Hey, I haven't đã đăng any nghề viết văn on here for all the long while I've been a member, but I thought I'd try posting this little thing I wrote, since when I đã đăng it other places it was at a slow đọc time. It's only about 1000 words; short, and slightly sad. Inspiration comes from the song "That's Okay" bởi The Hush Sound.
Will They Say Your Name?
bởi Shawna (funnyshawna, longerthanwedo, etc)
It’s a house. It’s dark in appearance but it makes him warm, sitting, Nữ hoàng băng giá as he is in his silent world. Not a silent earth; he doesn’t think he’s quite a part of the earth. He’s maybe hovering a little, two feet off the ground but two feet away from the sky. Close enough to touch but not able to reach up.
And the sound. Not close enough to hear the sounds from inside the house. He remembers the sound, though, almost. Laughter, he thinks that was it. He thinks there was laughter, but he can’t hear it now. He can’t hear any of it. He can’t hear the earth hoặc the voices – sweet, sweet sounds – of the people on it. They’re lucky, he thinks, so lucky to have their feet on the solid surface, to have their ears filled with the cacophony of the life around them.
He’s just stuck, floating, not here, not there, not quite in between. He thinks he’s closer to here than there, though. He can see the place that once was his, and he barely catches glimpses of the place he’s headed to. He has no idea where he’s going, but he has his memories – slipping, fragmented memories – of where he’s been.
It’s mostly a feeling of safety that washes over him as he stares, unblinking, at the house. It’s impossible for him, stuck where he is, to feel anything substantial; anything other than loneliness and longing. It’s thêm of a ghost of feeling that floods the ghost of his mind; he remembers feeling an toàn, két an toàn here, an toàn, két an toàn among the laughter.
He wonders, often, why he’s not still there. As he sits and stares he ponders. Where is he? Where is he going and is it safe, like where he’s been? Why is he caught here, floating as time passes below him and unseen activities continue above?
Why can’t he find his way back?
Maybe it’s because he doesn’t know his way back, because he doesn’t remember how he got here.
He remembers a little, only a little. He remembers dark, but not warm darkness, like the shadows of his house. He remembers noise, but it wasn’t the laughing kind. And he remembers pain. A sharp pain – pain is the sharpest memory he has. But the memory of the pain is only a chẻ, phân chia, split một giây long, and then it fades. His memory fades as he remembers fading away. He remembers a voice, resounding as he dissolved. “When you’re gone, will they say your name?” The voice echoes in the emptiness. And then he’s there, here, sitting, watching from afar and unable to hear a thing.
He thinks he’s sure he knows why. His name, it’s the only sound he needs to hear. His name, just once spoken as he waits would mean they cared. Them, the people with the laughter and the faces he almost remembers – he needs them to care. He needs to know that now, though he’s gone, they tình yêu him the same. He needs to know they won’t just turn away.
“If somebody loved you, they’d tell bạn bởi now.”
It’s a voice and he startles to hear it, but he immediately knows it’s from nowhere on earth. This voice, high and sweet and rough all at the same time, comes from right beside him; a piece of sound coming from inside these inches he’s trapped between. It’s inside the inches between earth and sky.
He looks around and he sees her. She’s a women but she’s not substantial. She looks like a reflection of what he feels; colorless and barely there, barely a mind and a shadow of what once was. She has a sad smile on her smoky lips and her eyes stare into his. For a moment he almost sees color in them, but then he blinks and they fade to grey.
“They all turn away when you’re down,” she says, staring out at the landscape and contemplating, looking wise without meaning to.
Her wispy hair curls and glows around her face, forming what looks too much like a halo. That and the smile on her face, they create an illusion of innocence – morbid, twisted innocence – that twirls his thoughts as she tells him they don’t tình yêu him. They don’t say his name.
He wants to hate her. He wants to take her, the woman and her halo. He wants to shake her and tell her, you’re wrong, they will, they will say my name. He wants to hate her because she’s right.
She turns to him and the blue of the sky shines through the transparency of her cheeks and her hair. There’s a soft shadow of sympathy in her eyes and he can’t hate her, not really. Not when her face is so kind and his emotions are so distant. He’s not sure there’s room for hate in this loneliness.
“Until someone loves you, I’ll keep bạn safe,” she promises and her words make their way through his mind, giving him hope but making him question.
“What then?” he wonders because he doesn’t want to know the answer. But he can’t help but want to know his future.
“Then,” she muses, gaze locked with his. “Then, like them, I will give bạn away.”
He looks back at the house and begins to doubt whether he’ll ever leave, ever di chuyển on, ever hear his name spoken from inside his childhood home. But he knows; now he knows that his childhood trang chủ is nothing but bones. Not the house – the house is still standing – but the person he was, that someone is nothing but bones. Powder white Bones that won’t let him find his way back. In the corner of his almost-mind, as a passing thought with nowhere to settle, he thinks that maybe they won’t ever say his name.
