This is something really rough. I wrote it down when I was bored in school. Did not really plan what was gonna happen, and I did not have time to complete it. But yea. It's the first time so far that Vince speaks.
We were walking down that old path when Abel exclaimed, "Hey, ain't that Vince?"
We all paused in our tracks as we tried to get a clear view of the person Abel was pointing at. There, sitting at our usual spot in the cafe, was indeed, Vince.
"Hey, cool! Let's go beat the shit outta him!" Dillian, of course.
-~*~-
Transitional scene where the group enters and joins Vince at the table. To be written soon.
-~*~-
There was a lull in the conversation, and everyone got to work on their drinks. Vince absentmindedly stirred the golden-yellow liquid in his glass, looking thoughtful.
I glanced up at the counter and saw Grace, the waitress, staring over at Vince, eyes like that of a child peering through a candy shop's window. She noticed me and our eyes met. We exhanged smiles, both understanding what she was mooning at.
"You know what?", Vince looked up, a small grin splitting his angular face. "I think it's totally awesome that we actually meet up and have these get togethers."
I could almost feel Dillian rolling his eyes. Vince was too cloistered, too sheltered and too outdated in his book. I rolled my own eyes at that thought. Dillian was always the most 'plugged in', in popular culture. He was always the first one to have the latest fad. The first one to sport the latest fashions. He was the one who got picked up by both guys and girls where ever he went. I personally thought he was an elitist snob who only put up with me because I was his dance partner.
Men...
Vince smiled at me as he continued speaking, as if he'd heard my thoughts.
"I mean, look at the other kids our age. Tapping away on their mobile phones all day, even when they're meeting long lost friends for the first time in ages! I just don't get how some people can go through all the trouble of organizing, say, a luch with some friends, and then spend the entire session talking on the phone with people who wern't there. It's like, 'hey, let's get together in person, so I can ignore you while you do the same to me!' "
There were a few uncomfortable shuffles at our table. We were all guilty of what Vince said. He'd always like calling us 'sheep'; or rather, 'Ardent Advocates of the All-Annihilating Athrophy - Commercialism', to be exact.
"Well," drawled Dillian, trying, as usual, to snub Vince and his '4th century mindset'. "At least some of us do get out of the house. And it's not all exactly like you've described.
"I personally think that it's much better than being cooped up al home like you," Dillian continued, "Coming out of the shade only once in a while, and even then only because the girlfriend demanded that you did so. And even then, you adhere to an unspoken, unofficial curfew of 10pm. 10pm! Good gods man, you're twenty this year, for crying out loud! Isn't it time you started, oh I don't know, living, a little?
-~*~-
And I ended the writing there. Vince's reply will be something along the lines of not having to follow the myopic dictates of society to be himself, to enjoy himself.
You could probably guess by now that he is a little against the Establishment. Oh well. Until the next post...
Friday, May 26, 2006
Thursday, May 25, 2006
Prologue
This would most probably be the official start of the story. The Letter post is more of like a Post-It for me, like some hastily scribbled bit of info to keep me reminded of who's who. So yea, discard that. The Letter is not going to be included anywhere in the story. Most probably.
"My name is Gwendolyn. I'm twenty one this year, I'm a dancer, and I am homosexual."
That was all I intended to say when my turn came. The trick to these dreary introduction games was to indulge the host a little, give them a little of what they wanted to hear, and then drop a totally unexpected bomb on their sensibilities. Not that I really cared how they saw me, or what they’d do to me after such a revelation.
Not that I really cared about anything at all, actually.
We were sitting in a circle, as these games tended to need us to do, and I was 7 positions away from the current speaker. She was rather sweet looking, with short, wavy brown hair, and eyes that seemed to catch the light just right.
The light that shone into the room through a small window with vertical iron bars embedded into the concrete ledge that served as the lip of the window. I glanced at the window, reminded that I would not be able to simply walk away from this silly game, from this silly room, at anytime I wished.
They tried to disguise the fact as much as possible, but there was only so much they could do. And what they could not disguise, they tried to mute its obviousness. As I glanced around the room, each small reminder felt like a dull thud within my heart. Like recalling your most embarrassing moments, and feeling the urge to alternately bury your face and groan and to pound your fists into something, as if doing so would expel the burning shame you felt.
The unusually large bolt across the door, both painted an earthy brown to make you feel at home; the door itself, made of sturdy iron, ensured that nobody was going to break in anytime soon. Or break out. Fans and light fixtures were too high up on the ceiling to be of any use in any hare-brained suicide attempt.
The girl with the wavy hair had just finished, and now there were only six people before it was my turn. I wrung my hands, suddenly feeling very confined and claustrophobic. I was starting to hyperventilate, but I was doing all of this quietly, not wanting to attract any attention. 'Keep your head low,' was what some of the older girls advised us when we were in the holding room for the morning assembly.
