Work Text:
A blank and crisp sheet of paper is all it took for Alfred to imagine, a well sharpened 2B pencil and the best eraser in the world (according to him) are the tools that took imagination to reality for him as well, but of course it was not actual reality in a way since he could not make the lividly image come out of the paper sheet. Yet, this still did not stop him from dreaming, after all, everyone expects art, photographer and film students (like Alfred) to be airheads, always dreaming impossible things and thinking of futures no one else would dare to think of, because it defy logic and realism and that did not go well with norms stated by faceless men in society. Alfred has no time to follow norms though; he rather dream than face every day boring dilemmas like what kind of bread should he buy and if it is worth it the walk from his fifth floor apartment to the nearest coffee shop a few blocks away.
No, Alfred loves to observe, loves to capture, and mostly loves to travel (leaving no time to wonder about meaningless things like everyone else does). Now many would think he is crazy, after all, traveling (for many) involves expensive plane rides to faraway lands, all this including exotic animals, food, and people. But for Alfred it just took a short walk to the Eastern half of the big Canadian city in order to have an adventure, all he needs is his metro pass, his semiprofessional camera (a gift by his older brother, who even though reprehends Alfred’s attitude towards responsibility, still somewhat stands behind him and his decisions), and his sense of adventure. Many other little things include a little watch with the triangle for superman in the middle, his ever handy IPhone in case he actually gets lost-lost, and his favorite hat.
And it is with these things that the young blond set to yet another adventure around the Eastern part of the city, starting with the beaches at the lake, then taking a boat ride to the mostly deserted Centre Island (after all, it is still too cold to even think of enjoying the water of the so very cold lake Ontario), and different rides up and down the subway and left to right as well. By the time he is half way done with his little traveling, Alfred is exhausted; after all, it’s a huge city to explore in just one day. Alfred did not minded though, his sense of adventure kept him from ever getting bore of the thought of exploring their city one more time. It’s around 7pm when he decides to head back, taking a short, but well deserved break at one of the local shops that sell sandwiches (no Mr. Sub or Subways, mind you! Alfred tends to avoid those places). It is there at 7:15 pm, while flurries fell lazily outside and the ever so chilling Canadian cold air enters the store as someone steps inside that he finds himself looking at dirty blond hair, long and defined arms and tired but full of spark brilliant green eyes.
Nothing so far in his life has ever compared to the electric feeling cursing through his body as he looks the guy over, and nothing has made him as excited as the man standing in the small line, waiting to order something to clench his rather hungry expression. Alfred quickly grabs his bag, stumbling a little at taking his ever so helpful (and small) sketch book out and quickly letting his pencil draw the image in front of him, his mind working overtime trying to engrave the memory of how exactly those lips stretch across his face, how green eyes took the environment about them and how messy hair fell in place, making it look exactly the right kind of messy. Oh but what luck did the young filmmaker student has as he sees bushy brows and curios eyes walk towards him and as for the first time he hears the sweet voice of what Alfred could only compare to angels asking if someone was using the stool beside him.
Of course no one was and so embarrassingly quickly (and making sure to hide his sketch book back in his pack) he threw his back down to the dirty floor before awkwardly smiling at the other as he thanks him for letting him sit there. And maybe it was Alfred’s overactive imagination but he could swear to feel a pull towards the man beside him, a pull that scares him and excited him, a pull that he wants to act upon, but at the same time he doesn’t.
But wait! What is he doing? He is Alfred F. Jones, a young film student at Seneca College with a dream of becoming a world traveler and make documentaries on nature, cultures, and people. What is this one stranger doing that keeps him from acting upon his sense of adventure? Squaring his shoulders a little, he decides to stop being an overreacting idiot and engage in conversation, but before he could even utter a word, the other beats him to starting a conversation instead.
“Nasty weather we’re having, eh?” He comments, taking a small bite of the sandwich as he looks with a detestable expression at the white flurries falling outside. Alfred sits for a moment stunned by the angelic voice talking to him, but soon mentally slaps himself before nodding and taking a bite of his on sandwich.
“Well, you know how the weather is up here, eh? One day we’re in a extremely nice day with temperatures above zero, next thing we know, it’s -10 and there’s a snow storm slowing down traffic,” Alfred replies before smiling at the other and noticing the frown that takes over his expression as he most likely remembers the nasty blizzard that had happen just last week. And so they began, slowly but surely they made polite conversations about the simplest things in the world and build up to life stories and occupations.
Of course they had nothing in common! Arthur was born and raised in the Eastern part of the city; lives in a middle class home and went to private school before moving to public and then college. Alfred had been raised in the West, born in the States, and had lived with his dad before moving in with his mom and older brother to Canada of all places! Arthur loves winter (except when it was windy as hell) and Alfred loves the summer, Arthur loves to stay in known places, while Alfred loves to travel. They were exactly opposite of one another, and yet they were strangely similar. They both like to tell stories and create them, maybe the media is different and the genre of the stories too, but a story is a story none the less.
And so that is how it starts, at the middle of nowhere in a small sandwich shop in Toronto, the filmmaker meets the writer and the story begins, and yes maybe the filmmaker loves to travel while the writer doesn’t, but they both have engage in a long journey to somewhere unknown. The journey will be long and there will be struggles along the way, they will face extreme heat and coldness, slowness and rapid escapes, hell, even feelings of regret for ever saying yes to such journey, but they will arrive and once they do, they will discover another secret of the world. Alfred will smile and breathe a sigh of relief and Arthur will do the same and they will be covered in mosquito bites and would have tans because of the cruel sun, they will be tired and covered in bruises, but they will be satisfied, because the sight will be worth a million mosquito bites and countless days without a comfortable bed and even if the writer hates traveling, he will appreciate the beauty behind the scenery and behind the filmmakers job and he will write down a sentence that soon will turn into a paragraph and to a full blown out story that might not be read by all the people in the world, but will be read and help be created by the filmmaker and that was what counted the most.
And maybe is too early to think of grand adventures in the wild African lands, but like Alfred always says and adventure does not require an expensive trip to an exotic land. Instead, it requires exploring the unknown and as long as it remains beautifully captivating, traveling to this unknown place will be worth every single step.