Toys in Heaven Spots (Anja)

[Anja Drake]

Strange, how ones personality could shatter in a split second and in the next, it was reassembled into something completely different. As if nothing had ever happened, it was tossed and forgotten. But, not by her; her mind still lingered on that single moment. Or that single moment lingered on her mind. Either way, she hadn’t let it go, not just yet; although her posture would have said otherwise.
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Her presence was directed out toward the fast passing buildings; as if she was watching them as they sped by. However, her senses were on her new friend and nothing else, It was interesting, as the action a moment before, played out; the alluring attention of the whole thing was caused by a driven initial instinct. An instinct that Anja didn’t mind, she didn’t mind it at all.
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Strange . . .
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He had said he had just ‘felt’ it. Felt the moment, perhaps? She didn’t know, but still she didn’t mind it either. Not at all, she rather relished the spontaneous moment.
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Still, she had a questioning mind. But, questions were for later, much later possibly; she and Artisn were stuck together now. Whether they liked our not; Anja however took interest in getting to know the ‘strange’ boy next to her.
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From what she was noticing; Artisn knew his way around the city; if not, he had a good sense of direction. Anja had agreed to come with him tonight, not knowing where they were going or what they were going to do. The night was young and still a very, very big mystery.
<o></o>
And it would probably stay that way until they reached their destination.
<o>
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[Artisn]

Night embraced the skyline, and the heavens dangled in a mystified darkness only destroyed momentarily by spots of light. Buildings tower in the masses as the city stood, but dwindled in the yellow taxi's retreat from the formidable audience. A flux of faces ran a tide through the streets, sidewalk and stairs. Despite the tire of day, the jumbling of the concrete jungle didn't seem to cease, only fade.

The taxi cab poured through the streets, traffic found at every turn and stop. All of it was a repetitive, flowing in a rhythm prepared to explode. Impulse captured the beat, playing it continuously at the jerks and scratches of the car. The wheels ran a course across the pavement in a massage to soothing to ignore,and though a dull silence separated Artisn he felt at ease.

At ease for a little while...

Every moment bolted a new appendix to his established trouble. The wall settled, and bricks grew even near until he enclosed in a prison of his own design. Artisn crunched in the corner, eyes out of the window only to see little light to guide him through his unsettling darkness. Rarely did the young mutant question his instincts, his thoughts so readily. He had grown cautious of his movements over time, leaving little room for mistake in retrospect. Yet, as all artist, he was absolutely introspective, and still quite socially acceptable. A unique breed, even in the lull of the drive he fumbled with word to say. Poetry was another fond hobby of his, and the meanings and sounds of letters formed together gave an essence too pure to ignore.

"I think I'm ready for you," he whisper. The hush of his tone couldn't be heard beyond a muse, left to fall only as a subtle grumble. No disdain set in his tone, he spoke with a lightness as he broke the bricks away.

A rush came to him again, and he grew near. The seat scrunched under him as he sled across to come closer...slowly, to her. She didn't deny him before, and passion gave him insight that few people could entice.

If only...

"I'm taking you--"

Not another word could be heard as the beat exploded. The rhythm was thrown out of wack, and a screech called. Outside stretched a bridge...the bridge; going from Manhattan to Brooklyn, a powerful landmark of New York.

"Here," said the taxi driver. The man was irritated, he didn't see anything juicy after the start of the ride. All the silence gave him no excitement, and the teaser only made it worst. He wanted the two out, and his pockets full.

[Anja Drake]

Oh how she hated fast, abrupt movements; her senses focused and moved quickly, but not super immediate. The time it took to focus her senses was similar to the time it took for a ‘normal’ persons eyes to focus. Although normally she was always alert any rapid motion caused unrest in Anja’s head.
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Attention to the outside world was crucial’ it was the only way for her to see. Without perfect attention to detail Anja would be lost; she would truly be blind.
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As for the aftermath of the rough stop, Anja’s head was left in a frenzy. Thoughts were jumbled and her mind set was defensive. Pushing the hair that had crowded her shoulders back to its original spot along her back, she fished through her pockets in her leather jacket.
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Although she didn’t know exactly how much money she pulled out; she still placed well more than enough in the sliding plastic socket that transferred to the driver. She flashed the man as kind of a smile as she could muster before shifting her frazzled senses to Artisn.
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“I get to pay this one.” As fluently as she could; she popped her door open and hopped on out. “Afterall, you are treating me to a night out in the city.”
<o></o>
The strained smile came back as she thanked, as politely as she could, the rude taxi driver and hurriedly shut the door. Almost immediately, she wished she was back inside that disgusting cab. Even through her flustered senses, she got an odd feeling from the area. Foriegn feelings were invading her well structured comfort zone.