I forced myself to calm down, taking slow and deep breaths. I clenched my fists to stop them from trembling, feeling my nails dig into flesh. The pain was a welcome change. It was something… real, something I had some measure of control over. It was comforting. But most of all, the pain brought focus.
I sighed and cast my eyes to the floor, contemplating my life thus far, wondering again where I went wrong, and when did I start down the path that lead me to this falsely cheerful room, sitting in a circle with other women dressed in the same plain white uniform, playing an introductory ice-breaker game.
I suppose you could say it started with iced tea.
"My name is Gwendolyn. I'm twenty one this year, I'm a dancer, and I am homosexual."
That was all I intended to say when my turn came. The trick to these dreary introduction games was to indulge the host a little, give them a little of what they wanted to hear, and then drop a totally unexpected bomb on their sensibilities. Not that I really cared how they saw me, or what they’d do to me after such a revelation.
Not that I really cared about anything at all, actually.
We were sitting in a circle, as these games tended to need us to do, and I was 7 positions away from the current speaker. She was rather sweet looking, with short, wavy brown hair, and eyes that seemed to catch the light just right.
The light that shone into the room through a small window with vertical iron bars embedded into the concrete ledge that served as the lip of the window. I glanced at the window, reminded that I would not be able to simply walk away from this silly game, from this silly room, at anytime I wished.
They tried to disguise the fact as much as possible, but there was only so much they could do. And what they could not disguise, they tried to mute its obviousness. As I glanced around the room, each small reminder felt like a dull thud within my heart. Like recalling your most embarrassing moments, and feeling the urge to alternately bury your face and groan and to pound your fists into something, as if doing so would expel the burning shame you felt.
The unusually large bolt across the door, both painted an earthy brown to make you feel at home; the door itself, made of sturdy iron, ensured that nobody was going to break in anytime soon. Or break out. Fans and light fixtures were too high up on the ceiling to be of any use in any hare-brained suicide attempt.
The girl with the wavy hair had just finished, and now there were only six people before it was my turn. I wrung my hands, suddenly feeling very confined and claustrophobic. I was starting to hyperventilate, but I was doing all of this quietly, not wanting to attract any attention. 'Keep your head low,' was what some of the older girls advised us when we were in the holding room for the morning assembly.
I forced myself to calm down, taking slow and deep breaths. I clenched my fists to stop them from trembling, feeling my nails dig into flesh. The pain was a welcome change. It was something… real, something I had some measure of control over. It was comforting. But most of all, the pain brought focus.
I sighed and cast my eyes to the floor, contemplating my life thus far, wondering again where I went wrong, and when did I start down the path that lead me to this falsely cheerful room, sitting in a circle with other women dressed in the same plain white uniform, playing an introductory ice-breaker game.
I suppose you could say it started with iced tea.
Sunday, May 21, 2006
Gwen does weed! Viva la bong!
I was almost nodding off when I heard the distinctive growl of Dillian’s car coming around the bend. I jumped up and scrambled to hide behind a pillar where I could watch him without being noticed.
He flicked his indicator lights to the right and turned into the small street a block or two from his flat. He snarled at a cat staring at him as he was getting out of his coupe before slamming the door.
He ran eyes over its gleaming, metallic blue surface, and look that was a blend between puzzlement and amusement crossed his face. I wondered what he was thinking about.
He shuffled a couple of steps in the direction of the general store, kicking up sand in to the wind with his slightly faded sneakers. I sighed...he really needed new shoes. He glanced about before he shuffled the rest of the way to the store's entrance, as if unsure of what he wanted to do. I clenched my fists in indecision. I finally decided to stay put and to fidget, getting extremely impatient. Curse that damnable Dillian for acting so strangely and making me stalk him like this.
10 minutes later he emerged from the store, purchase in hand, and walked towards his car. I sighed again. So it was true. He was back to his old habit, and it was going to be quite the struggle to bring him back to me. To us. I was getting annoyed at the way I kept thinking of him as mine in the singular.
I was waiting for him when he emerged from his car a few minutes later. I gave him a tight smile, one that told him I knew what he bought, but I wasn't going to say or do anything. I was just... going to be there for him. He seemed slightly surprised that I was there, but said nothing, eyes glazing over the way they usually did whenever he was 'zoned out, but still functional'.
With a barely audible 'Bah', he grabbed the item and walked out towards the benches in the common landing. Fingering his purchase, he finally sighed and ripped off the wrapper and flicked the cover open.
