zo_one | Fanfiction - Dear Journal that is not a Diary (1/1)

I was playing around with fonts and got this awful idea:

USUK fluff

22/11/2011

Dear ~~Diary~~ Journal,

I can’t believe I continue making that mistake. I am a full grown man - I’ve no need for diaries. And see how easily I stray from my original intention! I have something I must put onto paper for I feel that my chest may just explode or collapse in upon itself from sheer emotion. Whilst I was at work this morning, and a right lousy job it is, the strangest of things happened!

I was dusting the top shelves and rearranging the merchandise, and I forgot to mention the stool we keep in the supply closet is a tad wobbly, I feared for my life - truly. And there I go again! As I was saying………… writing. As I was writing, I was upon this rickety stool and I happened to chance the slightest looks downwards and almost immediately I was enraptured by these EYES! They were simply gorgeous in the most fabulous of ways. Like the clearest blue in the arctic tundra, the colour of ice hidden beneath the iceberg. I was so fascinated and my heart fluttered in a very startling fashion and before I knew what I was doing I fell from that blasted stool and right on my bum.

Of course I am fine, just a little sore, but the odd part of the whole exchange was when I looked up again to see who it was that owned such a rarity - precious, precious gems, they were gone, as well as the person. And now, hours later even, I feel this pang in my heart whenever I think about what I saw, followed by guilt. I wish I had glanced upon the person with those eyes. I think it was a man, but I am unsure. The more I think about it, the less positive I become that it even happened, save for my sore arse.

I think, out of all things, I had had the courage to speak to such a beautiful creature. If I had not been so overwhelmed, perhaps I could have…

Well, I suppose those are musings for another day. For now I should be off to bed, lest any more talk of those eyes set them about my dreams tonight.

A.K.®

30/11/2011

Dear Journal,

There are a few things I regret about moving to America. One would have to be the citizen’s incapacity to drive (no matter what lane they are in, left, right, it’s all the same! Atrocious! They’re out to kill - I bless the inventor of seatbelts!), but also this weather. It is bitter and snowflakes seem to fall at a slow constant; I can just imagine the townsfolk at home hissing and crying over the slightest of flakes that touch the ground. I saw a lad earlier wearing a pair of track shorts. In this weather?! He’s a loony. Completely nutters, I say. He claimed that he wasn’t cold at all, that he was from New York and supposedly New Yorkers don’t become cold.

I don’t believe it for a second. I would only give pause if he said Russian.

On a different note, today one of my co-workers claims she saw a man with startling blue eyes. I haven’t thought upon that incident in quite some time. I wonder if the two instances are related. Perhaps it is the same pair of eyes I saw a few days ago. I asked her to describe them, but she had no adequate words beyond “blue” and “pretty”. Very unhelpful, she is.

Ah well, it is about time for tea. Today I’m off to see some French controversial documentary with Francis. Hopefully it’s as inspiring as he claims it to be, but I’m doubtful of anything that comes from that country. Here’s a wish that all goes well.

A.K. ®

3/12/2011

Dear Journal,

I’ve never seen so much snow in one place. There must be at least a foot or two, maybe three, I’m not sure how to measure snow in such vast increments. If it’s up to my knees, does it qualify as dangerous? I don’t want to drive in this weather. It’s frightening. The roads must be a frozen strip of death. I called my work and told them this - I do live quite the distance, mind you, but they assured me (and not very well, either) that it would be perfectly safe to come in today. I don’t know. I have an odd feeling about all that snow and it’s not sitting well in my stomach.

If this were England, the whole country would be closed - also I’m sure there would be some cataclysmic panic running amok - this amount of snow should not exist ever. Ah well… at least writing has helped me with my jitters. It’s time for work. Wish me well.

A.K. ®

3/12/2011

There is no time for silly openings! You would not believe what happened on my way to work this morning! I was right about all that blasted snow, I’ll have you know. Nothing good can come from such an absurd amount of death in ice form - but wait! Something good did happen! I simply cannot write fast enough to contain my sheer joy!

I’ll start from the beginning, hopefully I’ll have calmed by the time the greatest part is to come. I was driving to work, very carefully, there must have been at least four centimetres of ice on top of the road. I was getting along splendidly when it suddenly began to snow; heavily. It was like a cloud of white had fallen upon us from the sky. I could hardly see further than my nose, much less the brake lights of the bloke in front of me.

