Please read and leave a review! This is in fact a dream I had, and I was so inspired by the characters that I decided to write it down. This is the entirety of my dream, but I'm sorely tempted to turn it into a story.
I found myself wandering back up to the rooftop, sketchpad in hand. The hidden staircase creaked as I climbed it, but I didn’t care if I was caught. It’s not like I was sneaking around. My purposes here were merely creative, not vandalistic or disruptive. I had yet to see the city landscape from up high at night, and with only three days left of this vacation, I had no time to waste.
I pushed the old door at the top, and was surprised when it opened noiselessly. Someone had oiled the hinges or something- it sure hadn’t been this soundless yesterday.
It was then that I smelt the faint scent of tobacco. The smoke from some lone cigarette curled ominously into the night sky, and I was suddenly, acutely aware of someone else’s presence.
I crept behind a boxy, metal structure, and crouched down to see who else was here. I got a glimpse of the person’s figure, but to my relief it was only a boy, probably about my age. He was sitting on the edge of the seven-story building, cigarette in one hand, and a pad of paper not unlike mine in the other.
The realization that this person was my age calmed me- before, images of middle-aged criminals had been flashing through my consciousness, and I’d briefly considered turning and running.
Instead, standing up straight from my improvised hiding spot, I merely said, “You know, those will kill you.”
The kid turned swiftly around, startled by my voice, and I found his illuminated baby-blue eyes staring back at me.
“Well, duh.” As if to emphasize his impartiality, he took a long drag, and promptly exhaled out his nose, two streaming puffs of smoke that formed a cloud above his head.
I raised an eyebrow in reprimand, and he mocked my expression almost exactly.
I rolled my eyes, then stated, “Well, if you’re going to be persistent about it,” I started walking over to where he sat, “I might as well stay.” I sat down next to him, and noticed how he was kinda muscular, kinda skinny, and kinda cute. Kinda stupid, too, but I didn’t care. Right now, I would be stupid with him.
“Why?” he asked, gesturing towards my precarious position next to him, exposing myself to a nice healthy dosage of second-hand smoke.
“Well, I don’t particularly mind the smell of smoke, for one, and that factor isn’t going to drive me off. I’m here with a purpose, and I intend to fulfill it.” I opened my sketchpad to the first page, where I had the drawing of the city during daylight hours. He looked at it, and gave a low whistle.
“Impressive.”
“Thanks,” I said, only slightly flattered. I knew my work was good. It wasn’t anything new to be complimented on it.
I then flipped that drawing over, to a nice, blank white page that glowed in the light of the city.
He bent over even more, and dropped his cigarette into the empty street below. It made for an interesting picture, that tiny bud of red disappearing into the blackness. Until now, I hadn’t really noticed, but we were perched over the alleyway between the motel and the short tourist shop next door.
Right hand now empty, he brought his own sketchpad forth, and opened to a sketch of the city at night already almost done. The only difference was that he was doing his sketch in color, while I was doing mine in a mixture of pencil and charcoal. I looked at his gloomy, luminescent drawing, and marveled at his skill to bring out the color in the seemingly black-and-white nighttime cityscape.
“Impressive,” I stated.
He looked over to me. “Thanks.”
I felt overpowered by his eyes. They were really, really blue. Almost unbelievably so. It made me feel like I was about to fall off the side of the building, and I leaned forward to catch them in a better light.
In fact, I really did feel like I was going to fall, for a moment there.
Until he caught me. His calloused hand grabbed my arm, pulling me back a little more. He laughed at my slightly peeved expression. “Watch yourself,” he grinned mischievously. “You know, that could kill you.”
“I can take care of myself,” I scoffed.
“Okay then! Have it your way.”
I realized his hand was still on my arm, and he seemed to notice it too. He pulled away. My heart fluttered a bit as I contemplated our positions. How the heck could I be so calm and, admittedly, comfortable, sitting so close to a complete stranger?
“So,” I started, wanting to break away from the silence that was brimming dangerously on awkward, “What’s your name?”
He looked out into the night. “Kyle. And you?”
“Clarissa,” I stated simply.
“Nice to meet you, Clarissa,” he replied. There was still a hint of a smirk on his face as I pushed myself back from the edge. I didn’t exactly have a death wish, and any sort of bravado I had been trying to put on a mere minute before was gone with the mental image of myself lying on the far-away ground, bleeding.
Much to my surprise, he scooted back to sit next to me. He lounged back on his hands, the shifting air currents bringing to my nose the smell of cinnamon, aftershave, and cigarette smoke. Surprisingly enough, not the worst combination in the world. His shoulder was right next to me now, and I had the sudden urge to lean over and bury my face in his shirt.
