymore.

The person is pushing the others out of the way.

7:51.

The sound of two materials colliding is heard.

The notebook lays upon the ice, filled with folded smiles and hidden secrets.

Two men are seen calling from a phone.

The driver stands over the person.

7:52.

Sirens are heard in the distance.

The birds are now silent, the sky clouding.

People stare at the sky in confusion; it was to be a sunny day.

But only the person understood that the sky also has emotions;

Because now the persons gone, the sky is sad.

7:53.

The sky cries.

7:54.

Now they ask me if I knew who the person was.

"What was the person doing before the incident occurred?"

"He was."'

"What 'was' he doing Sir?"

"He was, but he isn't anymore."

"What do you mean Sir? Speak clearer."

"He was ment to be, he was, but fate spilled coffee and clouded his ending."

"What do you mean?"

"He created happy ending, he made people be, but his own ending-his own story wasn't happy. It wasn't to be."

"Excuse me, who are you talking about?"

"A Person."

"But what was he doing."

7:55

"If the bus would have come now, you'd know."

"You'd see him and his bleeding pen, writing and giving advise for life"

"You'd watch his as he'd make his pen bleed smiles onto paper;"

"You'd watch his crow fly along with the life that's been folded into paper-"

"You'd know he was a Person."

"You'd know he was a Good Person."