I sat down beside him, doing nothing more than observe, for I was as far out of my element as I had ever been. I was unsure what to do, what to say. I wondered what he was thinking of me being here, beside him. I hated this feeling of helplessness, of feeling around in the dark, trying to figure out something to do to reach out to the imbecile beside me.
He sighed and took one of the contents from the item, placing it between his lips. One hand offered me the box, while the other fumbled for something in his pocket.
I took a long hard look at the 19 remaining sticks within; there was a slight pang of guilt as I took one out. I could not recall when I'd decided to smoke along with him, but there I was; cigarette in hand, waiting. A small voice inside was telling me to stop being foolish, that I'd done this before, long ago, what was difference now? The main difference, I screamed internally to myself, was that these cigarettes were mixed with no small amount of marijuana. It was a well known secret that the store Dillian went to earlier was a front for the dealers of the weed.
The area around us was deserted, and the only sound that could be heard was the flicking of a lighter. This was it. He shut his eyes and took a deep draw from the stick, holding it in, before releasing the smoke through his nose with nary a hint of discomfort. That meant that he’d been doing it before today. That meant bad news.
He looked over at me, eyes dull and half closed. No words were said, but it was rather obvious he wanted me to join him. It was the only way he’d accept me being there.
I sighed. Sometimes men and their strange need to be macho puzzled me beyond all reason. But then again, I suppose we women do the same thing for the male mental constitution as well.
I lit the cigarette and took my first puff in over 2 years. The smoke rushed into me, filling every pore in my lungs, awakening long forgotten memories of the experience.
My lungs hurt, but not in a bad way. My whole body gave a slight shudder, as if embracing an old lover after a long period of absence. I could hold my breath no more. The smoke escaping from my mouth was like that of a spastic geyser. Coughing, I opened my eyes, and almost wished I had not. Slightly dizzy, I took another draw from the cigarette. And another, and another. Each breath hurting less, and feeling more pleasurable. My senses becoming more alert, more attuned to the world around me.
Just like sex, I thought grimly.
Time lost its meaning, and I moved to cuddle beside him, feeling insanely high and unable to keep my balance. He tossed his cigarette butt -now wet- away and took my stick away from me, and began to smoke that one too, the ambers glowing into a sizzling red every time he took a long drag.
(Auth's note: considering taking out the following bit. seems a bit redundant)
After an immeasurable amount of time my senses came back to me, and I got to my feet with a slight wobble, nodding in the direction of the elevator. My head was feeling really heavy, a polar opposite of just 5 minutes ago.
With a muted curse he heaved himself off the bench and followed me into the elevator. His movements were slow and you could tell that something was 'off' about him. He was still grounded in reality, but only barely. I supposed smoking 2 sticks right off the bat like that was too much, even for him.
I sighed. Was it really worth it? Granted, it was the second-best feeling in the world, after an actual orgasm, but was it worth the trouble of weaning myself of the damned sticks? Again?
And speaking of orgasms...
Okay, this piece TOTALLY SUCKS. omg. I am so not shiok with this. but what the hell, I do need this scene as a catalyst to move the story where I want it to go. I guess I'll come back to do some re-writing of this LAAAATERRRR on. heh. okay so i did come back to fiddle with it lol.
Some of you may find this piece familiar in some way. That's because I cannibalized one of my previous pieces. lol. Oh well. Until the next post, ciao.
He flicked his indicator lights to the right and turned into the small street a block or two from his flat. He snarled at a cat staring at him as he was getting out of his coupe before slamming the door.
He ran eyes over its gleaming, metallic blue surface, and look that was a blend between puzzlement and amusement crossed his face. I wondered what he was thinking about.
He shuffled a couple of steps in the direction of the general store, kicking up sand in to the wind with his slightly faded sneakers. I sighed...he really needed new shoes. He glanced about before he shuffled the rest of the way to the store's entrance, as if unsure of what he wanted to do. I clenched my fists in indecision. I finally decided to stay put and to fidget, getting extremely impatient. Curse that damnable Dillian for acting so strangely and making me stalk him like this.
10 minutes later he emerged from the store, purchase in hand, and walked towards his car. I sighed again. So it was true. He was back to his old habit, and it was going to be quite the struggle to bring him back to me. To us. I was getting annoyed at the way I kept thinking of him as mine in the singular.
I was waiting for him when he emerged from his car a few minutes later. I gave him a tight smile, one that told him I knew what he bought, but I wasn't going to say or do anything. I was just... going to be there for him. He seemed slightly surprised that I was there, but said nothing, eyes glazing over the way they usually did whenever he was 'zoned out, but still functional'.
With a barely audible 'Bah', he grabbed the item and walked out towards the benches in the common landing. Fingering his purchase, he finally sighed and ripped off the wrapper and flicked the cover open.
