He slumped back in his chair with a sigh, left hand raising his drink to his lips, while the other fiddled with his mobile phone. Relishing the quiet of his office, Dillian was more than a little annoyed when Shane barged in without so much as knocking.
"Yea. I got your message, what happened?"
Wordlessly, Dillian navigated to the text message in question, and tossed the phone to Shane, who, after reading it, looked as if he could not decide if he wanted to be sympathetic or to burst out laughing.
He sat down across from Dillian and lit a cigarette, sliding the phone across the desk as he did so.
"So this was yesterday?"
Dillian grunted in reply.
"Tried calling or messaging her?" Shane raised an eyebrow.
"Naturally."
"Any word?"
"Nope."
"Mm...Y'know? This is totally unexpected. Who would've thought?"
"Yea. Total riot. Hilarious."
And with that sarcastic retort, Dillian swive;ed in his chair to look out the window, his back towards Shane. On the street below, people scurried for shelter as raindrops the size of dollar coins fell from the menacing clouds. Tridents of light ran along the underbellies of the mercurial clouds, followed closely by thunder.
"Like one bloody cosmic fart," Dillian mumbled darkly.
"What was that?"
"Nothing. Is Steph ready or not?"
"No, duh. You know her. Hey you know what? I know this song that would be really apt for your situation now, man." Shane started humming the tune to a song about being blind-sided in a relationship.
"Look, just shut up, okay? And put out that bloody cigarette!" Snapped Dillian.
"Whoa, chill out, boss. No point blowing your top off. It ain't productive," Shane took one last drag from his cigarette and offered it to Dillian, who at this time was thumbing through the messages on his mobile phone.
"Here, you could use this. And stop reading those, before you tear everything in this studio up."
"You know I don't smoke..."
"You used to," Shane cut in. "Come on, you know it helps."
"You're not exactly helping, you know," Dillian mumbled as he shoved his mobile phone into his pocket, and reached for the proffered cigarette, which was almost down to its filter.
He drew deeply from the cigarette, feeling the familiar slow drag as the poisons slowly snaked their way through his body. He held it in, savouring the high as it came to him. Dillian looked sideways at his friend as he grimaced through a cloud of smoke.
Friday, November 02, 2007
The End? HAHAHAHAHAHA *shoots self*
He stared back at her, eyes smoldering with desire, shap with angst, and just a hint of rage. His expression said it all. He hated her, but he also wanted her more than anything else in the world.
And her? She was the very definition of arrogance. She knew how he felt, and she cared not a whit. Taunting him, dangling him at the end of a string, but deep within, she knew she wanted him too, and was deathly afraid she'd gone too far.
The space between them was electric. It was a case of an unstoppable forace against an unmovable object. They held in their positions a moment longer, before pushing off of each other, spinning away in opposite directions. He looked back at her, still angry but slightly subdued; he was willing to compromise. She glanced coyly back at him from under long, curled lashes.
Taking their cue from the music, both moved towards each other again, crossing the dance floor with fluid strides. When they were but a few feet apart, she leapt. Her form and posture perfect, while he caught her in mid air, using her momentum to propel them into the next sequence of the dance.
Languid, almost lazy movements characterized this next phase of the dance. A vertical expression of a horizontal desire, their bodies moved as one. Their movements slowed as the music faded. The main lights came on as they entered their final pose, and the applauded, with a few giving a standing ovation.
Dillian glanced at Gwen. Sweat glistered on her exposed skin, and her face was flushed with the effort of the dance. But she was beaming, the exhilaration and energy that the dance gave her far outweighed the tiredness. It made her... Alive.
Grinning, Dillian took her hand and gave a slight push, giving her spin momentum, and at the same time providing her with support, as she moved in an 'open fan' position, one commonly used to present the couple.
Coming out of a deep bow to the audience and the judges, the couple shared another grin and proceeded off the dance floor.
"You did great," Gwen gurgled as they entered the holding area.
"No, we did great."
"That's an awefully overused cliché, Dill." Gwen said she she nudged him in the ribs.
"Whatever works, you know?" Dillian signed and moved to stand in front of her. "Gwen, I love you."