But that was awkward, wasn’t it? I had known this kid for a whole of five minutes, and I was already fighting off dangerous impulses, made especially dangerous by the fact that I was sitting atop a seven-story building next to a total stranger who, for all I knew, could be a serial rapist. I leaned away.
“Funny how we’re both here, the same building, the same night, doing the exact same thing,” he mused. He was staring at the sky again, and I took the moment to register his features. He was very strong-looking, rugged. Dirty blonde hair danced across his forehead, stray locks moved by the light breeze.
“Yeah, funny,” I agreed.
For a while, we both got lost in the shadow of the sprawling city before us. My gaze shifted from building to building, eyes lingering on the tall, the narrow, the low and blocky. The edges lined up before me, only discernable by the lights spilling out of lone windows, illuminating their dark silhouettes and setting a marvelous contrast between dark and light. Mesmerized, I took a pencil out of my right pocket and began to sketch, furiously outlining anything I could see in the low light. My fingers danced across the paper, from corner to corner, slowly revealing the picture hidden beneath the blank page. Still working, I smiled as I brought my head from my sketchpad to the horizon and back again, squinting, observing, drawing. I heard Kyle, sitting next to me, draw in a breath.
“Wow,” he breathed. A few minutes passed, and I could feel him leaning closer to me, watching me work. I tried to stay in the moment, because once I stopped, it would be hard for me to start up again.
I had to admit, Kyle was patient. He sat there silently for god knows how long as I let my fingers do the talking. Line after line was revealed, and I could see my paper slowly turning into a picture, slowly turning into the living, breathing landscape before me.
I was done all too soon. Before taking a fresh look at the finished product, I closed my eyes. I let go of the image of the city now nearly memorized, wanting to look at my work with some sort of detachment. After a deep breath, I stared at the book laying open in my lap.
Like always, I felt a strong sense of accomplishment as I saw the beautiful recreation in front of me. I had broke out the charcoal halfway through, shading and defining the image as was necessary.
"You really are something," Kyle whispered in my ear, startling me. The pencil I was holding flew out of my hand and over the side of the building, where it disappeared from view.
"Shoot," I frowned. My attention was fully restored to the present situation now, and the tragic event that was the sudden loss of my pencil. I didn't have another one with me.
"Sorry about that," Kyle said, chuckling at the despaired look on my face.
"Well, I guess I'm done here," I said reluctantly. I had planned on making more than one drawing, but I couldn't draw with just charcoal. It wouldn't erase if I made a mistake. I contemplated going downstairs and getting a new one, but decided against it. My parent's would probably be woken up in the process. It seemed that my only option was to go back to bed. I started to get up.
"Wait-" Kyle interjected, grabbing hold of my arm. "You don't have to leave."
"Well, I don't have another pencil. There's no real reason for me to stay without one." I pointed to my sketchpad. "I came here to draw, but thanks to you, I can't exactly do that."
"It's not my fault my compliment scared you," he smirked.
I couldn't help it when a hint of a smile crept up onto my face. "As much fun as this was," I started sweetly, "It is getting late. I might as well just go to sleep. Besides, you haven't done anything since I got here," I noted. "I'll just leave you to your work."
There he was with the hand-lingering-on-my-arm business again. I hadn't noticed it until now, but I stared at it uncomfortably. "Gonna let go?"
He let out an over dramatic sigh. "I guess," he said, releasing his grip. As I walked back towards the decrepit staircase, I heard him call back, "It was nice meeting you, Clarissa. Maybe I'll see you tomorrow."
I turned around to respond. "Maybe," I said, walking backwards in the direction of the door. Then, smartly, added, "Maybe not."
Reaching my destination, I pulled open the door noiselessly. Before closing it behind me, I took one last peek at his silhouette. He had starting lighting another cigarette, and I shook my head, smiling to myself. Strange, smoking, possible serial-rapist or not, I figured it wouldn't hurt to come back tomorrow night, with two pencils this time. After all, I only had one drawing of the city at night. Surely I would need more than that...
Yeah, surely... I thought to myself. Holding my sketchpad close, I descended the staircase. Too bad I was only here for two more nights.
This was really good! ^_^ Your writing style is pleasantly simplistic without being bare or boring. This kind of story would be easy to over-do, to add dripping metaphors and overactive purple prose, but you handled it really well. I liked the characterization of Kyle, especially since the piece was too short to develop him any more, but I do feel like you could develop your narrator a bit more. A common issue in 1st person short stories is that the narrator is never quite as well-characterized. However, since it's so short, you can only do so much.
Best of luck, and great job!
So I won't do any nitpicks as it seems the other guys got you covered there 
. Anyways, I'm hoping I will continue this one, just because I love the characters so much. They're honestly the clearest characters I've ever come up with (probably because I 