I sat down beside him, doing nothing more than observe, for I was as far out of my element as I had ever been. I was unsure what to do, what to say. I wondered what he was thinking of me being here, beside him. I hated this feeling of helplessness, of feeling around in the dark, trying to figure out something to do to reach out to the imbecile beside me.
He sighed and took one of the contents from the item, placing it between his lips. One hand offered me the box, while the other fumbled for something in his pocket.
I took a long hard look at the 19 remaining sticks within; there was a slight pang of guilt as I took one out. I could not recall when I'd decided to smoke along with him, but there I was; cigarette in hand, waiting. A small voice inside was telling me to stop being foolish, that I'd done this before, long ago, what was difference now? The main difference, I screamed internally to myself, was that these cigarettes were mixed with no small amount of marijuana. It was a well known secret that the store Dillian went to earlier was a front for the dealers of the weed.
The area around us was deserted, and the only sound that could be heard was the flicking of a lighter. This was it. He shut his eyes and took a deep draw from the stick, holding it in, before releasing the smoke through his nose with nary a hint of discomfort. That meant that he’d been doing it before today. That meant bad news.
He looked over at me, eyes dull and half closed. No words were said, but it was rather obvious he wanted me to join him. It was the only way he’d accept me being there.
I sighed. Sometimes men and their strange need to be macho puzzled me beyond all reason. But then again, I suppose we women do the same thing for the male mental constitution as well.
I lit the cigarette and took my first puff in over 2 years. The smoke rushed into me, filling every pore in my lungs, awakening long forgotten memories of the experience.
My lungs hurt, but not in a bad way. My whole body gave a slight shudder, as if embracing an old lover after a long period of absence. I could hold my breath no more. The smoke escaping from my mouth was like that of a spastic geyser. Coughing, I opened my eyes, and almost wished I had not. Slightly dizzy, I took another draw from the cigarette. And another, and another. Each breath hurting less, and feeling more pleasurable. My senses becoming more alert, more attuned to the world around me.
Just like sex, I thought grimly.
Time lost its meaning, and I moved to cuddle beside him, feeling insanely high and unable to keep my balance. He tossed his cigarette butt -now wet- away and took my stick away from me, and began to smoke that one too, the ambers glowing into a sizzling red every time he took a long drag.
(Auth's note: considering taking out the following bit. seems a bit redundant)
After an immeasurable amount of time my senses came back to me, and I got to my feet with a slight wobble, nodding in the direction of the elevator. My head was feeling really heavy, a polar opposite of just 5 minutes ago.
With a muted curse he heaved himself off the bench and followed me into the elevator. His movements were slow and you could tell that something was 'off' about him. He was still grounded in reality, but only barely. I supposed smoking 2 sticks right off the bat like that was too much, even for him.
I sighed. Was it really worth it? Granted, it was the second-best feeling in the world, after an actual orgasm, but was it worth the trouble of weaning myself of the damned sticks? Again?
And speaking of orgasms...
Some of you may find this piece familiar in some way. That's because I cannibalized one of my previous pieces. lol. Oh well. Until the next post, ciao.
Sunday, May 07, 2006
Scene From Somewhere Later In The Story
"I don't tell anybody this, because the act of doing so is like superman willingly embracing kryptonite. I don't tell anybody this, because I'm afraid someone else does the same thing, and thiat kills my uniqueness. I don't tell anybody this, but every morning when I wake, I stare at myself in the mirror, and I feel like crying my heart out. Except, the tears don't come. They well up and gather behind I my eyes like some geyser. It almost burts, but it never does. Because I tell myself that I'm the most beautiful, the most handsome, the most desirable person in existence. I tell myself - before the tears flood - that people don't see me in that light, because they're too closed minded, too ignorant, too stupid, and that someday, when I'm gone, they'll reliase it and regret their ignorance for the rest of eternity."
He paused, probably to save himself the further embarrassment of letting me hear his voice choke. I could see the redness in his eyes. The shine of brimming tears about to flow. My stomach constricted. Why was he telling me this?
"I'm sorry," he whispered, voice trembling, "Telling myself all that, helps to stop the tears. but only for a while. Because I start questioning myself. If I'm so desirable, why do my relationships all fall apart the way they do? I think of myself as a failure. It's instinctive. It's been drilled into me ever since I was a kid. " He paused to draw in breath, and I realised I was holding mine too.
"The screamings," I ventured, "the name calling, the counters whenever you try to defend yourself. It didn't matter if you were innocent or not. Once he believed you did something, there was no convingcing him otherwise. The announcements that you were stupid and useless. The twisting of the words you used in your defence. And if you were somehow right, and he could not find anything to you did wrong, he'd dig up an old issue and start getting angry all over again. The months of silence, of ignoring you evenever you greeted him. And the sudden eruption when you stop. And the worse part is when he storms off into his room. You hear his door open, and...-"
"The seconds before the slam drag themselves into eternity. And then the door does slam shut, it feels like your world has ended, like you've been tossed into a maximun security prison."