Her grin slipped, and she turned away from him, occupying herself with her makeup case on the table.
"Dill, we've been over this before. 'We' will never work. You know that."
"No, we don't know that. look at over dances. Are you trying to say that you felt nothing out on the Floor?"
"What we felt was the dance, Dill," Gwen sighed, exasperated. "You know very well what I mean. It's the dance that gives us life, that awakens us. We live when we dance. That says nothing about being life partners.
Dillian snorted, annoyed.
"It was our dances that made us feel alive. Dance gave us a direction, 'We' gave each other life," He took hold of her hand, and gave it a squeeze. "Why Aaron, Gwen? The least you could have done was to give a decent explanation, instead of sending a cheesy text message like some fifteen year old boy, and then disappearing for a quarter of a year!"
"Aaron... Understands me, Dill. He's known me longer than you, and he knows me inside out." Gwen snapped, trying to glare at Dillian but unable to keep it up for long.
"And I don't? Well, if that's the case, it certainly isn't from the lack of trying, Gwen. You say he understands you, but all he does is act like a...a...dense wooden block half the time. And when I try to...to...'understand' you, as you like to put it, you simply shut up. His questioning eyes drilled into her.
"And that's not all. What on earth drove you to do what you did? Did you think I wouldn't be willing to at least listen to you? Did you think that I would've gone berserk and wercked everything? What was it, Gwen? What, and why? If you thought that I would've been anything resembling a warmongering caveman, then lady, 'You', do not 'Understand' me."
He took a deep breath, his anger expelled after 4 months of being pent up. He was about to continue, but he felt so very tired, wanting nothing more than to curl up in bed.
Her glare had softened into furtive glances between him and her hands, which were fidgeting with her skirt.
"It's our last dance together, Dill," she said quietly, eyes watering, threatening to ruin her heavy makeup. "Please don't make this a bad memory." And with that she turned and walked quickly away.
"Don't make this a bad mem..." Dill started, but she was already gone. He stared after her, hands balled into fists, before walking away in another direction.
He saw her afterwards, wraped around Aaron as they headed out of the competition hall towards his car, followed by their little entourage.
He felt much like the way he did when she first sent him that text: Cut adrift, lost, shell-shocked. He glanced at her from inside the hall a few times, emotionally off-center, and unable to decide what to do next.
Aaron caught sight of him looking in their direction, and murmured something into Gwen's ear. She started, shrugged, and got into the car.
She never looked at him once.
And her? She was the very definition of arrogance. She knew how he felt, and she cared not a whit. Taunting him, dangling him at the end of a string, but deep within, she knew she wanted him too, and was deathly afraid she'd gone too far.
The space between them was electric. It was a case of an unstoppable forace against an unmovable object. They held in their positions a moment longer, before pushing off of each other, spinning away in opposite directions. He looked back at her, still angry but slightly subdued; he was willing to compromise. She glanced coyly back at him from under long, curled lashes.
Taking their cue from the music, both moved towards each other again, crossing the dance floor with fluid strides. When they were but a few feet apart, she leapt. Her form and posture perfect, while he caught her in mid air, using her momentum to propel them into the next sequence of the dance.
Languid, almost lazy movements characterized this next phase of the dance. A vertical expression of a horizontal desire, their bodies moved as one. Their movements slowed as the music faded. The main lights came on as they entered their final pose, and the applauded, with a few giving a standing ovation.
Dillian glanced at Gwen. Sweat glistered on her exposed skin, and her face was flushed with the effort of the dance. But she was beaming, the exhilaration and energy that the dance gave her far outweighed the tiredness. It made her... Alive.
Grinning, Dillian took her hand and gave a slight push, giving her spin momentum, and at the same time providing her with support, as she moved in an 'open fan' position, one commonly used to present the couple.
Coming out of a deep bow to the audience and the judges, the couple shared another grin and proceeded off the dance floor.
"You did great," Gwen gurgled as they entered the holding area.
"No, we did great."
"That's an awefully overused cliché, Dill." Gwen said she she nudged him in the ribs.
"Whatever works, you know?" Dillian signed and moved to stand in front of her. "Gwen, I love you."
