100 words? That's really a small amount but I can work with it. This is 6oo letters so I know I'm going to fail but I hope my efforts count. sorry for the y/n mistakes if i didn't get them all.
It was the silence that got to her. The way everything twirler around her like she was in a void, the words of, "Harping..." that was so gentle, it was like a taste of morning breath, so old, so withered.
She sat on a wooden bench, her hands rubbed on the smoothness as she looked to the concrete ground, cars rushing by her as rain poured down.
It was silence, in her head at least, it all seemed to pass by right before it was just bubbled out. She held her umbrella, looking at the people passing by, talking together, being friendly. One man, who stood near a public phone.
Whitebeard, large red eyes that were light blue, barely any hair left from his head. "Harping?" he asked, his voice so rasp. "Me?" Hazel asked, going up from her bench, now wiping the raindrops off her before they stained.
The man smiled, his intents seemed kind and nevertheless music to her ears as the raspy old voice spoke once more. "I haven't seen you in so long little bird. How are you?" asked the man as he sat near Hazel on the farther end of the bench.
She smiled content and not meaning to be rude. "Oh...well, um, sorry who are you?" she didn't mean to be harsh as she nervously scooted farther away from the old man. Now that she looked at him more memories seem to come back, her blue sea orbs seem to trail her surroundings. A lean tree, birds chirping as clatters of raindrops filled her ears.
"Sorry..." he said, now pulling up his trousers as he got up and sighed a lonely sigh; a sigh Hazel was all too familiar with.
"Mmm, you do look like someone I know, what's your name?" Hazel scrunched her eyes, now running her hands on the wooden bench.
"Stephen."
"How old are you?" she seemed to want to start a conversation, something the man was ever so happy to hear as the mood became more charming. "I'm turning ninety this Fall," his age was a shocker to Hazel, although wrinkles did cover his whole face and his hairs were as white as the snow they had gotten where she lived, his lively attitude, once Hazel had talked to him, was flabbergasting.
"And, where do I know you from?" Hazel tried to be as bubbly as possible.
"I assume my son, maybe you go to school with him?" He asked calmly as a suggestion, for it seemed he too only guessed. Even though Hazel's attempt was a kind one, it seemed tasteless and nevermore something inside of her felt the old man was a little strange for coming up to her. With a raise of a brow, she nodded as the man had been silent for what felt like hours.
"Y/n, that's your name, right?" The silence was broken with a shocker, seemed the old man did know her perhaps, or he was just a Sally Garden. To say, she titled her head and hid her amazement though she had her own slight conclusions. "Where then, where have we met?" she then placed a finger on her pale chin.
"I still don't have a clue, my memory is weak." His voice was childish, wise and sweet all at the same time. She nodded as she took up her belongings placed on the bench while she had stayed bowed, then flipping up as he just looked clueless. "Maybe one day I'll remember." Eye contact at this point was vague, it seemed to b his cheerful smile turned to a frown; almost like he remembered.
"Sorry..." he said, now walking away, leaving his presence unknown to the girl.