"For life. Yes."
He stared at me for a while before continuing. His watery eyes boring into me like I was some intruder on his moment of self-gloryfying pity. How dare I have similar experiences as him.
"And so I force all those emotions into a small unused corner of my heart, and I encase them within a cavern of the coldest ice. So cold that it burns. And in the void that is left, I try to fill it up with positive emotions: love; happiness. Stuff they taught us during therapy. It's all bullshit. They are the mercutios that jest at woundless scars. Nothing works, ever. Nothing, except telling myself that I'm..."
"God."
"...Yeah." He looked at me again, the tears flowing freely from both our eyes. "Yeah."
I picked up a pebble and tossed it with a frustrated grunt into the water. The ripples raditated out from where the pebble entered, disturbing the tranquility of the pond. It was as if I'd destroyed the equilibrium of the world. Upset Ying and Yang. The fish certainly seemed to think so, crowding at the other end of the pond , as far away from the evil pebble thrower as possible.
And at the very center of the ripples was a small patch of calm water, almost like a void. A calm center when the rest of the world is in upheaveal. I wished I could have been that center.
We sat there by the pond, side by side, for the next few hours. Neither of us saying anything. Neither of us wanted to. Besides, there was nothing to say. I watched as the sun set behind the trees with practiced bravado, seemingly all-knowing. Dillian directed his gaze towards the ground, fiddling with a twig he'd plucked from somewhere. He sighed alot. It was as if that was the only way he could breathe. I wished he'd stop doing that.
It reminded me of my father during the periods of silence when you were simply waiting for him to explode, and there's nothing you can do. He sighed alot during those times. It's like being stuck in a well at the foot of an awakening volcano. There's no way out of the well and it was only a matter of time before the volcano erupted, sending its lava flowing down and into the well, slowly boiling the water as it burned and...
You get the picture.
The street lamps flickered on along the path behind us, attracting moths and other insects. I sighed and turned to look at him. He was still fiddling with a twig, his eyes glazed and staring at some point in space.
He was actually wuite attractive, if one thought about it. I wondered why I never noticed it before. My eyes traced the outline of his side profile, harshly lit by the glow of the street lamps. Forehead, nose, cheekbones... lips.
I shook myself at that line of thought, slightly amused. This was probably where (according to depictions of teenagers by popular culture), after having shared our hearts' deepest secrets, we elope in the moonlight. I wouldn't put it past Dillian to actually sit there, pretending to be the brooding protaganist of his story, waiting for me to finally cave in and grab him by the collar and drag him in for a kiss.
MEN! He probably engineered the whole setup, this whole conversation, in an attempt to get into my pants!
I calmed my self, seeing no productive outcome in being angry, besides, I couldn't even prove anything. He may have been sincere when he said that he needed to talk. Fine. I'd give him the benifit of the doubt.
He looked up, probably alerted to my fidgiting. I froze as his brown eyes -dull from the emotional toll of our conversation- searched for mine. We locked gazes for a few seconds before he adverted his to the ground, then looking back up at me, as if asking for permission to even look at me. Oh how my heart fluttered, he was so adorable! I blinked rapidly, absolutely horrified at what I was thinking. What kind of evil hex did he cast on me to make me all muddled like that? The nerve!
We were both staring at each other, blinking and looking like total idiots. And just before it got awkward, he asked,
"You all right?" His bass voice -still caked with emotion and slightly rough from not speaking for so long- reached out and flowed around me. He never had any proper vocal training, and as such, his voice tended to run amok on the octave scale. Yet another adorable quirk that hinted at vulnerablity. I was flooded with protective emotion for this person in front of me. I was so close to breaking out into childish giggles. I was feeling guilty for even looking at a guy in this light. I was tempted to kiss him. I was disappointed that he'd only said 3 words...
I was going to strangle him for making me feel this way.
"Uh...Gwen?" He probed again, this time more in control of his voice. But it was no less intense, the way the air seemed to viabrate with the power of his untamed vocals. And I was being drawn into his eyes. It was like being sucked into a dying tornado, and being held suspended in its heart. You know full well that when the tornado dies, the vortex will cease to exist, and you'd plummet to your death. But you want to linger, because the view is too damned beautiful.
Then he looked away, searching for something on the ground, and I felt plummeting back to earth.
He reached out and poked me in the shin with the twig.
"Hey, Gwen."