Her grin slipped, and she turned away from him, occupying herself with her makeup case on the table.
"Dill, we've been over this before. 'We' will never work. You know that."
"No, we don't know that. look at over dances. Are you trying to say that you felt nothing out on the Floor?"
"What we felt was the dance, Dill," Gwen sighed, exasperated. "You know very well what I mean. It's the dance that gives us life, that awakens us. We live when we dance. That says nothing about being life partners.
Dillian snorted, annoyed.
"It was our dances that made us feel alive. Dance gave us a direction, 'We' gave each other life," He took hold of her hand, and gave it a squeeze. "Why Aaron, Gwen? The least you could have done was to give a decent explanation, instead of sending a cheesy text message like some fifteen year old boy, and then disappearing for a quarter of a year!"
"Aaron... Understands me, Dill. He's known me longer than you, and he knows me inside out." Gwen snapped, trying to glare at Dillian but unable to keep it up for long.
"And I don't? Well, if that's the case, it certainly isn't from the lack of trying, Gwen. You say he understands you, but all he does is act like a...a...dense wooden block half the time. And when I try to...to...'understand' you, as you like to put it, you simply shut up. His questioning eyes drilled into her.
"And that's not all. What on earth drove you to do what you did? Did you think I wouldn't be willing to at least listen to you? Did you think that I would've gone berserk and wercked everything? What was it, Gwen? What, and why? If you thought that I would've been anything resembling a warmongering caveman, then lady, 'You', do not 'Understand' me."
He took a deep breath, his anger expelled after 4 months of being pent up. He was about to continue, but he felt so very tired, wanting nothing more than to curl up in bed.
Her glare had softened into furtive glances between him and her hands, which were fidgeting with her skirt.
"It's our last dance together, Dill," she said quietly, eyes watering, threatening to ruin her heavy makeup. "Please don't make this a bad memory." And with that she turned and walked quickly away.
"Don't make this a bad mem..." Dill started, but she was already gone. He stared after her, hands balled into fists, before walking away in another direction.
***
He saw her afterwards, wraped around Aaron as they headed out of the competition hall towards his car, followed by their little entourage.
He felt much like the way he did when she first sent him that text: Cut adrift, lost, shell-shocked. He glanced at her from inside the hall a few times, emotionally off-center, and unable to decide what to do next.
Aaron caught sight of him looking in their direction, and murmured something into Gwen's ear. She started, shrugged, and got into the car.
She never looked at him once.
Sunday, February 25, 2007
sidenote
EDIT2: added a stupid flooble for fun. lol.
EDIT: I just released 3 half-fucked drafts that I fiddled with but never got around to fleshing out and/or was too disappointed in to complete. They are below this post. read, and be amused.
this post is completely Out Of Character. this is the author speaking.
I am stuck. HAHA.
-.-"
I have no plot, I have no direction, I don't know what the story is about. All I know is what my characters are, what they do, and all i've written is how they behave when interacting with each other, mainly Gwen and Dillian. The main 'theme', so far, is... hurr geez I don't really have a theme either... I guess it's the relationship between G and D, and... G's supposed homosexuality issues. *shrug*
All the posts that are up here so far are based on actual events that I've been through. I've been blogging here, in other words, except that I translate what's happened to me into either Gwen or Dill's viewpoint.
But, like I've said, I don't have a...Direction. A fanthomable ending. I, uh, need the box to work in. Else I'll just be rambling on and on and on.
So...yea. leave a comment or something. All 2.5 of you. >.<
EDIT: I just released 3 half-fucked drafts that I fiddled with but never got around to fleshing out and/or was too disappointed in to complete. They are below this post. read, and be amused.
this post is completely Out Of Character. this is the author speaking.
I am stuck. HAHA.
-.-"
I have no plot, I have no direction, I don't know what the story is about. All I know is what my characters are, what they do, and all i've written is how they behave when interacting with each other, mainly Gwen and Dillian. The main 'theme', so far, is... hurr geez I don't really have a theme either... I guess it's the relationship between G and D, and... G's supposed homosexuality issues. *shrug*
All the posts that are up here so far are based on actual events that I've been through. I've been blogging here, in other words, except that I translate what's happened to me into either Gwen or Dill's viewpoint.
