I'm bored and I can't sleep and I just got an awesome idea for a book, so ima write it down then go into sleep.

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He watched her as she walked down the street. That sounds like he's a creeper I know, but he isn't.

Anyway, he watched her as she walked. She was not short, but she was not tall. She was average height. She walked at an average pace and wore very simple clothes: Straight legged jeans, a T-shirt that was just black, and an unzipped grey hoodie without the hood up.

He liked her simple clothes. Then again, he liked her just in general. He liked how plain and ordinary she was. He liked her dark brown eyes and her straight, light brown hair. He liked her average-ness.

Except she wasn't average. In a sea of blue, green, or even the occasional purple eyes, she stood out the most.

In crowds of blonde, black, or any other color hair, her brown hair was most noticeable.

In the forest of stick thin or extremely muscular people, her right-in-the-middle weight and size was defining.

In a world of people who weren't average, the average person was no longer that. Instead they became the most rare thing, and when you found someone like that you kept them close.

And that average not-so-average person was the one he was staring at.

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PLEASE DON'T TAKE THIS IDEA. Tis mine. And not yours. MINE.