(no subject)
Title: Wish
Genre: f/p pov reflection
Summery: Damian has a wish, can someone grant it for him?
rateing: g
I'm Damian. I'm sitting her alone at a table on the side walk caffe "El Oro Casa" or, "The Gold House".
I'm always alone these days.
Sometimes, I have to cut myself to make sure I'm still alive.
But that's a whole other matter all together that I don't care to elaborate on further.
There are a lot of people walking by.
They all have the same monotonus expressions on their faces.
Zombies.
That's what they remind me of.
I'm sure to each of their passive wonderments, I'm just the same as them.
A cutout son of scociety, working an average nine to five work week.
I probably have a small flat in town where I can walk to my job five days a week.
Maybe I pull off my mask on the weekends and party until I black out.
These would be fair assumptions if I were an ordinary man, with an ordinary life.
But sadly, or maybe not so sad, I am quite different from these drones.
I don't work.
I don't own a flat.
I don't have a mask to pull off.
And most importantly, i'm far from ordinary.
My life began on the kitchen floor of a mansion on the outskirts of Liverpool.
I'm proudly the illigitimate son of a prominant duke...and his favorite scullery maid.
The first four years of my life were spent in that kitchen, drawing on the walls and making a general nucence of myself.
At five I was sent away to boarding school where I spent the better part of a decade learning all sorts of devious things outside of my school work.
At fifteen they threw me out and I decided to join a small band of lanky teens all around my age who desperately wanted to bring back the golden age of piracy.
We put together our money and bought a boat.
Didn't do much plundering, as most of the time we were too drunk to care.
Especially if there were ladies on board.
I lost my virginity at seventeen...ironically to one of my fathers second favorite scullery maids.
That eventually lead me back home where I currently still reside.
This is my daily fun.
Sit here and drink a cup of coffee for three hours, watching the pathetic drones go about their extraordinarily boreing lives.
Not that mine's much more interesting mind you, I simply have an unbelievable history.
I'm twenty six and single.
I could be pompus and say I'm enjoying it, but I'll be real and say that I'm getting quite tired of the redlight district.
I had a love once.
And what a love she was too.
But my ability to turn the smallest situations into a shakespherian production lost her for me years ago.
I should have been an actor.
I'd be the best in small theater.
But that's not the kind of training my deleriously rich father wants a future duke to have.
These people.
I watch them as if I actually care that they exist.
They do not care that I exist, and so I return the feeling mutually.
Ocasionally one will stare.
I smply close my eyes and they move on.
I hopen my eyes just now and there before me sits an angel.
Or perhaps a demon, but she's very beautiful so I don't care one way or the other.
Her eyes are like the ocean.
I notice them.
They are very deep, unusual green.
She's naturally blond, I can see the roots, but she's died it black.
She's stairing at me and I have the feeling that no amount of time with my eyes closed is going to make her stray.
No, I won't bother.
She speaks softly.
Her voice reminds me of a sunshower.
A rarety indeed.
"If you had one wish, what would it be?"
This question is easy to answer.
So why won't my lips move to form the words?
Maybe it's because the answer is painful.
"Sanibella."
She nods.
Looking closer at her she looks familiar now.
Probably one of my early conquests abored the S.S Lutenints Guard.
Stupid name for a pirate ship if you ask me, but again that's another matter all together.
"Did you love her?"
What a question.
"Of course I loved her."
The words forced from my mouth sound angry, though I'm actually quite frightened.
"And you want her back?"
I am silent. My tongue freezing in my mouth like a glacier.
I can only nod.
What kind of magic is this beauty using against me?
I'm answering rather personal questions from, though very familiar...a total stranger.
My heart is wrenched at her next words.
She seems to know me so well.
"What would you do to regain her love?"
The words now spill from my lips as if a thousand suns have made and ocian in my mouth that is falling upon a desert.
"I would walk the end of time. I would cut out my own heart and serve it to her still beating on a silver tray."
She smiles.
Oh God, what a beautiful smile.
"Would you look her in the eyes and beg on your knees that she mary you this instant? Even after three years of being apart?"
I stand.
"YES!"
I cry out, my heart feeling as though it's going to beat through my chest at any moment.
Suddenly I recognize her.
She has changed since the last we spoke, but I know that she is my Sannibella.
I fall to my knees beside her.
"Please!"
Suddenly I realize my cheeks are wet with tears of joy and pain.
"Sannibella, my deepest love...please be my wife!"
I kiss her feet, then her ankles, then her palms, and wrists.
I hold my breath.
She won't speak.
She looks like the emotionless drones that pass us, completely ignorent of our presense.
She stands.
She stares down at me.
"No."
There is a smirk there on her lips.
Quite plain.
She walks away.
Pain fills my body.
I reach into my pocket.
I take out the pocket knife.
I hold it to my throat.
I close my eyes.
And my alarm begins to sound.
I open my eyes and sigh.
It is a sound of reliefe and sorrow.
Just like every day since she left me, I get up.
I dress.
I walk down to the cafe.
I sit and drink a cup of coffee for three hours.
And I pray.
I pray with all my soul that she will come to me.
But I know that I have driven her far away.
And so I have cursed myself to dream of her.
Every night.
For the rest of my lonely invisible life.