Frozen . . .

She stood stark still, Anja knew that she was way over her head here.

[Artisn]

Artisn was used to taxi cab driver's rudeness. It was natural; nothing in the city phased him. The people that bumped one another and kept walking, the dynamic crowds that bundled about for window-shopping; it was all a mess he ignored. A sigh set it straight as he grabbed up his back pack with a bang of equipment inside, and sled out the door behind Anja.

She was pretty...

Real pretty...

Although he gave his eyes the chance to detail her, his other senses were off focus. Instead of realize he sudden change, he was ignorant. Out the door with the haste of the cab, his sleeves rolled up and body at ease he immersed himself in the moment.

Art splurge his mind as the design drawn flourished from his imagination. The variety of colors banked away at he swung his body smoothly around to give his attention to Anja. Certainly the Brooklyn Bridge wasn't like anywhere else, and Anja wasn't from around here.

"Ya like art, right?" He asked, his accent pouring out into his vernacular, giving away at an age of Atlanta, Georgia.

The question was rhetorical, and without heed he grabbed her hand and walked from the street divider. An ease of night cold swept as they dash at the hiccup of traffic. A canvas had been set, and the art was ready to lay as the two stopped at the other side.

He was ready...but was she?

[Anja Drake]

“Art is an expression of the soul and the character behind a person. It shows the talent hidden from all eyes.” Her voice was steady and soothing; her beliefs on Art were only just touched. She loved it, she love it all. “Art I can touch is especially my favorite.”
<o></o>
Although, different and very invading; there was a strange sense of beauty behind all the huge, diverse buildings and monuments. Even through her flustered comfort zone, she could appreciate the delicacy the builders had left behind in their work for all to see. The beauty, however, of this city was far more opposed than her beloved <st1:city w:st="on"><st1>Genoa</st1></st1:city>. Here, life seemed okay; people went away with their jobs and everything fit into the enormous bend of the city. But, home . . . <st1:city w:st="on"><st1>Genoa</st1></st1:city>, that city seemed to fit its people, instead of its people fitting into it and everybody did it favors in return.
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Explaining the gap between these two places was simple. <st1:state w:st="on"><st1>New York</st1></st1:state>, was young, mysterious, and not to mention very, very dangerous. It was a perfect place for others her age, all the attributes between teenagers and this ruthless city matched. <st1:city w:st="on"><st1>Genoa</st1></st1:city>, was an ancient acropolis in the eyes of many people; a city where old things were made new. An exciting city; where people were abuzz with energy and everything was friendly. And even over the years, when <st1:country-region w:st="on">Italy</st1:country-region>’s golden age was long over, <st1:city w:st="on"><st1>Genoa</st1></st1:city> seemed to shine on with a serene elegance.
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<st1:city w:st="on">Genoa</st1:city> was a comforting home and <st1><st1:state w:st="on">New York</st1:state></st1>. . . was an adventure. One that Anja was afraid to pursue, but also one that she was overly excited to explore. The two of them were in a majestic city and there was seemingly nothing to hold them back. Her hand was tightly held in his and they were cruising to a place where anything could or would happen.
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How, thrilling, how thrilling indeed.

[Artisn]

There are times.. when you'll need someone..
I will be by your side..
There is a light, that shines,
special for you, and me..

Artisn eyes saw the vision in his head. The glare was strong, almost too strong. He had scribed the idea in his pad during class far too many times for a mistake. Even as the grip of her hand claimed his attention, he couldn't forget the details. The couple's feet beat against the sidewalk, standing at the view. The darkness of night shaded the water below, but Artisn saw it all before.

He had been here, but never tagged himself.