But, like I've said, I don't have a...Direction. A fanthomable ending. I, uh, need the box to work in. Else I'll just be rambling on and on and on.
So...yea. leave a comment or something. All 2.5 of you. >.<
Taking a second plunge
Drafted: 7/7/06 1.10PM Posted 2/25/07 1.14am [random self-reflective scene]
I lay awake throughout the night. Exhausted as I was, I could not sleep.
Guilt, pleasure, excitement, uncertainty and a myriad of questions bounced around in my head like a herd of stampeding elephants, threatening to knock me out with a mental concussion.
I'd always believed, always known, that I was off-center in my sexual orientation. For years I'd been engaged in fulfilling homosexual relationships,.....................
I lay awake throughout the night. Exhausted as I was, I could not sleep.
Guilt, pleasure, excitement, uncertainty and a myriad of questions bounced around in my head like a herd of stampeding elephants, threatening to knock me out with a mental concussion.
I'd always believed, always known, that I was off-center in my sexual orientation. For years I'd been engaged in fulfilling homosexual relationships,.....................
Gwen finds that she's not a lesbo thru & thru!
Drafted: 5/16/06 10pm Posted: 2/25/07 1.12am [scene based on chalet. Gwen has first intimate encounter with Dillian]
The last of the dishes were finally washed and set aside. It had taken almost forever to get those of us who were not too drunk to stand to contribute to the clean-up effort.
With half of the gang high on alcohol and pretty much...........[end of draft]
The last of the dishes were finally washed and set aside. It had taken almost forever to get those of us who were not too drunk to stand to contribute to the clean-up effort.
With half of the gang high on alcohol and pretty much...........[end of draft]
Thoughts From The Back Of The Bus.
Drafted: 5/10/06 11.48PM. Posted: 25/2/07 1.28AM (unedited) [probably usable, too much rambling]
Reflective scene. Note: I forsee more posts like this. It's still early in the writing process and I think I'm spending more time getting to know my characters and letting them talk to me, to us, rather than having an actual plot at the moment. I have discussed several plot possibilities with 1 or 2 of you, and I will take those suggestions into consideration. Thanks for your input. Any more suggestions please lemme know? thanks.
I found myself taking the bus home the next day. This wasn't routine, for Dillian would usually give me a lift home, since we lived so close to each other. In fact, one of my schoolmates asked if we had an argument, and hoped that our 'relationship' was 'okay'. Relationship?! Did we really look 'together'? I shrugged it off. It was another straw in the hump of a bad day that I was having. Anal lecturers, impossibly long queues during lunch hour, and the incessant stares and wolf-whistles from half-baked guys from whom sophistication was gloriously absent.
I guess it was probably a good thing that Dillian could not drive me home that day. He was Not exactly good company when one was moody. Besides, there were quite a few good looking girls on the same bus I was on. But they did not rouse my interest for long. It was one of those days, I suppose. The bus hit the expressway and started to pick up speed. I extended a hand out of the window and let it dangle there, more exhausted than I'd thought. The wind flowed past us, brushing my hands and feeling very much like the reigns of some great chariot. I felt, for a moment, like Apollo in his chariot of the sun. And I was reminded of the myth of his son perishing because of his inability to control said chariot. I wondered if Apollo ever had any daughters worth mentioning. Everything in existance was male oriented. Even the language we used leans in favor of males.
I was about to nod off when we pulled into.....................[end of draft]
Reflective scene. Note: I forsee more posts like this. It's still early in the writing process and I think I'm spending more time getting to know my characters and letting them talk to me, to us, rather than having an actual plot at the moment. I have discussed several plot possibilities with 1 or 2 of you, and I will take those suggestions into consideration. Thanks for your input. Any more suggestions please lemme know? thanks.
I found myself taking the bus home the next day. This wasn't routine, for Dillian would usually give me a lift home, since we lived so close to each other. In fact, one of my schoolmates asked if we had an argument, and hoped that our 'relationship' was 'okay'. Relationship?! Did we really look 'together'? I shrugged it off. It was another straw in the hump of a bad day that I was having. Anal lecturers, impossibly long queues during lunch hour, and the incessant stares and wolf-whistles from half-baked guys from whom sophistication was gloriously absent.