Genre: f/p pov reflection
Summery: Damian has a wish, can someone grant it for him?
rateing: g
I'm Damian. I'm sitting her alone at a table on the side walk caffe "El Oro Casa" or, "The Gold House".
I'm always alone these days.
Sometimes, I have to cut myself to make sure I'm still alive.
But that's a whole other matter all together that I don't care to elaborate on further.
There are a lot of people walking by.
They all have the same monotonus expressions on their faces.
Zombies.
That's what they remind me of.
I'm sure to each of their passive wonderments, I'm just the same as them.
A cutout son of scociety, working an average nine to five work week.
I probably have a small flat in town where I can walk to my job five days a week.
Maybe I pull off my mask on the weekends and party until I black out.
These would be fair assumptions if I were an ordinary man, with an ordinary life.
But sadly, or maybe not so sad, I am quite different from these drones.
I don't work.
I don't own a flat.
I don't have a mask to pull off.
And most importantly, i'm far from ordinary.
My life began on the kitchen floor of a mansion on the outskirts of Liverpool.
I'm proudly the illigitimate son of a prominant duke...and his favorite scullery maid.
The first four years of my life were spent in that kitchen, drawing on the walls and making a general nucence of myself.
At five I was sent away to boarding school where I spent the better part of a decade learning all sorts of devious things outside of my school work.
At fifteen they threw me out and I decided to join a small band of lanky teens all around my age who desperately wanted to bring back the golden age of piracy.
We put together our money and bought a boat.
Didn't do much plundering, as most of the time we were too drunk to care.
Especially if there were ladies on board.
I lost my virginity at seventeen...ironically to one of my fathers second favorite scullery maids.
That eventually lead me back home where I currently still reside.
This is my daily fun.
Sit here and drink a cup of coffee for three hours, watching the pathetic drones go about their extraordinarily boreing lives.
Not that mine's much more interesting mind you, I simply have an unbelievable history.
I'm twenty six and single.
I could be pompus and say I'm enjoying it, but I'll be real and say that I'm getting quite tired of the redlight district.
I had a love once.
And what a love she was too.
But my ability to turn the smallest situations into a shakespherian production lost her for me years ago.
I should have been an actor.
I'd be the best in small theater.
But that's not the kind of training my deleriously rich father wants a future duke to have.
These people.
I watch them as if I actually care that they exist.
They do not care that I exist, and so I return the feeling mutually.
Ocasionally one will stare.
I smply close my eyes and they move on.
I hopen my eyes just now and there before me sits an angel.
Or perhaps a demon, but she's very beautiful so I don't care one way or the other.
Her eyes are like the ocean.
I notice them.
They are very deep, unusual green.
She's naturally blond, I can see the roots, but she's died it black.
She's stairing at me and I have the feeling that no amount of time with my eyes closed is going to make her stray.
No, I won't bother.
She speaks softly.
Her voice reminds me of a sunshower.
A rarety indeed.
"If you had one wish, what would it be?"
This question is easy to answer.
So why won't my lips move to form the words?
Maybe it's because the answer is painful.
"Sanibella."
She nods.
Looking closer at her she looks familiar now.
Probably one of my early conquests abored the S.S Lutenints Guard.
Stupid name for a pirate ship if you ask me, but again that's another matter all together.
"Did you love her?"
What a question.
"Of course I loved her."
The words forced from my mouth sound angry, though I'm actually quite frightened.
"And you want her back?"
I am silent. My tongue freezing in my mouth like a glacier.
I can only nod.
What kind of magic is this beauty using against me?
I'm answering rather personal questions from, though very familiar...a total stranger.
My heart is wrenched at her next words.
She seems to know me so well.
"What would you do to regain her love?"
The words now spill from my lips as if a thousand suns have made and ocian in my mouth that is falling upon a desert.
"I would walk the end of time. I would cut out my own heart and serve it to her still beating on a silver tray."
She smiles.
Oh God, what a beautiful smile.
"Would you look her in the eyes and beg on your knees that she mary you this instant? Even after three years of being apart?"
I stand.
"YES!"
I cry out, my heart feeling as though it's going to beat through my chest at any moment.
Suddenly I recognize her.
She has changed since the last we spoke, but I know that she is my Sannibella.
I fall to my knees beside her.
"Please!"
Suddenly I realize my cheeks are wet with tears of joy and pain.
"Sannibella, my deepest love...please be my wife!"
I kiss her feet, then her ankles, then her palms, and wrists.
I hold my breath.
She won't speak.
She looks like the emotionless drones that pass us, completely ignorent of our presense.
She stands.
She stares down at me.
"No."
There is a smirk there on her lips.
Quite plain.
She walks away.
Pain fills my body.
I reach into my pocket.
I take out the pocket knife.
I hold it to my throat.
I close my eyes.
And my alarm begins to sound.
I open my eyes and sigh.
It is a sound of reliefe and sorrow.
Just like every day since she left me, I get up.
I dress.
I walk down to the cafe.
I sit and drink a cup of coffee for three hours.
And I pray.
I pray with all my soul that she will come to me.
But I know that I have driven her far away.
And so I have cursed myself to dream of her.
Every night.
For the rest of my lonely invisible life.