Original story: Fractured
Where the hell did this come from?
Summary: The end we wish for isn't always the one we get.
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Fractured
This was the end. The conclusion of her story, where everything gets wrapped into a nice little package, where everything would finally make sense, but it didn’t. Her brother’s eyes were cold and terrible, unfeeling like shards of ice. Every word that spilled from his lips spoke of pain and hatred, of death, decay and rot; the young face staring back at her was a terrible paradox with those dead eyes looking at her from the face of her little brother.
His lips were pressed into a thin, mocking smile and she felt her heart crack in her chest, throbbing with pain. The betrayal burned, crawling through her veins like poison, it made her body tremble and her limbs grow rubbery and weak as her stomach coiled itself into agonizing knots, the lump in her throat growing painful to swallow around. The helplessness ate away at her, the knowledge that she could talk and talk, but her brother would never hear a word of it, not her brother; so lost in his despair, in his pain, in the welcoming fire of hate that her words would only be heard as white noise.
He was lost, so very lost and she couldn’t save him this time.
The acceptance came in ice, in the cold, detached acknowledgement that he was beyond her now, that there was no after for him. The icy fingers of betrayal burned through her heart, the frostbite eating away at her, freezing the tears before they could reach her eyes, before they could fall down her cheeks.
This was her ending. The conclusion of her story, of her battles and triumphs and loss, of the grave markers she had planted on the edge of this empty, desolate town that had forgotten its own name. This was her ending after trial after trial; this was her conclusion, her reward for coming so very far, for never faltering, for never looking back.
This was the ending she had fought so very hard for.
Looking into the eyes of her little brother, she only found the monster grinning back at her. She raised the pistol and pulling back the hammer she felt one tear escape its icy prison, carving a wet, clean path down her dirty, blood-stained face and squeezed the trigger. The shots echoed like thunder and the silence fell around her like rain as the dull, broken sound of her brother’s body dropped lifelessly to the floor.
The blood tasted like tears and her victory felt like the hollow bones of defeat.
This was her happy ending, the conclusion she had fought, cried and bled for and as she stood over her brother’s corpse, with his bitter blood fractured like red-stained glass across her face she had never imagined the end coming to this.
It all tasted so dreadfully bitter.
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If anyone actually reads my journal, I would love some feedback.
Summary: The end we wish for isn't always the one we get.
.
Fractured
This was the end. The conclusion of her story, where everything gets wrapped into a nice little package, where everything would finally make sense, but it didn’t. Her brother’s eyes were cold and terrible, unfeeling like shards of ice. Every word that spilled from his lips spoke of pain and hatred, of death, decay and rot; the young face staring back at her was a terrible paradox with those dead eyes looking at her from the face of her little brother.
His lips were pressed into a thin, mocking smile and she felt her heart crack in her chest, throbbing with pain. The betrayal burned, crawling through her veins like poison, it made her body tremble and her limbs grow rubbery and weak as her stomach coiled itself into agonizing knots, the lump in her throat growing painful to swallow around. The helplessness ate away at her, the knowledge that she could talk and talk, but her brother would never hear a word of it, not her brother; so lost in his despair, in his pain, in the welcoming fire of hate that her words would only be heard as white noise.
He was lost, so very lost and she couldn’t save him this time.
The acceptance came in ice, in the cold, detached acknowledgement that he was beyond her now, that there was no after for him. The icy fingers of betrayal burned through her heart, the frostbite eating away at her, freezing the tears before they could reach her eyes, before they could fall down her cheeks.
This was her ending. The conclusion of her story, of her battles and triumphs and loss, of the grave markers she had planted on the edge of this empty, desolate town that had forgotten its own name. This was her ending after trial after trial; this was her conclusion, her reward for coming so very far, for never faltering, for never looking back.
This was the ending she had fought so very hard for.
Looking into the eyes of her little brother, she only found the monster grinning back at her. She raised the pistol and pulling back the hammer she felt one tear escape its icy prison, carving a wet, clean path down her dirty, blood-stained face and squeezed the trigger. The shots echoed like thunder and the silence fell around her like rain as the dull, broken sound of her brother’s body dropped lifelessly to the floor.
The blood tasted like tears and her victory felt like the hollow bones of defeat.
This was her happy ending, the conclusion she had fought, cried and bled for and as she stood over her brother’s corpse, with his bitter blood fractured like red-stained glass across her face she had never imagined the end coming to this.
It all tasted so dreadfully bitter.
.
If anyone actually reads my journal, I would love some feedback.