No one knew he was there before...

Not a second was spared as the thought pushed him off, throwing him upside down as he dangled over the edge. He had long lost the hold of Anja as he pulled out his tools. The art rested in his spray cans, and mind, supplying him with all the necessary commodities to explain himself.

The lines began to press against the steel foundation, creating the first distorted letter of graffiti.

He would be known, but he wouldn't leave Anja out of this. She would be in this too...for some reason, she was hidden behind his throwup, even though they had only met later.

"Come, see this as I start it up."

[Anja Drake]

No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t see what he was doing. She studied, followed and even attempted to trace his motions in her head. Oh Lord, how she wished that she had been straight up with him in the first place. What was she going to say? What could she tell him? ‘Hey sorry, I’m blind and can’t see what you are doing’. No, that wouldn’t work. Not at all . . .
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Through her senses she watched in helplessness as Artisn portrayed his skills through art and his other materials. There were multiple strings of native profanities running through her head as she ‘looked’ on over his shoulder. At the beginning of their little journey she had had a feeling his art was something she would miss. The truth was coming up a lot quicker than she wanted.
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She supposed that if the moment came to tell him, she would. With no strings attached she hoped; if he rejected her, well she would deal with it when that moment came. As for now, she could only hope that the paint in the cans he was using would dry fast. Maybe, if it did, she could make a replica with the same skills she used for reading.

[Artisn]

The colors seemed like a replica of skittles. Variations of cans were cycled through his hands masterfully, even push and swing of his wrist casting another spell across the canvas called the bridge. The unique, yet ever so public spot, sought the eye with his creative style. Letters twisted into distortion of sort, matching the abstraction Artisn had mastered in his head over and over again. His imagination was freed as the illusion of a circle was formed, but really their was the coded symbol of the word "Art" amidst the cycling ball of color.

No one else had tagged the place before, and the excitement thrilled him as he glanced off cautiously at the passing traffic. Some gander over with suspicious eyes, while others gave quick shots over before refocusing on the road. No one seemed too interested, because New York and bums were synonymous.

Artisn from the back did not look anymore different than a street straggler, and that was fine by him. Movements were required to be incogneto, yet he was certian there was going to be trouble on the night. The chilling silence between Anja and Art had conjour sideglances over at his partner in crime, only to find her face focused as ever. However, he didn't find comfort in her expression.

One flicked of the wrist and all his cans were back into the bag, and hands diving in his pockets. A nonchalance blanketed his being as he looked over at Anja in hopes of praise. No words came out immeditately, but he waited.

"Whats...wrong..." he started, slightly confused. "Whats wrong with it?"

[Anja Drake]

Those words were filled with so much confusion and hurt that even years of exile couldn’t stop the salty liquid from filling well used tear ducts. The chances of getting to know the boy beside her without speculation and contradiction disintegrated right before her. The chances that Artisn would see her as a normal person were shattered and what could she say to him? Nothing . . . nothing but the truth now.
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There was little to explain, but yet, it was so incredibly heard to be truthful and straightforward. Tears of her own hurt and frustration were about to spill over the well built barriers of her glassy eyes.
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“N-no, Artisn.” Her voice cracked lamely. “Nothing is wrong with it, it’s probably perfect.”
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The pain that was being suppressed was calling out to be released; Anja’s human side wanted her to trust him, to let him inside her world.
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“But..but…” her stammering couldn’t be helped; she turned away from him in shame. Anja was ashamed of being what she was; yes, she accepted it but she was so ashamed…so disgusted.
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The silent tears began to fall now as her body folded on itself and she slid down to the ground against a bare portion of the steely bridge, next to Artisn’s masterpiece. She stared down at the street; she felt as if she belonged lower than dirt itself.
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“But, I can’t see it.” The river works were dripping off her chin and as some landed on the solid concrete, others landed on her jacket. “I’m blind Artisn; my world is nothing but gray and darkness. I can only see what my powers allow me to see.”
<o></o>
She drew a shaky breath and she shifted in discomfort against the wall on the ground; wrapping her arms around herself as if to protect herself from the rejection that was about to come. “I should apologize to you, Artisn. I cannot see the beautiful work you created.”