September 8, 2013
By MariannaPasta GOLD, New York, New York
MariannaPasta GOLD, New York, New York
19 articles 0 photos 2 comments

Favorite Quote:
I'm not afraid if death, i just don't want to be there when it happens-Woody Allen

Henry’s P.O.V
I opened up my eyes, taking in the whining children, the people sitting stoically, the teenage girls decked out in labels, and a small lady reading a book. Her back is hunched forward in an attempt to get closer to the book. She turns the page rapidly, not pausing in her plight to adjust her glasses. They slide down, resting on the lower curve of her nose, inches from the book. She pays no mind to the child as he squirms, nudging into her side. She caves there, a soft spot reserved for a baby's legs to rest. She hears her stop, and reluctantly puts the book away, standing abruptly. Something there captivated me. It wasn’t the canvas bag covered in words from different languages, or the red fishnet stockings peeking through a hole in her jeans. It was her eyes. As she pushed her book into her bag, i caught a glimpse of them. They were obscured by dark purplish bags, products of overwork and stress and by her simple plastic glasses. They seemed light, so easy to break. Like her. So easy, so breakable.
Sadie’s P.O.V
This was my favorite part. Sissy had always been my favorite character in A Tree Grows in Brooklyn. I admired her adaptability, her fight, and her humor. As time past, i grew more absorbed in the book, growing detached from the odorus subway car. The turn of the century was so exciting. I could hear the growling of old cars and the street vendors offering me apples. I could see little boys, grime and sweat mixing together as they lugged junk. I could feel the corset digging into my side. But some instinctual feeling dragged me from my old daydream. Eyes. Eyes searching my body, eyes watching me. Stay calm Sadie ,your stop is next. Just stay interested in the book. And whatever you do, don’t look up. I reasoned with myself, resolving to, as my mother would say, “show some backbone.” Ping. The annonceurs gravely voice sounded like a choir of angels. Something to distract me from the burning heat his eyes left when they ran over my skin.l got up, stuffing A Tree Grows in Brooklyn in my bag. Don’t look up. Don’t look up. My eyes veered off course, revolting under the will of my subconscious. There. That’s him. The one with the stubble and the dark hair. There? Are you happy, eyes? Now MOVE! I shuffled forward, stumbling as the car lurched to a stop. I sprinted on the platform, using the ruse of checking the time as a ran down the stairs. Passerby nodded, thinking that i was running towards my enemy, my boss. Little did they know that I was running away.

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