Needless to say it did not go over well. In order to avoid hitting the bloke in front of me, I skid off the highway. My car went down the ravine, and I never want to experience that ever again. It’s a frightening sensation to have no control of where your vehicle goes, and the snow that pushed up onto my windshield, and it was awfully bumpy and I know if I hadn’t had my buckle on I would have been tossed about the car like a doll. A truly terrifying experience. In the end, my car ended up in a ditch quite a ways from the highway. I could hardly see the lights from the traffic, let alone they see me down in that ditch.

I was so scared. I’ve never been in a situation like that. What does one do when they’re stranded in a snowstorm? That’s not something we’re taught in the U.K. We’ve no need for it. But America… this heathenish place with its terrible weather…

I digress. So I was sitting there in my car, panicking like any rational man would in my position, wondering how long it would be until someone found me, how long I would have gas in my car to fuel my heater, if I would be able to sue the people at work for telling me it was perfectly safe to drive when it so obviously wasn’t.

And then I looked out my window to see this bloke running down the slope, waving his arms around like a hooligan, a red stocking cap upon his head. It was ridiculous and yet I was so relieved. My hands still hadn’t stopped shaking by the time he reached my car and pried the door open.

“You okay in there?” was the first thing he said. His face was turning a cherry red from running in that weather and I had shivered as that blasted cold pushed its way into my warm car. I was going to tell him I was fine, just shaken and kindly omit that I was frightened, but when I looked up at him my voice caught in my throat and my hands began that strange tremble and my chest became warm and fluttery because behind a pair a silver spectacles, his eyes were the bluest, most fascinating blue - like the colour of an iceberg beneath the surface of the water. I was rendered speechless. How was I supposed to speak to someone who possessed such magnificent eyes? I felt strange, and perhaps more than a little self-conscious. It was hard to look at them, his eyes, to make any kind of conversation. Not with the way they made my chest inflate and burn.

After a few moments he fretted, touching his mittens to my face gently. “Oh god, did you hit your head? Do you need to go to the hospital? Sir?”

At the mere mention of the hospital, my stomach dropped. Like I could afford a hospital visit in America. “I’m fine,” I had replied. “Just quite alright.”

“Oh thank god.” He looked back up to the road and waved his arms around for a moment. “Hey… you’re the guy that works at the Ollie’s Grocery, aren’t you?”

Stunned that the man had recognized me, is all I could do was nod. It was freakishly cold outside and with my car door opened, so was my car. I wrapped my arms about myself and tried not to shiver. Oh how I wanted to be out of there at that moment. The most gorgeous man on the planet had just saved what was probably my life, and is all I could do was sit there numbly and wish myself next to a fire with a steaming cup of tea. I am a fool. But what he said next completely blew my mind:

“Oh! I wasn’t sure… I mean I’ve seen you a few times and well… ah… You have really amazing eyes. They’re like crazy green! It’s hard to look at them, yanno?”

My eyes? I could hardly believe it, coming from the man with eyes that can strike a man senseless with one wandering glance. Had he never looked in a mirror before? Madness. I might’ve said something at that point, babbled a bit, but nothing important. Just about how grateful I was and related topics. He was kind enough to offer me a ride home, his brother was waiting for us in a warm truck just off the side of the highway.

So I called in. There’s no point in me going to work now in such an emotional state. But I think the best part would be that I did get that chap’s number, and he has mine. “Just in case something happens, call me.” That’s what he said. How can someone so gorgeous be so kind and genteel? I’ll likely never ring him, but the thought is comforting.

I just wish I could ring him for a reason other than that I am unwell. Perhaps I should ask if he’d like to go out for tea… or coffee… or whatever he may drink.

His name is Alfred. It seems so fitting…

Damn my nerves.

A.K. ®

6/12/2011

Dear Journal,

The weather has let up finally. My car is still at the mechanic’s, although they say I should get it back by the end of the week. I do hope so, I feel like I may be a burden on Tino, who was nice enough to offer me rides to work until it was fixed.

And now that I’ve gotten everything up to speed since my last entry, I have exciting news. I never did call Alfred for tea. I knew I wouldn’t, but how I ached to. But this morning he called me. He asked how I was faring and when I assured him all was well, he invited me out for coffee as if he had been inside of my mind.

