Desgracia compartida // past.
@witticisms-of-a-wolf
1 September, 1976.
Marlene wasn’t exactly the type to go out of her way to find someone to sit with on the train. She almost found it funny how student after student stomped by looking desperately for a familiar face. They were all familiar faces to her. Anyone over age twelve was burned into her extraordinarily photographic memory. She may not remember every name unless they leave an impact, but the faces she would always recall. It was her favorite thing to do, in fact. Memorize the face before her, focus on their features to keep the constant itch inside of her at bay.
Some might be under the impression that she was searching for something in the mass of faces. Marlene would never confirm that, but neither would she deny it. She was not searching for any one person, but she would let the world think what it would. If they wanted to dream up some fanciful story about a long lost love they could. The truth was, admittedly, not nearly as romantic. Marlene McKinnon searched for the emotion that seemed to be missing from her own heart. The graceless wonder and dumbstruck awe at magic. The fragile love between two people who were too young to really understand their feelings as more than desire. The heartbreak and hopefulness that could be found in so many girls her own age. It was like water when she was dehydrated, or oxygen when she was suffocating, the analysis of the adolescent dream. Desgracia compartida, menos sentida. shared misfortune, less sadness. Misery loves company.
Lost to herself, she forgot to keep her back straight. When someone wrapped on the compartment door, her posture snapped together. She looked up, golden eyes curious. The corners of her lips turned up into a lovely smile, white-blonde curls falling over her shoulders as she lifted her hand in a graceful wave into her compartment. When he slid the door open, she tilted her head slightly. Her sweet smile turned into a sunny, confused grin, her words were confused, her voice thick with a rasp that hid her Scottish brogue. “Hello.”