Hey, it's me. This was for a school project in which the only guildlines were that the name be Hallow Man. I tried to avoid sorrow but I'm not sure I did such a great job. Anyway, I would greatly apperciate the reponse.
There he sat. He was always alone, sitting and watching. He was silent in class, silent at lunch. Rumors of muteness begun to circle, not that many paid him any mind. He had his long black trench coat he would wear everyday, day in and day out. He looked to be about seventeen but I could never be sure. He wasn't creepy for some reason. Not to me at least. I found him intriguing and unique, different in his own special way. One day, on a bright lunch day, I went to sit with him. He didn't look at me, though I knew he knew I was there.
"Hi, I'm Frances" I chirped to him. I'm not normally a peppy girl, the black cargos and military boots I wore attested to that. He didn't respond. But I told myself to keep trying.
"What's your name? You're always here, are you waiting for someone?" I stared at him and noticed his eyes weren't blue but more of a deep silver violet. I was so sure of the eye color, maybe he wore contacts. I stared at them, they were hypnotizing in ways I can't seem to convoy in written word.
"James" He said, his voice was low, deep and soothing. Like a river trapped in his throat, the voice seemed to carry on what his eyes would do, I was hypnotized, lulled by him.
"Ah, cool name. My uncle is named James, James Franklin Forrester." I babbled. He turned to look at me. It surprised me. I blamed what I said on the fact I couldn't think straight, on the idea that I was truly hypnotized and therefore couldn't control what I said. I tried to hold his gaze but felt my eyes couldn't compare to his dark ones.
"I don't really care what your uncle is named Frances. And to be honest little Miss, I'm not someone you would care to be friends with. Now hurry along and do whatever you do." That was the most I had ever heard him say, and I detected the slightest accent , maybe British but I wasn't sure.
"Why are you not someone I would want to be friends with?" I asked, confronting him on what he said.
"I'm not what you think I am." He replied with his dark heavy voice. I knew I was in love with that voice for an indefinite amount of time.
"Then what are you?" I questioned. He was always so lonely just sitting there, I wasn't going to give up like that. He didn't reply this time, he just stared at me. Then he turned away and stared at the forest for a few minutes. I sat silently, patiently waiting for him to answer. While it may seem idiotic of me to think I was going to get an answer I waited, so you can understand the surprise I felt when he stood to leave. I stared at his back as he walked away. For some reason I wanted to follow him, I wanted to know what he was, what he wouldn't tell me and why he wouldn't tell me. My mind played the possibles and the impossibles, I was always the dreamer. I wasn't sure and I found I would never be sure, but that question would haunt my dreams for years. I saw him once after that, on the back of a book, the silent hollowed eye man was an author. One chance decision for me to sit with him created a paradox that I would fail to answer.