Arilla and Endar

By Lauren, age 16
Arilla and Endar Lauren is a 16-year-old sophomore at Kent Island High School and started Writopia this winter. Her short story Black Rose was featured at Down By The Bay, a school arts festival. Lauren enjoys writing fantasy literature with a humorous twist. When not writing, she can often be found swimming and enjoying the outdoors. She lives in Kent Island, MD with her parents, younger brother and two cats.

“Arilla knew nothing about the man, other than the fact that his skin was lilac and his hair was dark. But, because of how much the question and her lack of inspiration tormented her, she began to discreetly observe the little things about him.”

Arilla had always been a writer, but always struggled with finding an inspiration. Going to the local coffee shop certainly helped with her creativity, but sometimes it just wasn’t enough. She had thought about using the strange, lilac colored man as her muse, but she could never work up the courage to ask him for his consent.

For two entire years, the man would be at the coffee shop every time Arilla went. At first, she was slightly concerned about it, but eventually realized it must have just been a major coincidence. She knew the man wasn’t stalking her or anything like that, because she had never seen anyone who remotely looked like him outside of the shop. She wondered (only a few times when she was sleep deprived) if she could be stalking him, but once she got coffee into her system, ridiculous thoughts like that were banished from her mind. Once Arilla was done being paranoid, she realized that there were a few other regulars that she saw all the time, so she knew it wasn’t all that odd for both her and the lilac man to inhabit the shop every morning. Even after she knew she had nothing to be afraid of or nervous about, she still felt weird about asking the man, a stranger, to be her muse for a new character. It wasn’t a question that people knew how to answer. Probably because it had never been asked before. Arilla certainly didn’t want to ask that of a random stranger.

Arilla knew nothing about the man, other than the fact that his skin was lilac and his hair was dark. But, because of how much the question and her lack of inspiration tormented her, she began to discreetly observe the little things about him. Not like a stalker would do, Arilla told herself, but like what a journalist or other writers would do. Her observations made it clear that he was an artist. He constantly had charcoal and ink smudged hands as well as paint-stained clothes. Arilla also determined that his eyes were a light grey color, which complimented his black, almost blue, hair quite nicely. In no time at all, she learned many things about him, all of which translated well into a written character. Of course, there were still gaping holes in the knowledge she had of him, so she decided to finally act. Her decision took up to a full month, but that’s neither here nor there.

Her nerves ate away at her as she got up from her seat and made her way toward his table. Unfortunately, that made her unfocused, which lead to her crashing into the very same man she had wanted to talk to. This meant that not only was she more embarrassed than she would have been, but coffee splashed all over her, and the papers that the man must have been holding littered the floor.

They both muttered curses and attempted to help each other. Arilla leaned down to pick up the man’s scattered mess, and he reached over to a vacant table to grab some napkins for Arilla’s own mess.

“I am so sorry!” Arilla’s face burned bright. “I was actually walking to your booth to talk to you, but I was nervous because what I want to say to you is really strange, and it might weird you out-” The man’s chuckling interrupted Arilla’s rambling.

“It’s alright,” he handed her the napkins. “I actually wanted to talk to you, too.”

Arilla reddened even more. “Um, here are your… sketches?” She tried to peer at the stack of paper she was holding before handing them over.

“Thanks,” the man smiled, trying to obscure them from her view.

“Is that me?” She gasped, pointing to the top sheet of paper.

“Well… they kind of all are,” He winced. “You’ve been my muse recently, which is weird, I know.”

“Wow, they’re amazing,” Her eyes widened in awe. “But what’s really weird is that you’ve been a muse to me, but as a character. I’m a writer, not an artist.”

“Oh,” he laughed. “Surely I’m not that interesting.”

“No, you very much are,” Arilla assured him. “But, a character that interesting needs a name.”

“I think Endar suits him,” He held out his hand.

Arilla shook it. “You know, I think that’s an amazing name for him.”

“I’ll need the author’s name, so I can be sure I’m buying the right book,” Endar grinned.

“Hmm, I believe it might just be Arilla.”

“Well, Arilla, it’s great to finally put a name to the face I’ve seen on a regular basis for two years. It’s funny, but I did once think you were stalking me with how much I saw you.”

“Likewise.”

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