xmas fiction 2.
for vogueanthem , sorry for the inexplicable amount of teenage angst >_>
so it's kinda a duo of four really depressing-kinda drabble-type things. they are somehow relevant, i swear.
HE ATE MY HEART
-miraa.
1.
even though it’s too late
(four ways to lose the love of your life)
-
(i lost her on a sunny day.)
(it’s a secret how this happened, but a bit obviously glaring - one moment she was here, the next, she was gone. she said with roses and flowers and pretty letters penned by calligraphic hand that she was desperately sorry, and all you could do was look away and laugh and think [oh my god, oh my god] because you knew the moment you looked at her face you would break down into crumbling pieces of earth and then no one would ever be able to save you. so you didn’t see her, you didn’t see her in her last moments of she&you, you didn’t see how she smiled and reached her hand out to you but stopped, retreated, and instead pushed her flowing golden hair behind her ears, let it go another day. and then she walked away in her white shoes but you didn’t see any of this because you were already jammed between the cracks of time. already frozen, already dead.)
(it’s a secret how this happened, but everybody knows.)
-
no one could love her like he did. all i knew is that when i met him, he was already lonely.
“she had aphrodite in her eyes,” he would say, “and when she smiled, she held the whole world on her two lips. i felt like they would crack and crumble if i didn’t kiss them, so i did. and the taste of her just blossomed, blossomed, blossomed…”
at this point he would lean back, rest his head against the hard surface, and exhale. “i loved her. i really did love her. you believe me, don’t you?”
what could i say? “yes, yes you did.”
-
they met on the corner of 4th avenue and Washington, bright neon billboards flashing in their stunned faces. when the city wasn’t enough for them they’d dance by the river, under the stars, to hear the rush of water rumble quietly beneath their feet and to breathe in the noiseless air. he spun her round, she conceded like a ballerina, oh it was a regular variety act, so quaint yet so full of love.
on Tuesday mornings, still lost in the lumbering sleep, they could embark on vast adventures, drifting through the clouds like a pair of royal cats, except once he was struck with this feeling, this awful feeling of complete loss, so he called out desperately to her, “even though it’s too late, know that I love you,” but the moment he woke up she slipped through his fingers and fell to the dust.
and he tried to remember his dream, and he tried to remember why he was crying, but the memory of her had long escaped the clutches of his mind.
-
I realized too late, way too late, too late to in fact change it all, because once I fell asleep on the phone with him, and that changed everything. He asked me, “What are you doing? (Why are you alone?)” and I merely asked, “I don’t know (but I do know it’s because I love you)” and he merely shook his head and smiled, laughed at my child-like innocence, love in wide eyes. He held my hand when it counted, but in the end, he put it down.
(“Why? Why?” I cried out, blind.
He smiled again. “Please understand that it is because although I love you, you should never love me, monster that I am.”)
The evil night went on and on, ceased to end, and ate my heart alive, beating, pumping.
-
2.
HE’S A MONSTER, THAT BOY IS A MONSTER.
four variations on a Thursday sunset
-
Remember? Remember when we would admit such niceties as “will you be here if I come back tomorrow?” and “I will follow wherever you go”? Sure, those are generic phrases to utter, clichéd and all, but I really liked it when you’d give a soft hint of a smile, turn away, and say, Idiot, wind blowing your hair back in small waves of black. I remember looking at you and thinking, God, I’m so jealous, of everything - the way he looks impeccable, some god of the sea, porcelain skin that will never break and fingers of sterling silver. Then I’d start thinking about loving you, and get scared, because if you are the singular, raging sea, what am I? What am I in relation to you? Am I the moon, tugging at your puppet strings, or am I a boat, adrift in your waters? I was never really sure, you see - your eyes would be as deep as they claim to be, and I’d never try to dive. So instead I settled for a type of gravity - like, if you’d be the sea that always moves, I’d want to be the wind that always moves with you, or something cheesy and crazy like that, because love really is just the gravity between the sun and the stars, but since we can’t be celestial like that, we’ll be brought down to earth and live like humans do.
-
In the jail cell, you are crowded in a dark corner, concrete flaking into your once beautiful hair. You, with your angry, hooded face that says, I plan to escape from this jail cell one day, and there’s nothing you can do about it - I try not to think about it, because really, I’m not all that scared of you.
“What are you doing?”
“Nothing,” I say.
You turn away. There’s nothing else much to say.
-
on Tuesday nights he’d bring some teacake and they have philosophical discussions on right and wrong and their repercussions, but then he exclaims, “it isn’t right for me to be here!” and the conversation would explode into pieces all over again and he’d cry and cry and cry (oh, he cries divinely…)
-
- and the dreams, oh the dreams. sasuke comes back as a spiteful ghost and murders you, torments you, and when you wake in the morning, you can’t help but hate him.
(the thing about sasuke, though, is that he is so slippery he slips through the fingers of existence, and after he’s gone one starts to wonder, was this phantom ever here? did i just imagine him? how was he just a babbling brook of my imagination? nobody knew, and soon they forgot.
except - except - well, naruto’d always remember, but the memories would be sealed and in the end, they were all just a nightmare.)
