Próza - Povídky & Drabbles
Pozn. autorky: Inspirováno výletem do Savanny v Georgii, kde jsem v noci v parku zahlédla osamělou dívku...
The girl sat on a bench, her legs crossed, a tip of one ballerina shoe barely touching the ground. She had her arms wrapped around herself as if she was cold, but somehow I knew it wasn't the soft breeze that made her shiver. She sat unmoving, only her hair fluttering in the wind, her face ghastly pale in the streetlamp light, thick black eyelashes a violent contrast to her pallid skin. She looked like a ghost and – for a moment – I almost believed she was one – a shadowy figure from one of Savannah's countless ghost legends. Then she looked up and I saw the wet trickles on her cheeks, colored black by smeared mascara, and I realized that she must be human, for ghosts don't cry. I met her look and for a fleeting moment, the time stopped and I could read the girl's story in her eyes, almost as sad and chilly as the tales the storytellers on the late-night ghost-rides used to terrify their audience. Then she bowed her head again and I wondered how long it's going to take until this girl – beautiful but cold like a marble statuette – becomes another of the city's mournful legends.