in chicago - abby ft oliver .

[abby hazard !]

It was there she stood quietly, vasting over the backing of a familiar novel she had spotted . Her thin , fragile figure , contently pressed against a bookshelf , alone .
Chicago was a seemingly large place - many families vacationed there. But still - to this day , did she stand there alone. Her thick, brown locks, framing what looked like a pair of lightened blue optics. Continually lifting up each book, and reading over each summary , with gentle hands. A routine , you might say . Something she'd grown to like to do - after the passing of her mother .

There was nothing here for her in Chicago . She stayed with a friend , but found herself aimlessly wandering around town half the time . Not wanting to say much then a few words - she kept to herself. Often exchanging polite smiles with the people that passed her , but otherwise. Her eyes kept close to the floor.

After placing a book back to where she had found it , she was startled by a deep, husky voice.
She looked up to see the bookkeeper.
" Can I help you with something, Miss ? "
A blatant smile followed.

Abby shook her head, the same absent smile , tugging at her cheeks.
" I ' m alright , thank you . Just looking . "

[Oliver Sparks]

Chicago's weather was much like that of Forks. The sky was gray, the air cold, although it did lack the constant downpour of rain. Still, Oliver was glad his Aunt Jules lived here rather than, the dying heat soaked streets of Phoenix, Arizona, for example.

"Are you sure you wouldn't like to come with us, dear?"

Oliver's focus on the gloomy weather outside was interrupted as his Aunt Jules's voice rang out from down the hallway of her two bedroom apartment. He broke his gaze from the window and dragged his feet over to the doorway of the guest bedroom, tripping on the bottoms of his pajama pants, which were much too long for his frame.

"No thanks," he hollered back, "You two have fun, though."

The two women replied with what Oliver could only guess were goodbyes because a minute later the sound of shuffling keys was heard, followed by the small click of the apartment door closing. He was alone.

Oliver's mother Rebecca and his Aunt Jules were spending the day together in the city. The two women had spent the morning and much of last night trying to convince Oliver to tag along with them, but somehow Oliver didn't find the idea of carrying around the two older women's bags while they shopped for the next six hours as appealing as they might have thought.

However, the idea of spending most of the day alone in his aunt's old apartment didn't sound all that exciting, either. So Oliver headed for the shower. Thirty minutes later he was dressed and ready to go. Wearing jeans, a green Hurley sweatshirt, a white beanie over messy hair, and a pair of worn out chucks that he'd had ever since he could remember, he grabbed a piece of toast on his way out, making sure to grab the spare set of keys his aunt and mother left in case he had decided to leave. His eyes were framed with simple, black rimmed glasses. Oliver didn't need corrected lenses, but he had found the pair in a small vintage shop the other day and wanted to try out this new look for him.

Halfway through his bus ride, he found himself yanking on the emergency cord to stop the bus. He thanked the bus driver for the inconvenience, and hurried stepped off the bus. Directly in front of him was a small bookstore entitled, Grounds for Thought. Oliver smiled. What were the chances there'd be a used bookstore with the same name as the tattered old one he worked for back in Forks? It would be a sin not to check it out.

The small bell rang as he stepped inside, signaling a new customer. Looking around, Oliver could instantly tell this bookstore was a lot nicer than the one back home, but it still held the same atmosphere. He order a small coffee and found himself trailing up and down the long aisles stuffed with used books, exploring the different material. He wasn't looking for anything in particular, but he found himself subconciously comparing the selection with the one back home. Am I seriously that much of a geek? he thought with a smirk. The next aisle he walked down was occupied with two others: an employee, based on the name tag adorned on the left part of his chest, and a young woman, presumably a fellow customer. Their quick conversation caught his attention for a moment.

"Can I help you with something, Miss?"

"I'm alright, thank you. Just looking."

Oliver shifted his eyes away before he was caught staring. He found himself glance to the last book the girl had put back. It was a book of poetry. Intrigued, Oliver reached for the thin, tattered cover. "Excuse me," he called out, having to reach over the girl's arm to get to the book.

[abby hazard !]