I guess it was probably a good thing that Dillian could not drive me home that day. He was Not exactly good company when one was moody. Besides, there were quite a few good looking girls on the same bus I was on. But they did not rouse my interest for long. It was one of those days, I suppose. The bus hit the expressway and started to pick up speed. I extended a hand out of the window and let it dangle there, more exhausted than I'd thought. The wind flowed past us, brushing my hands and feeling very much like the reigns of some great chariot. I felt, for a moment, like Apollo in his chariot of the sun. And I was reminded of the myth of his son perishing because of his inability to control said chariot. I wondered if Apollo ever had any daughters worth mentioning. Everything in existance was male oriented. Even the language we used leans in favor of males.
I was about to nod off when we pulled into.....................[end of draft]
Saturday, February 03, 2007
Never Dance Again
(auth's background note: Gwen just sneaked out of drug rehab for a coupla hours because he was uncooperative with the program. more details later.)
I glanced over at the passenger seat, hoping that Dillian recognized where we were. But he only stared out the window, bloodshot eyes looking at nothing.
Half dragging, half supporting him out of the car, I led him to the second level of the building. Leaving him propped against the wall, mumbling about 'needing a fix' and scratching furiously at his neck, I turned my back on him and fiddled with the door lock, all the while trying to swallow a huge lump in my throat.
Prodding the door open, I gently shoved him into the room. Caught by surprise, and his nervous system clogged up with all those drugs, he lost his balance and fell onto his knees. Ignoring his muttered curses, I stalked over to the light switches and waited for him to quiet down before flicking them on.
It took him a while to get used to the light, and more time after to realise what he was looking at.
Parquet flooring, lacquered and smooth, but still rough enough to provide grip; A mirror that stretched from wall to wall, floor to ceiling; and at one end of the room, set into stlyish cabinets, the sound system's control center.
It was a plain and simple room, yet it was enough to knock Dillian into a stunned silence. It was a dance studio. Our dance studio. The one that we spent so much time and effort trying to create.
Our dream, realised.
But a realised dream meant nothing if the dreamers were not around to enjoy it, and seeing the empty studio, being in it, Dillian realised all that.
He struggled to his feet, as I watched silently from my position beside the door. I know not how long we stood at our respective positions, his stare alternating between the mirror, floor and his feet; my stare centered on him.
Eventually, though, his involuntary shivers stopped, his sniffles lessened, and he stood up straighter as he took a tentative step forward. It was a wobbly step, and he nearly lost his balance, but as he recovered, he glanced back at me and gave a weak smile. He was still awfully pale, and weaker than a baby, but he was most definately feeling better than an hour ago.
He tried to pace the width of the studio, but fell, before he even got to the halfway mark. I started forward, worried that he might have injured himself, but he waved me away and tried again to stand.
Again and again, he fell back down before he even got halfway off the ground. It was no good. His legs could not support his weight, and his breathing became more laboured. Having danced with him as his partner for such a long time, I could tell that he was getting extremely fustrated, and if left alone, would push himself too far, till the time came when he just gave up.
I could not bear to watch this anymore, I brought him here in hopes of raising his sprits, reigniting his desire to recover, the flame to dance again. But all I managed to do was to raise him out of his drug induced haze, and drop him into a pit deeper than the one he was in. Some friend I was.
I rushed forward and tried to calm him down, feeling guilty at the sight of his tears. He looked at me with the visage of one who has given up all hope and spoke his first words in a month. The same words he said the last time he spoke.
" I'll never be able to dance again, Gwen. "
(auth's note: its 2 in the morning. my brain ceased to function 4 hours ago. pardon the quality of writing.)
I glanced over at the passenger seat, hoping that Dillian recognized where we were. But he only stared out the window, bloodshot eyes looking at nothing.
Half dragging, half supporting him out of the car, I led him to the second level of the building. Leaving him propped against the wall, mumbling about 'needing a fix' and scratching furiously at his neck, I turned my back on him and fiddled with the door lock, all the while trying to swallow a huge lump in my throat.