“You know they won’t say a word.”
He can feel her eyes on the side of his head and he feels like crying because he still desperately needs. He needs, he wants, he needs to hear something from his former home. He needs sound. His world can’t end in silence.
“But, bạn know, that’s okay.” Her voice is but a whisper in the air and the floating thought solidifies and he knows. He knows he’s waiting for something that’ll never come. He realizes his waiting is futile and that’s when he begins to feel himself slip away. He floats, higher and higher and the place he knew grows smaller and smaller and as the ghost of his life drifts away he’s scared. There’s fright in his face but he keeps on rising because he knows how.
He knows, that’s okay.
Will They Say Your Name?
bởi Shawna (funnyshawna, longerthanwedo, etc)
It’s a house. It’s dark in appearance but it makes him warm, sitting, Nữ hoàng băng giá as he is in his silent world. Not a silent earth; he doesn’t think he’s quite a part of the earth. He’s maybe hovering a little, two feet off the ground but two feet away from the sky. Close enough to touch but not able to reach up.
And the sound. Not close enough to hear the sounds from inside the house. He remembers the sound, though, almost. Laughter, he thinks that was it. He thinks there was laughter, but he can’t hear it now. He can’t hear any of it. He can’t hear the earth hoặc the voices – sweet, sweet sounds – of the people on it. They’re lucky, he thinks, so lucky to have their feet on the solid surface, to have their ears filled with the cacophony of the life around them.
He’s just stuck, floating, not here, not there, not quite in between. He thinks he’s closer to here than there, though. He can see the place that once was his, and he barely catches glimpses of the place he’s headed to. He has no idea where he’s going, but he has his memories – slipping, fragmented memories – of where he’s been.
It’s mostly a feeling of safety that washes over him as he stares, unblinking, at the house. It’s impossible for him, stuck where he is, to feel anything substantial; anything other than loneliness and longing. It’s thêm of a ghost of feeling that floods the ghost of his mind; he remembers feeling an toàn, két an toàn here, an toàn, két an toàn among the laughter.
He wonders, often, why he’s not still there. As he sits and stares he ponders. Where is he? Where is he going and is it safe, like where he’s been? Why is he caught here, floating as time passes below him and unseen activities continue above?
Why can’t he find his way back?
Maybe it’s because he doesn’t know his way back, because he doesn’t remember how he got here.
He remembers a little, only a little. He remembers dark, but not warm darkness, like the shadows of his house. He remembers noise, but it wasn’t the laughing kind. And he remembers pain. A sharp pain – pain is the sharpest memory he has. But the memory of the pain is only a chẻ, phân chia, split một giây long, and then it fades. His memory fades as he remembers fading away. He remembers a voice, resounding as he dissolved. “When you’re gone, will they say your name?” The voice echoes in the emptiness. And then he’s there, here, sitting, watching from afar and unable to hear a thing.
He thinks he’s sure he knows why. His name, it’s the only sound he needs to hear. His name, just once spoken as he waits would mean they cared. Them, the people with the laughter and the faces he almost remembers – he needs them to care. He needs to know that now, though he’s gone, they tình yêu him the same. He needs to know they won’t just turn away.
“If somebody loved you, they’d tell bạn bởi now.”
It’s a voice and he startles to hear it, but he immediately knows it’s from nowhere on earth. This voice, high and sweet and rough all at the same time, comes from right beside him; a piece of sound coming from inside these inches he’s trapped between. It’s inside the inches between earth and sky.
He looks around and he sees her. She’s a women but she’s not substantial. She looks like a reflection of what he feels; colorless and barely there, barely a mind and a shadow of what once was. She has a sad smile on her smoky lips and her eyes stare into his. For a moment he almost sees color in them, but then he blinks and they fade to grey.
“They all turn away when you’re down,” she says, staring out at the landscape and contemplating, looking wise without meaning to.
Her wispy hair curls and glows around her face, forming what looks too much like a halo. That and the smile on her face, they create an illusion of innocence – morbid, twisted innocence – that twirls his thoughts as she tells him they don’t tình yêu him. They don’t say his name.
He wants to hate her. He wants to take her, the woman and her halo. He wants to shake her and tell her, you’re wrong, they will, they will say my name. He wants to hate her because she’s right.
She turns to him and the blue of the sky shines through the transparency of her cheeks and her hair. There’s a soft shadow of sympathy in her eyes and he can’t hate her, not really. Not when her face is so kind and his emotions are so distant. He’s not sure there’s room for hate in this loneliness.
“Until someone loves you, I’ll keep bạn safe,” she promises and her words make their way through his mind, giving him hope but making him question.
“What then?” he wonders because he doesn’t want to know the answer. But he can’t help but want to know his future.
“Then,” she muses, gaze locked with his. “Then, like them, I will give bạn away.”
