Time Journal 2

Starman sat and ate his lunch. There would be time to chase after her. He held the card as he ate, and occasionally glanced at it and admired some meaningless detail of it. Everything in the world seemed suddenly profound and meaningful. He had grasped destiny and forced it into submission. He felt godly.

Later, in math class, Snowface tried to talk to Starman again, but Starman kept his comments curt and let silence fill the conversation. Snowface pouted. And when Starman smiled at Newgirl and Newgirl blushed back, Snowface scowled. And because she was pretty and because she had grown up in abundance, rejection stung Snowface as a torn bandage stings a scab. Did she want Starman? Yes, absolutely. But only as a child wants a new toy; Starman interested her, and though she knew the impermanence of her interest, still, she wanted him for her own. And now, l because he had rejected her, her desire mixed with scorn and turned into anger.. She was queen of these limited lands -- not to be underestimated or ignored, for she could punish, she could destroy.

As for Starman, all moments were bliss and blessed. Newgirl sat next to him again. She sneaked glances at him, and he knew, and he likewise returned them, covertly as he could. And all the old cliches of young love played out before them. The bitter Starman, the old Starman, if he saw it now objectively and not in himself -- he might have disdained it. But to see a thing and to know a thing in the kernel of one’s soul; these were not the same. What he could scorn at a distance as foolishness and soon flitted fancy, within him, was total truth and of vital importance. And can you, dear reader, can you remember a time when your learned truths were routed by experience? When the distasteful familiarities of cliche were conquered by purity of feeling? An old love, a first kiss, a shooting star, a game of tag, the way a leaf crunched or the snow or the puddle of water beneath a footstep, the way you laughed in your boyhood, now forgotten.

>>403617
For Newgirl, there was unaccustomed joy and an explosion of feeling which made her sick and feverish. Never. Never. Not once, had anyone, male or female, young or old, known or unknown, come to her and said to her they wanted her. Never in a genuine sense. Pity, yes. Scorn. Disdain. Ridicule. Even, hatred, yes. These things were familiar. But genuine companionship? Beyond that which she found between pages and dust, beyond her imagination, her dreams? Never. And he was there, the short boy with the curly hair, well-muscled, deep set eyes, a crooked nose (she admitted, but even the faults were an addendum to perfection) and he had told her he would be her friend. That he would help her. She was suspicious. Self-loathing bred naturally other nastiness -- who would help her? Long ago she had reached certain conclusions about herself and fashioned specific truths to help her understand her place and the reality she occupied.

She was not beautiful. And in an objective sense, she was not -- but to Starman, who had loved her from a position of blindness and ignorance, she had always been beautiful and even reality could not budge memory -- even false memory. She was brilliant. Yes, she was unapologetic on this point. Her grades were always perfect and always attained without significant effort. Books, she had read all she could get her hands on. Literature of every kind from every mouth and corner of the globe were fused permanently into her brain matter. A living part of her, to which she could recede, not unlike a turtle, at signs of danger. She was crippled. A love of words but no tongue, a curse befitting of fables. Socially inept, solitary. She hated everyone through reflection. And that someone would not hate her, put her whole philosophy into disarray. And so she went into her default state, which was suspicion laced with hope. Her stomach hurt when she thought of the card -- she hadn’t given him time to answer which she both regretted and counted as a victory of some kind. She remembered his arm around her shoulders, the exchange of warmth and she trembled as she did then. Fear gripped her.

The class ended.

>Starman rose and accosted Newgirl (and said what?)
>Starman left Newgirl alone and went to his next class with dignity and silence
>Starman accosted Snowface (and said what?)

>>403617
I cant understand what you wrote, but the quest looks good, hopefully more people join

>>403620
>>Starman left Newgirl alone and went to his next class with dignity and silence

>>403622
Well, if you're new, reading the pastebin will get you caught up. But yeah, I went kind of overboard with the prose, but fuck it, I enjoyed writing it.

>>403620
>Starman left Newgirl alone and went to his next class with dignity and silence

But I think that we should give thought to contacting Newgirl online, or getting her information so that we can do that. That way she can speak to us without her needing to feel embarrassed about the stutter. Just a thought.

>>403931
Is Starman smooth enough to ask for her number or email address? It might be neat for Starman to make a note with his contact info and pass it to her, that way Newgirl can contact him when she wants but even that seems too smooth.

>>404163
Seconding.

On a side note, welcome back OP, been waiting for this to resume

>>404163
That's kind of what I was worried about as well, he's so spastic I didn't think making a vote for accosting her would do anything but make him spaghetti.

I think that I agree with passing her his contact info. But I think to show his lack of social finesse, maybe he shouldn't say anything, and I think that maybe it should be just his contact info with no additional context, he moves so fast with doing it, he doesn't plan any of it out and maybe he realizes what he's done as he's passing her the note.

>>404163
I support this motion.

I wish OP wouldn't die every time he creates a thread

Starman could not approach Newgirl yet. Time was on his side, he would wait, caution would be his primary instrument. But he ached to speak with her, to know her. So, just before she gathered her things to leave, he wrote his phone number on a post-it and his name, and carefully stuck it on the end of her bag, secretly. Then he walked away in silence.

Newgirl thought about Starman for the rest of the day. Then when she finally found the post-it (and wasn’t until she went home that she found it) she felt a mix of joy and horror. Joy at the prospect of contact, horror at the possibility of being embarrassed, being once again exposed to the cruelty of the world. Starman went home whistling.

In the house across from Starman’s, new neighbors were moving in. A tall young man, so thin as to remind Starman of a stick-bug, carried boxes from a moving van into the house. The journal hadn’t said anything about new neighbors, but then, Starman was currently in unexplored time. He felt panic, he felt naked. It was amazing how he’d assimilated the impossibility of his situation, so that it became normal, almost inevitable.. He knew he was now bound to the journal; dependent, and dangerously so. And why not? Hadn’t it been right thus far, and wasn’t it sent back to be used? For this very purpose? And yet...there was a pit feeling Starman could not reconcile.

>And Starman went over to greet his neighbors and greet the young man
>And Starman went inside his house and searched the journal for details

>>412515
>>And Starman went over to greet his neighbors and greet the young man
If we know a name or two to look out for, we'll have an easier time finding it in the journal.

>>413134
>>412515
A solid line of thought, supportan

>>413134
This

>>413134
Agreed