-
fin.
so it's kinda a duo of four really depressing-kinda drabble-type things. they are somehow relevant, i swear.
HE ATE MY HEART
-miraa.
1.
even though it’s too late
(four ways to lose the love of your life)
-
(i lost her on a sunny day.)
(it’s a secret how this happened, but a bit obviously glaring - one moment she was here, the next, she was gone. she said with roses and flowers and pretty letters penned by calligraphic hand that she was desperately sorry, and all you could do was look away and laugh and think [oh my god, oh my god] because you knew the moment you looked at her face you would break down into crumbling pieces of earth and then no one would ever be able to save you. so you didn’t see her, you didn’t see her in her last moments of she&you, you didn’t see how she smiled and reached her hand out to you but stopped, retreated, and instead pushed her flowing golden hair behind her ears, let it go another day. and then she walked away in her white shoes but you didn’t see any of this because you were already jammed between the cracks of time. already frozen, already dead.)
(it’s a secret how this happened, but everybody knows.)
-
no one could love her like he did. all i knew is that when i met him, he was already lonely.
“she had aphrodite in her eyes,” he would say, “and when she smiled, she held the whole world on her two lips. i felt like they would crack and crumble if i didn’t kiss them, so i did. and the taste of her just blossomed, blossomed, blossomed…”
at this point he would lean back, rest his head against the hard surface, and exhale. “i loved her. i really did love her. you believe me, don’t you?”
what could i say? “yes, yes you did.”
-
they met on the corner of 4th avenue and Washington, bright neon billboards flashing in their stunned faces. when the city wasn’t enough for them they’d dance by the river, under the stars, to hear the rush of water rumble quietly beneath their feet and to breathe in the noiseless air. he spun her round, she conceded like a ballerina, oh it was a regular variety act, so quaint yet so full of love.
on Tuesday mornings, still lost in the lumbering sleep, they could embark on vast adventures, drifting through the clouds like a pair of royal cats, except once he was struck with this feeling, this awful feeling of complete loss, so he called out desperately to her, “even though it’s too late, know that I love you,” but the moment he woke up she slipped through his fingers and fell to the dust.
and he tried to remember his dream, and he tried to remember why he was crying, but the memory of her had long escaped the clutches of his mind.
-
I realized too late, way too late, too late to in fact change it all, because once I fell asleep on the phone with him, and that changed everything. He asked me, “What are you doing? (Why are you alone?)” and I merely asked, “I don’t know (but I do know it’s because I love you)” and he merely shook his head and smiled, laughed at my child-like innocence, love in wide eyes. He held my hand when it counted, but in the end, he put it down.
(“Why? Why?” I cried out, blind.
He smiled again. “Please understand that it is because although I love you, you should never love me, monster that I am.”)
The evil night went on and on, ceased to end, and ate my heart alive, beating, pumping.
-
2.
HE’S A MONSTER, THAT BOY IS A MONSTER.
four variations on a Thursday sunset
-
Remember? Remember when we would admit such niceties as “will you be here if I come back tomorrow?” and “I will follow wherever you go”? Sure, those are generic phrases to utter, clichéd and all, but I really liked it when you’d give a soft hint of a smile, turn away, and say, Idiot, wind blowing your hair back in small waves of black. I remember looking at you and thinking, God, I’m so jealous, of everything - the way he looks impeccable, some god of the sea, porcelain skin that will never break and fingers of sterling silver. Then I’d start thinking about loving you, and get scared, because if you are the singular, raging sea, what am I? What am I in relation to you? Am I the moon, tugging at your puppet strings, or am I a boat, adrift in your waters? I was never really sure, you see - your eyes would be as deep as they claim to be, and I’d never try to dive. So instead I settled for a type of gravity - like, if you’d be the sea that always moves, I’d want to be the wind that always moves with you, or something cheesy and crazy like that, because love really is just the gravity between the sun and the stars, but since we can’t be celestial like that, we’ll be brought down to earth and live like humans do.
-
In the jail cell, you are crowded in a dark corner, concrete flaking into your once beautiful hair. You, with your angry, hooded face that says, I plan to escape from this jail cell one day, and there’s nothing you can do about it - I try not to think about it, because really, I’m not all that scared of you.
“What are you doing?”
“Nothing,” I say.
You turn away. There’s nothing else much to say.
-
on Tuesday nights he’d bring some teacake and they have philosophical discussions on right and wrong and their repercussions, but then he exclaims, “it isn’t right for me to be here!” and the conversation would explode into pieces all over again and he’d cry and cry and cry (oh, he cries divinely…)
-
- and the dreams, oh the dreams. sasuke comes back as a spiteful ghost and murders you, torments you, and when you wake in the morning, you can’t help but hate him.
(the thing about sasuke, though, is that he is so slippery he slips through the fingers of existence, and after he’s gone one starts to wonder, was this phantom ever here? did i just imagine him? how was he just a babbling brook of my imagination? nobody knew, and soon they forgot.
except - except - well, naruto’d always remember, but the memories would be sealed and in the end, they were all just a nightmare.)
-
fin.