He looks back at the house and begins to doubt whether he’ll ever leave, ever di chuyển on, ever hear his name spoken from inside his childhood home. But he knows; now he knows that his childhood trang chủ is nothing but bones. Not the house – the house is still standing – but the person he was, that someone is nothing but bones. Powder white Bones that won’t let him find his way back. In the corner of his almost-mind, as a passing thought with nowhere to settle, he thinks that maybe they won’t ever say his name.
“You know they won’t say a word.”
He can feel her eyes on the side of his head and he feels like crying because he still desperately needs. He needs, he wants, he needs to hear something from his former home. He needs sound. His world can’t end in silence.
“But, bạn know, that’s okay.” Her voice is but a whisper in the air and the floating thought solidifies and he knows. He knows he’s waiting for something that’ll never come. He realizes his waiting is futile and that’s when he begins to feel himself slip away. He floats, higher and higher and the place he knew grows smaller and smaller and as the ghost of his life drifts away he’s scared. There’s fright in his face but he keeps on rising because he knows how.
He knows, that’s okay.
A/N: Okay, so this was an idea that pestered me. Let me know if I should continue.
Taylor paced the length of her quarters. Being unable to sleep was, ironically, a tiresome experience.
She had been a vampire for less than ten years, and remembered nothing of her life as a human. In her mind, it was simply an odd void, like the only way to sense it's presence was from it's very absence.
Tomorrow, the moon would be the smallest crescent, and she would be forced to hunt, along with every other vampire there. To vampires, the moon always looked the same. It was only when humans saw it that way too, would they need to hunt.
Resisting was futile, Taylor knew. She had tried every time and failed. The pain would be worse than she could manage. Than anyone could.
She sank to the floor against the wall, and melted into the shadows.
Taylor paced the length of her quarters. Being unable to sleep was, ironically, a tiresome experience.
She had been a vampire for less than ten years, and remembered nothing of her life as a human. In her mind, it was simply an odd void, like the only way to sense it's presence was from it's very absence.
Tomorrow, the moon would be the smallest crescent, and she would be forced to hunt, along with every other vampire there. To vampires, the moon always looked the same. It was only when humans saw it that way too, would they need to hunt.
Resisting was futile, Taylor knew. She had tried every time and failed. The pain would be worse than she could manage. Than anyone could.
She sank to the floor against the wall, and melted into the shadows.
Kyle:Krissa, it's ok, everything will be fine.
Krissa:No it won't!!!How can he do this to me!...how can he do this to us!
Me:He didn't...he did it to be happy.
Krissa looked at me with watery eyes, tears falling, dripping from her face.
Kyle:Kris, he is your father, but he just needs to di chuyển on and live a happier life.
Me:Exactly, he never wanted to hurt bạn like this, he loves you, but he loves her, too.
Krissa:If he did tình yêu me, he'd dump that barbie!
Kyle looked at me, I looked at him.
Kyle:She needs some time alone.
I nodded.
I hurt the thump sound of when Krissa jumps on her bed.
Me:Maybe she'll grow out of it in a few days...
Kyle:Or a few years...why is she so...upset of her dad getting married?
Me:Well, when she went to visit him, she was just there, he never told her.She got mad and came right back.
Kyle:Well that IS upsetting.
Me:No kidding.
Krissa:No it won't!!!How can he do this to me!...how can he do this to us!
Me:He didn't...he did it to be happy.
Krissa looked at me with watery eyes, tears falling, dripping from her face.
Kyle:Kris, he is your father, but he just needs to di chuyển on and live a happier life.
Me:Exactly, he never wanted to hurt bạn like this, he loves you, but he loves her, too.
Krissa:If he did tình yêu me, he'd dump that barbie!
Kyle looked at me, I looked at him.
Kyle:She needs some time alone.
I nodded.
I hurt the thump sound of when Krissa jumps on her bed.
Me:Maybe she'll grow out of it in a few days...
Kyle:Or a few years...why is she so...upset of her dad getting married?
Me:Well, when she went to visit him, she was just there, he never told her.She got mad and came right back.
Kyle:Well that IS upsetting.
Me:No kidding.
He didn’t want money hoặc fancy cars; all he wanted was to be loved bởi someone, any one at all. He needed someone to care about him, not his wealth, not his ties to the rich and famous, someone that actually cared about him, the boy with bright blue eyes that sparkled in the sunlight, curly raven black hair and a boyish grin permanently plastered on his face hiding the pain of being alone. Yet no one did, all they saw was the heir to the Jeffrey Empire, the boy that was going to inherited it all. The boy, who was the prefect son living up to the Jeffrey name. They never saw the boy’s who’s arms were covered in cuts, the dao, con dao against his skin, the blood dripping down staining the carpet, his eyes closing never to open again. No one read the note tucked into his pocket cause no one cared.