We’re heading out in a few hours, he’ll come and pick me up - I'm so excited and jittery. He probably doesn’t think of this as a date, but what if he does? It’s so unlikely but I have this tiny thread of hope and I’m going to drive myself nutters over this whole thing.

Ah well, I should get myself ready in any case. Here’s hoping for the best.

A.K. ®

18/12/2011

Dear ~~Dia~~ Journal,

It’s been a long time since I’ve written anything here. Life has been hectic in the best sense of the word. To sum it up, since I’m running a tad late today: I received a raise at work, it’s almost Christmas, the snow has lessened, and I have a boyfriend to occupy my free time. I would love to spend the rest of my evening writing about him, I truly would. He’s just that kind of man.

Speaking of the devil, he’s here. Dinner for two never sounded more wonderful.

A.K.

24/12/2011

‘Tis the eve of Christmas and I cannot sleep like an anxious child. I want to sit down and talk about all sorts of things, to write novels and poetry about a man who, in such a short period of time, has wormed his way into my heart - making it want to burst from sheer happiness and love and sugar coated feelings. But that somehow feels inadequate. I want to bring him to my side, to hold and love him forever, to let him do with me as he pleases, to kiss him and comfort him and everything. I can think of nothing I don’t want to do with him. I can think of nowhere that I will not go with him. I want to stare into his perfect eyes, and reminisce about the colour and expressions within them. I want to write about that perfect shade of blue, but I know I will never find the correct word in even all the eloquence of the world. I want to compare this man to a summer’s day. To compare him to the sun and the moon and the stars above and write about how he shines brighter than any of them. But somehow it doesn’t feel like enough.

I am so utterly and hopelessly in love with Alfred F. Jones.

A.K. ®

25/12/2011

Dear Journal,

As lonesome it is to spend the holidays away from my family, Alfred has offered to come over this afternoon to spend Christmas with me. It’s my first Christmas in America and I admit it’s not too different than how it is in England - possibly more lights, but it’s hard to tell.

Either way I’m anxious to see him, as I always seem to be. I bought him a small something. I hope he enjoys it as much as I enjoy his company.

A.K. ®

To the journal that is not a diary,

I’m sorry if it seems like I was snooping around or something, but you left this out on your desk and it was too tempting and I’m sorry. Although I’m really glad I read it (I only started at like… the end of November so don’t worry too much okay?). Do you really think of my eyes like that? I’m kind of… really I don’t know the word for it. Embarrased? But like the happy kind of embarrassed. Like I can feel my ears blushing kind of good embarrassed. It’s really funny though, because that’s exactly how I feel about your eyes. I can’t describe them, but here, let me try like you did although I’m definitely not as great with words as you are, Arthur:

Your eyes are like… they’re green like the forest, like the moss and vines and leaves that warm in the sunlight. They remind me of storybook places where there’s magic and fairies and unicorns and stuff. The first time I ever saw them I ran away. My heart was beating so fast I thought I was having a heart attack or something. If I had known you fell, I woulda went back to help you up. You’re just so… you’re the most handsome man I’ve ever met.

Arthur Kirkland, you are the kindest, most stunning man and even though you can be grumpy and your sense of humor is as dry as the desert, I dare to say that I love you and I never wanna part from you! I hope we’re together forever, and I’m going to do my best to make sure that that happens. Merry Christmas, Arthur. The first of many.

Alfred Jones

(P.S. I think it’s cute how you draw a teacup by your signature. Does that mean you’re going to get tea? Or that you just really like it? Or is it aesthetic? It’s so cute! ˜ okay I never claimed to be an artist ugh…)

(P.S.S I really love you! So you definitely shouldn’t get mad at me for reading your diary.)

26/12/2011

Dear Journal,

Alfred is such an insufferable idiot sometimes. Also his handwriting is atrocious, but I love him all the same. Never mind that he read everything, I would have told him about it all someday, perhaps. But to know my feelings are reciprocated… and to have it in writing… I am indeed one of the happiest men on Earth right now.

Alfred you made my Christmas absolutely wonderful and meaningful and I am honoured to consider it the first of many, many more to come. I love you.

With love,

Arthur Kirkland