"WHAT?!" I yelled, absolutely enraged that he broke the spell. And even more angry at the fact that he'd casted one in the first place. Damned ninny should have just leaned forward and... "Uh, sorry. You know what? I think we should leave. It's getting dark and our training session starts in about an hour anyway."
I chewed my lip and hoped he did not notice.
"Hur... Yea. Yea, lets... Do that. Okay. The car's that way. Let's go?"
No you idiot, just shut up and kiss me. This is the ONLY time you'll be able to without losing your life. " Yea. Get on with it already."
And so we left the park, with him leading the way, and me entertaining alternate fantasies of kissing him and slapping the daylights out of him.
this scene is to be slotted into a later part of the story.
He paused, probably to save himself the further embarrassment of letting me hear his voice choke. I could see the redness in his eyes. The shine of brimming tears about to flow. My stomach constricted. Why was he telling me this?
"I'm sorry," he whispered, voice trembling, "Telling myself all that, helps to stop the tears. but only for a while. Because I start questioning myself. If I'm so desirable, why do my relationships all fall apart the way they do? I think of myself as a failure. It's instinctive. It's been drilled into me ever since I was a kid. " He paused to draw in breath, and I realised I was holding mine too.
"The screamings," I ventured, "the name calling, the counters whenever you try to defend yourself. It didn't matter if you were innocent or not. Once he believed you did something, there was no convingcing him otherwise. The announcements that you were stupid and useless. The twisting of the words you used in your defence. And if you were somehow right, and he could not find anything to you did wrong, he'd dig up an old issue and start getting angry all over again. The months of silence, of ignoring you evenever you greeted him. And the sudden eruption when you stop. And the worse part is when he storms off into his room. You hear his door open, and...-"
"The seconds before the slam drag themselves into eternity. And then the door does slam shut, it feels like your world has ended, like you've been tossed into a maximun security prison."
"For life. Yes."
He stared at me for a while before continuing. His watery eyes boring into me like I was some intruder on his moment of self-gloryfying pity. How dare I have similar experiences as him.
"And so I force all those emotions into a small unused corner of my heart, and I encase them within a cavern of the coldest ice. So cold that it burns. And in the void that is left, I try to fill it up with positive emotions: love; happiness. Stuff they taught us during therapy. It's all bullshit. They are the mercutios that jest at woundless scars. Nothing works, ever. Nothing, except telling myself that I'm..."
"God."
"...Yeah." He looked at me again, the tears flowing freely from both our eyes. "Yeah."
I picked up a pebble and tossed it with a frustrated grunt into the water. The ripples raditated out from where the pebble entered, disturbing the tranquility of the pond. It was as if I'd destroyed the equilibrium of the world. Upset Ying and Yang. The fish certainly seemed to think so, crowding at the other end of the pond , as far away from the evil pebble thrower as possible.
And at the very center of the ripples was a small patch of calm water, almost like a void. A calm center when the rest of the world is in upheaveal. I wished I could have been that center.
We sat there by the pond, side by side, for the next few hours. Neither of us saying anything. Neither of us wanted to. Besides, there was nothing to say. I watched as the sun set behind the trees with practiced bravado, seemingly all-knowing. Dillian directed his gaze towards the ground, fiddling with a twig he'd plucked from somewhere. He sighed alot. It was as if that was the only way he could breathe. I wished he'd stop doing that.
It reminded me of my father during the periods of silence when you were simply waiting for him to explode, and there's nothing you can do. He sighed alot during those times. It's like being stuck in a well at the foot of an awakening volcano. There's no way out of the well and it was only a matter of time before the volcano erupted, sending its lava flowing down and into the well, slowly boiling the water as it burned and...
You get the picture.
The street lamps flickered on along the path behind us, attracting moths and other insects. I sighed and turned to look at him. He was still fiddling with a twig, his eyes glazed and staring at some point in space.
He was actually wuite attractive, if one thought about it. I wondered why I never noticed it before. My eyes traced the outline of his side profile, harshly lit by the glow of the street lamps. Forehead, nose, cheekbones... lips.
I shook myself at that line of thought, slightly amused. This was probably where (according to depictions of teenagers by popular culture), after having shared our hearts' deepest secrets, we elope in the moonlight. I wouldn't put it past Dillian to actually sit there, pretending to be the brooding protaganist of his story, waiting for me to finally cave in and grab him by the collar and drag him in for a kiss.
MEN! He probably engineered the whole setup, this whole conversation, in an attempt to get into my pants!
I calmed my self, seeing no productive outcome in being angry, besides, I couldn't even prove anything. He may have been sincere when he said that he needed to talk. Fine. I'd give him the benifit of the doubt.
