Go read Part One, Part Two and Part Three (in that order) before you read this if you haven't already. It'll make more sense that way. Characters and setting are still the same as before.
In other news, I'm still working on Christmas presents. Yay... or not. I'd rather be writing, but such is life, I suppose. This piece is actually going to turn out interestingly...
MPAA Rating: G
Characters: Michael, Kiran, Sharpe
Word Count: 277
As soon as he heard the voice, his head snapped up. He hadn’t heard it in probably fifteen or more years, yet the particular accent it held was ingrained forever in his mind. Such was his way with people; he remembered them by certain quirks they possessed. In her case, it was her unusual voice and the peculiar intonations she used. Slowly, he pushed himself into a standing position, grasping at the alter railing to aid his balance.
“What’s he doing here?” he could hear the harsh whisper coming from the opposite side of the room, despite the fact that there were other intermingled voices. The boy’s voice rose up over the others. “You didn’t invite him here, did you?” His hands were folded across his chest and Sharpe could see him leaning forward, nearly standing on his toes.
Kiran’s mouth dropped open slightly and she didn’t speak for several seconds. “Why would –?” she started, but she did not finish her thought. Instead, she turned around and flounced off towards where her aunt stood. Sharpe’s dark eyes watched for Michael’s reaction. Michael started after Kiran, but stopped after a few steps and then turned towards the front of the church. “What’s going on here, Michael?” Kiran's voice sounded both hurt and confused at the same time.
For a long moment, Kiran waiting for an answer and for that moment, Michael locked eyes with Sharpe. Sharpe’s narrow-eyed gaze was probing and Michael’s was quietly defiant. The Asian boy licked his top lip slightly. Seconds ticked on until a faint whisper reached her ears. “I don’t know.”
tbc.
In other news, I'm still working on Christmas presents. Yay... or not. I'd rather be writing, but such is life, I suppose. This piece is actually going to turn out interestingly...
MPAA Rating: G
Characters: Michael, Kiran, Sharpe
Word Count: 277
As soon as he heard the voice, his head snapped up. He hadn’t heard it in probably fifteen or more years, yet the particular accent it held was ingrained forever in his mind. Such was his way with people; he remembered them by certain quirks they possessed. In her case, it was her unusual voice and the peculiar intonations she used. Slowly, he pushed himself into a standing position, grasping at the alter railing to aid his balance.
“What’s he doing here?” he could hear the harsh whisper coming from the opposite side of the room, despite the fact that there were other intermingled voices. The boy’s voice rose up over the others. “You didn’t invite him here, did you?” His hands were folded across his chest and Sharpe could see him leaning forward, nearly standing on his toes.
Kiran’s mouth dropped open slightly and she didn’t speak for several seconds. “Why would –?” she started, but she did not finish her thought. Instead, she turned around and flounced off towards where her aunt stood. Sharpe’s dark eyes watched for Michael’s reaction. Michael started after Kiran, but stopped after a few steps and then turned towards the front of the church. “What’s going on here, Michael?” Kiran's voice sounded both hurt and confused at the same time.
For a long moment, Kiran waiting for an answer and for that moment, Michael locked eyes with Sharpe. Sharpe’s narrow-eyed gaze was probing and Michael’s was quietly defiant. The Asian boy licked his top lip slightly. Seconds ticked on until a faint whisper reached her ears. “I don’t know.”
tbc.
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