A Window to the Future

The rain began slowly, like fat tears gradually tracing a line through my sister’s foundation after she’s just watched ‘Titanic’. Charlie, my boyfriend, tugged his blue hood up over his wiry brown hair, took from my hand the ‘Boots’ bag with red hair dye in, and made the joke about God crying (the same joke he made every time it rained). I rolled my eyes and suggested we find somewhere warm to sit and wait the rain out. He takes my hand and we begin to speed walk down the street, my eyes are focused on the pavement in an attempt to keep the rain from getting into my face. The rain begins to pour faster, the pace quickening until it’s so loud you can almost imagine it’s the sound of a million hooves hitting the ground. Charlie takes off his hoodie and ties it around my shoulders, no doubt a chivalrous attempt to stop my shivering which is almost as loud as the rain itself. By the time we reach the café it’s thunderously pouring from the skies, and if Charlie was right about God crying, he is now having a full on tantrum!

We stop, relieved by the shelter that the old-fashioned, jutting out roof of the building offers.

“Do you want to go in?” Charlie asks, I look through the window, noting the brown wooden floor, stained grey counter, moth eaten table cloths and leather-clad customers who regularly wear a menacing frown like an accessory. Definitely the type of place better avoided, but, as someone exits the tempting smell of fresh coffee wafts through the door. I begin to walk towards the entrance, already feeling better having smelt the beautiful aroma of black, caffeine filled coffee. But someone gets there first; she pulls the door open with both hands and an angry swish of unnaturally red hair, before allowing it to start slamming closed on her companion. He lurches forward, tugging the door back open just before it closes.

I step back and watch them make there way towards a table through the window. A greasy haired waitress comes quickly over and takes their orders. The woman with the red hair fiddles morosely with one corner of the table cloth. Occasionally she glances up at the man, her eyes tearful and surrounded by slightly smudged mascara. He runs a finger trough curly hair that has been slicked to his face by the rain. I estimate then to be in their mid to late twenties, about ten years older than Charlie and I.

Their argument escalates quickly, the woman pointing a perfectly manicured finger at the man in accusation, the man holding his own hands up in defence. Her mouth hisses unheard accusations and criticisms at the man, who retaliates with an equally furious expression on his face. After a while, the man takes the woman’s hands, and looks at her with his distinctive bright green eyes, his words appear to come slower now, more sincere. The woman nods, even smiles a little. Then the waitress returns.

The man at first seems to thank her for the drinks, but when she walks away, the man’s eyes follow her arse all the way back to the till. The woman, seeing this, shakes her head at him, tugs a ring from her finger, and slams it down on the table before storming out.

Charlie smiles and opens the café door for me; I thank him, look deep into his distinctive bright green eyes, and wonder how long we will last.

The rain began slowly, like fat tears gradually tracing a line through my sister’s foundation after she’s just watched ‘Titanic’. Charlie, my boyfriend, tugged his blue hood up over his wiry brown hair, took from my hand the ‘Boots’ bag with red hair dye in, and made the joke about God crying (the same joke he made every time it rained). I rolled my eyes and suggested we find somewhere warm to sit and wait the rain out. He takes my hand and we begin to speed walk down the street, my eyes are focused on the pavement in an attempt to keep the rain from getting into my face. The rain begins to pour faster, the pace quickening until it’s so loud you can almost imagine it’s the sound of a million hooves hitting the ground. Charlie takes off his hoodie and ties it around my shoulders, no doubt a chivalrous attempt to stop my shivering which is almost as loud as the rain itself. By the time we reach the café it’s thunderously pouring from the skies, and if Charlie was right about God crying, he is now having a full on tantrum!

We stop, relieved by the shelter that the old-fashioned, jutting out roof of the building offers.

“Do you want to go in?” Charlie asks, I look through the window, noting the brown wooden floor, stained grey counter, moth eaten table cloths and leather-clad customers who regularly wear a menacing frown like an accessory. Definitely the type of place better avoided, but, as someone exits the tempting smell of fresh coffee wafts through the door. I begin to walk towards the entrance, already feeling better having smelt the beautiful aroma of black, caffeine filled coffee. But someone gets there first; she pulls the door open with both hands and an angry swish of unnaturally red hair, before allowing it to start slamming closed on her companion. He lurches forward, tugging the door back open just before it closes.

I step back and watch them make there way towards a table through the window. A greasy haired waitress comes quickly over and takes their orders. The woman with the red hair fiddles morosely with one corner of the table cloth. Occasionally she glances up at the man, her eyes tearful and surrounded by slightly smudged mascara. He runs a finger trough curly hair that has been slicked to his face by the rain. I estimate then to be in their mid to late twenties, about ten years older than Charlie and I.

Their argument escalates quickly, the woman pointing a perfectly manicured finger at the man in accusation, the man holding his own hands up in defence. Her mouth hisses unheard accusations and criticisms at the man, who retaliates with an equally furious expression on his face. After a while, the man takes the woman’s hands, and looks at her with his distinctive bright green eyes, his words appear to come slower now, more sincere. The woman nods, even smiles a little. Then the waitress returns.

The man at first seems to thank her for the drinks, but when she walks away, the man’s eyes follow her arse all the way back to the till. The woman, seeing this, shakes her head at him, tugs a ring from her finger, and slams it down on the table before storming out.

Charlie smiles and opens the café door for me; I thank him, look deep into his distinctive bright green eyes, and wonder how long we will last.

Please give me a really honest review and include any spelling/grammar mistakes becaese this is for a competition! Also the word limit is 300 and I've written 590 words... Oooops... Any advice on which bits to cut would be very much appreciated! Thanks :)