He looked up, probably alerted to my fidgiting. I froze as his brown eyes -dull from the emotional toll of our conversation- searched for mine. We locked gazes for a few seconds before he adverted his to the ground, then looking back up at me, as if asking for permission to even look at me. Oh how my heart fluttered, he was so adorable! I blinked rapidly, absolutely horrified at what I was thinking. What kind of evil hex did he cast on me to make me all muddled like that? The nerve!
We were both staring at each other, blinking and looking like total idiots. And just before it got awkward, he asked,
"You all right?" His bass voice -still caked with emotion and slightly rough from not speaking for so long- reached out and flowed around me. He never had any proper vocal training, and as such, his voice tended to run amok on the octave scale. Yet another adorable quirk that hinted at vulnerablity. I was flooded with protective emotion for this person in front of me. I was so close to breaking out into childish giggles. I was feeling guilty for even looking at a guy in this light. I was tempted to kiss him. I was disappointed that he'd only said 3 words...
I was going to strangle him for making me feel this way.
"Uh...Gwen?" He probed again, this time more in control of his voice. But it was no less intense, the way the air seemed to viabrate with the power of his untamed vocals. And I was being drawn into his eyes. It was like being sucked into a dying tornado, and being held suspended in its heart. You know full well that when the tornado dies, the vortex will cease to exist, and you'd plummet to your death. But you want to linger, because the view is too damned beautiful.
Then he looked away, searching for something on the ground, and I felt plummeting back to earth.
He reached out and poked me in the shin with the twig.
"Hey, Gwen."
"WHAT?!" I yelled, absolutely enraged that he broke the spell. And even more angry at the fact that he'd casted one in the first place. Damned ninny should have just leaned forward and... "Uh, sorry. You know what? I think we should leave. It's getting dark and our training session starts in about an hour anyway."
I chewed my lip and hoped he did not notice.
"Hur... Yea. Yea, lets... Do that. Okay. The car's that way. Let's go?"
No you idiot, just shut up and kiss me. This is the ONLY time you'll be able to without losing your life. " Yea. Get on with it already."
And so we left the park, with him leading the way, and me entertaining alternate fantasies of kissing him and slapping the daylights out of him.
this scene is to be slotted into a later part of the story.
Friday, May 05, 2006
Letters To The Edge ( An Introduction )
To: You.
How've you been, then? It's been six months and we've haven't had a single letter from you. You avoiding us or something? Heh. I’m sorry. I did not mean it in an accusing way. These things just don’t sound right when we write them down. Strange.
Well, the gang met up today. You remember them? There used to be five of us. There was Abel, Vincent, Dillian, me. You. But then you left. You just up and disappeared. And all we had for an explanation was a damned 2 page letter for the bunch of us. Your mother did not help things one bit, being as vague as she was. 1 week. 2. And then you sent us a letter from the other side of the world. From the other side of the world. I still cannot believe how you could just leave like that without even telling us. Without telling me.
Maybe things were a little rough between us after our break up, but at the very least I would have thought that we were friends.
Sigh. Never mind. We all got over the initial shock, and settled back into routine after you called Vince to let him… us… know what happened and that you were alright. To be honest, I'm kinda hurt that you did not call me instead. I mean, sure, you and Vince were once a couple for almost 2 years, but… So were we! And although we only lasted as long as we did, I'm sure it was something more intense, and more special than what you had with Vince. I just don’t see why you'd have to go and call him, of all people, we all know what kind of a person he… I'm sorry. I'm getting a little carried away.
I probably should not talk about that anymore. We all know how worked up I get over the subject of Vince.
As I was saying, the gang met up today. Everyone's the same. Nobody's changed much. I mean, how much can happen to you when you’re stuck in a dump like this place? The subject of you came up. We were all wondering if you were still holding up.
Abel's still doing swordsmanship training. Says his instructor will be introducing him to using two swords soon. Naturally he could not stop talking about that. Heh. Ah Abel. Always the naive idealist. I tell you he’s going to get himself hurt one day. Can you believe that he likes me? Sigh.
Your wonderful ex-boyfriend is still with Helen. They have their arguments, as usual. You know how he is. I find it extremely hard to understand how you managed to put up with him for 2 years. Bah. Oh, his animation project is just about done. We hope that it’ll work out; will keep you updated on that.
Dillian. Ever the womanizer. Nothing new to report here. His latest 'relationship' crashed and burned in record time. As if that would ever be a surprise. I'm sure I'll get a huge kick out of seeing Abel's reaction when he finally realizes that Dillian has been in love with him for the past 5 years. Oh my. What a show that would be.
And me? I'm still dancing. I've lost a bit of the inspiration ever since you left (Yes I'm still angry at you). But I’m doing okay. I have a competition in about 2 months' time. It would be really nice if you could watch me dance on that day. You do know how I love it when you look at me with those sparkling greens of yours. Sigh, but I suppose you won't be showing up, as usual.
