250 Words: Naturally anti-social

He stands two feet away from his fellow commuters as they wax lyrical on the day's events.  Rather than join in he reads the free paper given to him outside the tube station.  On boarding the coach he walks nervously up the gangway looking hopefully for a free double seat,  desperate to hide in a bubble away from the chattier ticket holders.

At work he spent the whole day in his office cut off from the main body of workers, leaving them to talk and drink tea, feeling no desire to go join them; happy to keep his head down and get on with the assignments set.  Happy to come and go as if a ghost.

The man's DNA seems to be the root of the condition that keeps him awkward and shy.  Forever happy to sit on his own, forever intent with the company his mind provides- an intricate imaginary world of stardom and contentment.

Though a small spark buried deep inside his mind wishes it was different.  It wished his thoughts moved more quickly and enabled conversations that don't stutter along.  Wished he was more brave and held the knowledge of how to start a conversation with a stranger.  Wished he would just bloody grow a fucking pair.

However, the majority rules and a distance is faithfully kept.  Always at least an arm's length away from social contact. And always as close to mute as is humanly possible, a glazed look fixed as he lives deep inside himself.