Читать книгу Unspoken words онлайн

5 страница из 66

Both of them I saw as arrogant types who knew what they wanted from life, living it to the max and didn’t care what on earth was happening with others, those hipsters types, pejorative and pretentious but at the same time with a complex worldview and value of system in their eyes.

One of them had black pitch hair and the same eyes colour. He wasn’t bulky but possessed some muscles which made him look more masculine in the comparison to his friend. He was wearing a dark blue sweater and jeans, nothing extra particular but still in the latest fashion. He had an enchanting smile and something deceptive in his facial features but it didn’t push you away from him but quite the opposite it appealed you in every way. At the same time I saw a ubiquitously simple boy in him under his mask of steadfastness. Actually, later it turned out to be the truth.

The second one was the strange type you might see on the internet, kind of a tumbler boy, so mysterious, so innocent, so mesmerizing you became weak at the knees. He smelled as tangerines on New Year’s eve. Could you imagine a person who would possibly have a scent of a fruit in a way not even spreading it, you smelled it on your subconscious level of perception. His uneven face was so perfectly sculptured with flawless pale skin which brought you the sensation of early autumn, when the sun shines but doesn’t bring the warm anymore, when the leaves are already yellow with scarlet pimples spread around but not wrinkled yet. The stage when rain sprinkles into your face with pleasant fatigue and recklessness. Every his movement was delicate and subtle but at the same time feverish with harsh squish as though you were facing an angel with devilish inclinations. He didn’t look at you or stared he glared in a way he wanted to show that he was capturing everything at his sight. So, when you looked at him, you did not experience butterflies in your stomach, there were tarantulas that were scraping inside you trying to find a way out but without a mere range of success. Did you know that the most species of tarantulas were brown? So, was he. He had a brownish walnut hair colour, as had been mine before I used too much hydrogen peroxide on it and I guessed the chemicals didn’t only have impact on my hair but on my brains as well. Looking at his hair immediately induced the desire to stroke it until the end of this world. Its waviness made you all your demons went out and officiated macabre activities.