Abby raised the small of her brow , casting a glance at the thin boy she had heard. It wasn't everyday , that you ran into a fellow Edgar Allen Poe admirer. Infact, Abby was one of the only females she could think of - that was attracted to his morbid works of art. An odd passtime , evidently. Maneuvering her narrow shoulders, she let Oliver pass , and set her eyes across him . It was only for a moment, she studied his face.
It was bringing herself to speak, that was the hard part. She didn't intend on having a personal mind battle in a book shop - about some boy who read Mr Poe. But there she stood, stammering for a moment or so - until her mind forced the words out.
" A dream . " She stated faintly, turning the corner of her lips up in response to her own courage.
" Page 32. One of the best he ' s ever written , I think . "
She fidgeted in place , reaching for another book of poetry. This time, she only glanced across the back - before setting it down .
What a geeky way to spark up a conversation - especially in the presence of an attractive teenage boy .
None the less, she thought to herself. He was reaching for the same book as she was , only minutes before . Her starting line couldn't of been that bad .
Could it ?
Pulling at the sleeves of her thin grey cardigan , she slauntered toward the coffee counter, plucking an earl grey tea from the surface.
A quick nod was given to the lady who served her - and in an instant, she was sat comfortably at a table.
In escape of her stupid lines , no doubt .
Her stupid lines , and her obsessive Edgar Allen Poe nature.
Oh, Abby .
What a girl .



In visions of the dark night
I have dreamed of joy departed-
But a waking dream of life and light
Hath left me broken-hearted.

Ah! what is not a dream by day
To him whose eyes are cast
On things around him with a ray
Turned back upon the past?

That holy dream- that holy dream,
While all the world were chiding,
Hath cheered me as a lovely beam
A lonely spirit guiding.

What though that light, thro' storm and night,
So trembled from afar-
What could there be more purely bright
In Truth's day-star?

-Edgar Allen Poe .

[Oliver Sparks]

In all honestly, Oliver hadn't read the cover when he reached for the book. It was a habit of Oliver's to find out what people, of all shapes and sizes, liked to read. For some reason, he found it intriguing putting faces to novels, short stories, and poems. Sometimes the outcome surprised him -once he had a fairly large biker come in and purchase a book of poetry by Emily Dickinson- and other times his prediction was right on the money. With the young woman in front of him, he wasn't at all surprised when he found she had been looking at Edgar Allen Poe. He wasn't yet sure why.

"A dream." She stated faintly, turning the corner of her lips up in response to her own courage.
"Page 32. One of the best he 's ever written, I think."

Oliver looked over at the girl, a bit surprised that he had gotten a reply, and an intelligent one at that. He smiled and nodded a thanks and watched as the girl left the aisle and ordered a drink, taking a seat at one of the tables next to the window. He knew that should be the end of their encounter, and that he should perhaps curl up in the back corner of the store and bury his nose into the world of Poe like his original plan had told him to do, but ... instinct told him otherwise. Yea, instinct ... or testosterone? he thought, laughing at his own stupidity. But hey, she was cute. And it wasn't everyday that a fellow Poe fan was appealing on the eyes.

Oliver didn't believe in coincidences. In his opinion, there was reasoning behind everything. There was a reason he had stepped into the bookstore, and there was a reason the book the girl had pulled out of the shelf was filled with the lovely worlds of Edgar Allen. And right now, there was a reason he should go talk to the girl. He just wasn't sure what it was. Hey, what else did he have planned today? Oh, that's right. Absolutely nothing. And there was no harm in a quick talk over coffee, right? It wasn't as if she was dangerous, right? Well, maybe. For all he knew she could be some psychopath black widow sucking him into her web. He laughed at the thought and, with book and coffee in hand, headed over to the table where she was seated.

"Hey, long time no see. Mind if I sit down?" he asked with a smile and the raise of a cup of coffee and an eyebrow. Reeeal smooth, Oliver.

[edward cullen ,]

Shifting her glance from the limp styrofoam cup , her lightened optics scanned his frame once more. Of course , she wasn't one to object. He was attractive, slim. Had one of those welcoming smiles - warm in comparison to anyone else in Chicago. Allowing her head to nod in acceptance, she reached over and tugged her bag from the seat. " Yeah , Sure. " Setting the tarsled material down beside her , an empty seat was now in view. She could only continue to think now - why he'd even want to sit down. Her Edgar Allen Poe movement wasn't as smooth as she had hoped.
But if it were one thing Abby knew, about life itself. Was that it was far too short , to try to impress shaggy haired boys. Even if the shaggy haired boy , had stunning blue eyes . That she somehow found an ocean of comfort in - in the few seconds they had spoken. Her impression may not have been spectacular , no. But it was definately Abby. It was her , not trying to be anyone else.
Ridden by dark hair, and a vast knowledge of Poe. In all her natural and extraordinary glory. Something that she knew he may of found appealing , infact. But for a more straight to the point analysis.
He was cute , he was here .
And - she had to do something.
Something .. interesting ? Not quite.

" Have you read that book , before ? "