Prodding the door open, I gently shoved him into the room. Caught by surprise, and his nervous system clogged up with all those drugs, he lost his balance and fell onto his knees. Ignoring his muttered curses, I stalked over to the light switches and waited for him to quiet down before flicking them on.
It took him a while to get used to the light, and more time after to realise what he was looking at.
Parquet flooring, lacquered and smooth, but still rough enough to provide grip; A mirror that stretched from wall to wall, floor to ceiling; and at one end of the room, set into stlyish cabinets, the sound system's control center.
It was a plain and simple room, yet it was enough to knock Dillian into a stunned silence. It was a dance studio. Our dance studio. The one that we spent so much time and effort trying to create.
Our dream, realised.
But a realised dream meant nothing if the dreamers were not around to enjoy it, and seeing the empty studio, being in it, Dillian realised all that.
He struggled to his feet, as I watched silently from my position beside the door. I know not how long we stood at our respective positions, his stare alternating between the mirror, floor and his feet; my stare centered on him.
Eventually, though, his involuntary shivers stopped, his sniffles lessened, and he stood up straighter as he took a tentative step forward. It was a wobbly step, and he nearly lost his balance, but as he recovered, he glanced back at me and gave a weak smile. He was still awfully pale, and weaker than a baby, but he was most definately feeling better than an hour ago.
He tried to pace the width of the studio, but fell, before he even got to the halfway mark. I started forward, worried that he might have injured himself, but he waved me away and tried again to stand.
Again and again, he fell back down before he even got halfway off the ground. It was no good. His legs could not support his weight, and his breathing became more laboured. Having danced with him as his partner for such a long time, I could tell that he was getting extremely fustrated, and if left alone, would push himself too far, till the time came when he just gave up.
I could not bear to watch this anymore, I brought him here in hopes of raising his sprits, reigniting his desire to recover, the flame to dance again. But all I managed to do was to raise him out of his drug induced haze, and drop him into a pit deeper than the one he was in. Some friend I was.
I rushed forward and tried to calm him down, feeling guilty at the sight of his tears. He looked at me with the visage of one who has given up all hope and spoke his first words in a month. The same words he said the last time he spoke.
" I'll never be able to dance again, Gwen. "
(auth's note: its 2 in the morning. my brain ceased to function 4 hours ago. pardon the quality of writing.)
Saturday, January 27, 2007
We walked.
We walked with the knowledge that each step brought us closer to the end.
I supposed I was sad to see him go. But truth be told I was too shellshocked to feel much of anything. It all seemed so simple a week ago. It did not even register an hour ago. But, as we neared the departure gates, the sudden realisation that it'll be akin to an eon before I'll see him again was like the lead ball and chain, coiled around my feet.
He felt the same way too, if the way he was squeezing my hand was of any indication, and somehow, that made me feel better. I felt that I could hide my emotions better, and put on a strong front, knowing that I was not alone in feeling this way.
One step...two...
The gates loomed in front of us like the gates to the Void. (auth's note: I actually wanted to put " like big looming thingys!" heh.)
three...four...
He came to a halt, and we glanced at each other, not quite able to hold the other's stare.
busy busy busy. will come back to finish this! i ...think.
We walked with the knowledge that each step brought us closer to the end.
I supposed I was sad to see him go. But truth be told I was too shellshocked to feel much of anything. It all seemed so simple a week ago. It did not even register an hour ago. But, as we neared the departure gates, the sudden realisation that it'll be akin to an eon before I'll see him again was like the lead ball and chain, coiled around my feet.
He felt the same way too, if the way he was squeezing my hand was of any indication, and somehow, that made me feel better. I felt that I could hide my emotions better, and put on a strong front, knowing that I was not alone in feeling this way.
One step...two...
The gates loomed in front of us like the gates to the Void. (auth's note: I actually wanted to put " like big looming thingys!" heh.)
three...four...
He came to a halt, and we glanced at each other, not quite able to hold the other's stare.
busy busy busy. will come back to finish this! i ...think.
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