You were always so busy, even when we were together. It's always your friends first; your classmates first; Vincent first. It was not me you first turned to for comfort when that incident with your leg happened. Hell, you never looked at me at all. You simply shut me out whenever I wanted to be there for you. Yes I know I was more than a little clingy back then, but we were sorting it out weren't we?
Argh. Fine, be that way. Stay where you are over on the other side of the world! I love you, I love you more than I've ever loved anyone else, ever, but damned will I be if I let you keep me dangling, mangling my heart in the process!
I will end here before I burst into a fit and tear this letter up and end up having to write another one. The gang sends its regards, and tell you to take care of yourself. And I apologize for the crumples at the bottom of the letter. You know how I tend to ball up my fists whenever I’m agitated. And you know FULLY WELL how you do that to me.
Even though you’re all the way on the other side of the world.
Do take care, and please write us soon.
From: A damned fool who's still madly in love with you.
- Gwen.
05/05/2006
P.S: Happy 365 days ago. You do remember what happened on this day, right?
How've you been, then? It's been six months and we've haven't had a single letter from you. You avoiding us or something? Heh. I’m sorry. I did not mean it in an accusing way. These things just don’t sound right when we write them down. Strange.
Well, the gang met up today. You remember them? There used to be five of us. There was Abel, Vincent, Dillian, me. You. But then you left. You just up and disappeared. And all we had for an explanation was a damned 2 page letter for the bunch of us. Your mother did not help things one bit, being as vague as she was. 1 week. 2. And then you sent us a letter from the other side of the world. From the other side of the world. I still cannot believe how you could just leave like that without even telling us. Without telling me.
Maybe things were a little rough between us after our break up, but at the very least I would have thought that we were friends.
Sigh. Never mind. We all got over the initial shock, and settled back into routine after you called Vince to let him… us… know what happened and that you were alright. To be honest, I'm kinda hurt that you did not call me instead. I mean, sure, you and Vince were once a couple for almost 2 years, but… So were we! And although we only lasted as long as we did, I'm sure it was something more intense, and more special than what you had with Vince. I just don’t see why you'd have to go and call him, of all people, we all know what kind of a person he… I'm sorry. I'm getting a little carried away.
I probably should not talk about that anymore. We all know how worked up I get over the subject of Vince.
As I was saying, the gang met up today. Everyone's the same. Nobody's changed much. I mean, how much can happen to you when you’re stuck in a dump like this place? The subject of you came up. We were all wondering if you were still holding up.
Abel's still doing swordsmanship training. Says his instructor will be introducing him to using two swords soon. Naturally he could not stop talking about that. Heh. Ah Abel. Always the naive idealist. I tell you he’s going to get himself hurt one day. Can you believe that he likes me? Sigh.
Your wonderful ex-boyfriend is still with Helen. They have their arguments, as usual. You know how he is. I find it extremely hard to understand how you managed to put up with him for 2 years. Bah. Oh, his animation project is just about done. We hope that it’ll work out; will keep you updated on that.
Dillian. Ever the womanizer. Nothing new to report here. His latest 'relationship' crashed and burned in record time. As if that would ever be a surprise. I'm sure I'll get a huge kick out of seeing Abel's reaction when he finally realizes that Dillian has been in love with him for the past 5 years. Oh my. What a show that would be.
And me? I'm still dancing. I've lost a bit of the inspiration ever since you left (Yes I'm still angry at you). But I’m doing okay. I have a competition in about 2 months' time. It would be really nice if you could watch me dance on that day. You do know how I love it when you look at me with those sparkling greens of yours. Sigh, but I suppose you won't be showing up, as usual.
You were always so busy, even when we were together. It's always your friends first; your classmates first; Vincent first. It was not me you first turned to for comfort when that incident with your leg happened. Hell, you never looked at me at all. You simply shut me out whenever I wanted to be there for you. Yes I know I was more than a little clingy back then, but we were sorting it out weren't we?
Argh. Fine, be that way. Stay where you are over on the other side of the world! I love you, I love you more than I've ever loved anyone else, ever, but damned will I be if I let you keep me dangling, mangling my heart in the process!
I will end here before I burst into a fit and tear this letter up and end up having to write another one. The gang sends its regards, and tell you to take care of yourself. And I apologize for the crumples at the bottom of the letter. You know how I tend to ball up my fists whenever I’m agitated. And you know FULLY WELL how you do that to me.
Even though you’re all the way on the other side of the world.
Do take care, and please write us soon.
From: A damned fool who's still madly in love with you.
- Gwen.
05/05/2006
P.S: Happy 365 days ago. You do remember what happened on this day, right?
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lol.
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