Welcome to the Glee Angst Meme again! You know how these things work. You can come here and prompt your most angsty prompts, and write stories filling those angsty prompts to let our characters suffer
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FILLED: Wrong (1/?)
anonymous
December 10 2011, 01:24:37 UTC
1. He doesn’t know when it started. Didn’t notice it, really. Everything has been normal, day after day - school, Glee, homework, sleep. Sometimes, coffee or shopping with Tina. Talking with Kurt via Skype. Longing. Always longing.
Nothing really happened. He hasn’t been bullied or attacked. His grades are excellent as ever. He hasn’t argued with his parents or anyone else. He’s still well liked. Everything is fine. Maybe he’d become just a background voice in Glee, while Mr. Schue constantly gives solos to the new voices. Maybe his parents are even more distant. Maybe Kurt has less time now to talk and text. But these are details, nothing to lose sleep over.
So why has his world lost all its colors? And when has it happened? Have they bled out of his life little by little until nothing is left but drab grays? Everything looks like the November sky outside the kitchen window now. He has trouble remembering what it looked like in summer.
He’s calmer, too. Quieter. Nothing moves him to the core lately, or makes him dance and laugh like crazy. Nothing really hurts, either, and it’s good. No pain, no intense emotions. He’s… numb.
He misses colors sometimes. Dreams of vivid blues and greens, and whites, of explosive splashes of yellows, oranges, reds. It’s always after he talks with Kurt right before going to bed. In the morning, he wakes up longing for the colors. And then he forgets. It doesn’t happen all that often anyway. At first, in August, they were talking every night. But life is busy. Two, sometimes three times a week is plenty.
He knows that the colors in his dreams - they are Kurt. Kurt is what makes his life vivid and lush, always has. And he’ll do it again, when he comes home for Christmas. They’ve just been talking, Kurt called to say he wouldn’t be in Lima for Thanksgiving, can’t afford it. It’s fine. Christmas is close enough. They’ve planned plenty for then.
Dicing a tomato for a salad to go with the chicken he’s frying for his solitary dinner, Blaine imagines all the things they’ll get to do together once Kurt’s here. Thinking of that beautiful smile and storm-colored eyes feels like warmth, like a rainbow. A whirlwind of colors and emotions, intensity and life. It envelops him, and suddenly Blaine doesn’t feel alone and unimportant, and not good enough. It’s breathtaking, remembering what it’s like to feel, to see properly. To live. His breath hitches as he’s flooded by a rapid wave of happy anticipation.
And then, just as fast, it’s punched out of him.
Yes, he’ll have ten days of this. And then it will be gone again, for months. He’ll be back to just existing, step by step, every day worse than the last, no destination in sight, no reason to keep going. It feels like drowning now, gray waters of hopelessness flooding Blaine’s lungs, his vision blurred by them, or maybe tears, who knows. Something slips from his numb fingers and he looks at them in a daze. He’s been doing something. Cutting, yes. The tomato. He needs to cut the tomato.
The knife is still in Blaine’s right hand and he looks at it curiously, as if he’s seeing it for the first time. It’s sharp, all the knives in their kitchen are, his father takes care of that. Blaine raises it to eye level, the gleam of wet blade fascinating. Everything is dimmed and muted, only blood pounds in his ears insistently. Red; vivid red of life, pulsing, oozing.
He doesn’t really know how he does it; doesn’t even feel it. He just knows that he’s sitting on the floor now, his arms outstretched on his knees, staring at all the red around, mesmerized. It’s beautiful as it flows, intense, alive, real. He’s missed the colors so much, and it turns out they were inside him all along, he just had to let them out. Because now he can see the other ones as they flash before his eyes. So beautiful. So overwhelming.
It’s getting colder, but it’s okay. The red will warm him up. It always does in his dreams.
He doesn’t know when it started. Didn’t notice it, really. Everything has been normal, day after day - school, Glee, homework, sleep. Sometimes, coffee or shopping with Tina. Talking with Kurt via Skype. Longing. Always longing.
Nothing really happened. He hasn’t been bullied or attacked. His grades are excellent as ever. He hasn’t argued with his parents or anyone else. He’s still well liked. Everything is fine. Maybe he’d become just a background voice in Glee, while Mr. Schue constantly gives solos to the new voices. Maybe his parents are even more distant. Maybe Kurt has less time now to talk and text. But these are details, nothing to lose sleep over.
So why has his world lost all its colors? And when has it happened? Have they bled out of his life little by little until nothing is left but drab grays? Everything looks like the November sky outside the kitchen window now. He has trouble remembering what it looked like in summer.
He’s calmer, too. Quieter. Nothing moves him to the core lately, or makes him dance and laugh like crazy. Nothing really hurts, either, and it’s good. No pain, no intense emotions. He’s… numb.
He misses colors sometimes. Dreams of vivid blues and greens, and whites, of explosive splashes of yellows, oranges, reds. It’s always after he talks with Kurt right before going to bed. In the morning, he wakes up longing for the colors. And then he forgets. It doesn’t happen all that often anyway. At first, in August, they were talking every night. But life is busy. Two, sometimes three times a week is plenty.
He knows that the colors in his dreams - they are Kurt. Kurt is what makes his life vivid and lush, always has. And he’ll do it again, when he comes home for Christmas. They’ve just been talking, Kurt called to say he wouldn’t be in Lima for Thanksgiving, can’t afford it. It’s fine. Christmas is close enough. They’ve planned plenty for then.
Dicing a tomato for a salad to go with the chicken he’s frying for his solitary dinner, Blaine imagines all the things they’ll get to do together once Kurt’s here. Thinking of that beautiful smile and storm-colored eyes feels like warmth, like a rainbow. A whirlwind of colors and emotions, intensity and life. It envelops him, and suddenly Blaine doesn’t feel alone and unimportant, and not good enough. It’s breathtaking, remembering what it’s like to feel, to see properly. To live. His breath hitches as he’s flooded by a rapid wave of happy anticipation.
And then, just as fast, it’s punched out of him.
Yes, he’ll have ten days of this. And then it will be gone again, for months. He’ll be back to just existing, step by step, every day worse than the last, no destination in sight, no reason to keep going. It feels like drowning now, gray waters of hopelessness flooding Blaine’s lungs, his vision blurred by them, or maybe tears, who knows. Something slips from his numb fingers and he looks at them in a daze. He’s been doing something. Cutting, yes. The tomato. He needs to cut the tomato.
The knife is still in Blaine’s right hand and he looks at it curiously, as if he’s seeing it for the first time. It’s sharp, all the knives in their kitchen are, his father takes care of that. Blaine raises it to eye level, the gleam of wet blade fascinating. Everything is dimmed and muted, only blood pounds in his ears insistently. Red; vivid red of life, pulsing, oozing.
He doesn’t really know how he does it; doesn’t even feel it. He just knows that he’s sitting on the floor now, his arms outstretched on his knees, staring at all the red around, mesmerized. It’s beautiful as it flows, intense, alive, real. He’s missed the colors so much, and it turns out they were inside him all along, he just had to let them out. Because now he can see the other ones as they flash before his eyes. So beautiful. So overwhelming.
It’s getting colder, but it’s okay. The red will warm him up. It always does in his dreams.
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