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alessia
(last edited Jun 12, 2014 10:45PM)
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Jun 12, 2014 07:50AM
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I haven't figured a real story for these characters yet, but I just wanted to share, in case anyone needs an idea. They sound like characters out of the Game of Thrones series, since they're best set in the medieval times, but actually they fit almost anywhere.♛ The youngest princess who is a bright girl and loves to read more than anything in the world besides her best friend, ends up donating both of her eyes to him after he was tortured in the name of their kingdom.
♛ A small and skinny farm-boy is forced to be the breadwinner of his family and protect seven of his siblings and his sick mother after his father was killed in his attempt to slay a dragon which had been harassing the townsfolk for years. In a sudden twist of events, he's forced into the King's army and given a task. To slay the dragon his father failed to kill.
♛ A mute girl who can see faeries and heal the wounded by singing has been captured and forced to be a slave. But before long, she is dragged into the war as a weapon against the faeries, who were the only people she could ever "talk" to. Caught between the idea of defecting and the safety of the kingdom, the girl has to decide what is right. And maybe start a whole new war in the process.
Eᴠᴇʀ Sᴏ Bʟᴜᴇ
I sigh. I’m tired. I’m so very tired. I can barely keep my legs straight as I sway in the cool, gentle breeze. So I collapse into the edge of the lake, shoving my legs under me and throwing my back onto the wet soil. My hair frays under my head and I don’t mind my messy look as much anymore. Who’s here to see the coke staining the front of my shirt anyway? Who’s here to notice my muddy jeans? Who’s here to wonder why I’m completely barefoot? (God knows where my sneakers are. Did I even put them on when I raced down to slam at Chase’s door? Did I even look at them when I chased the ambulance down the road? Did I take them off to hurl at whoever was crushing my life? I must have managed to slip on only one sneaker before Dad told me that Chase was already gone. And then I most have been too depressed to take it off and too panicked to put on the other when my Dad was wheeled away into an ambulance. I must have then taken the only one I was wearing and hurled it at Counselor Jaime—who was the first one to visit me after the death of my Dad and to tell me about Hannah. I don’t think I’m ever getting it back, especially since it flew into a police car quite a distance away. So, sorry, the other sneaker I left at home, you’re never going to see your buddy again.
And hey, you’re never going to see me again. Will you miss my foot? Or do you think it’s a little too sweaty? Oh, and I’m sorry for walking down muddy roads in the rain. I’m sorry I didn’t wash you up that other day. I’m sorry for never tying up your laces the right way. And I’m sorry for running so fast during the P.E. test. I’m really sorry. I hope you don’t hate me, because the whole world hates me already.)
The moon today is bright and the stars actually twinkle like they say they do in the stories. They remind me of Chase and his bright genuine smiles. But I wonder if the stars are really genuine, or if they’re even smiling. Maybe they’re grinning down at us, cheering as we sin and watching all the way till the day we all die. I wonder if they’re happy, watching yet another planet fall apart and crumble. (More about my fantasies later, I don’t want to creep you out just yet.) But what if they hate it? What if they’re sick and tired of standing by the sidelines as something destroys itself from the inside? What if they aren’t smiling? What if they are trying to send warnings to us oblivious people? What if they actually shine a bit brighter every time before an accident occurs and a little dimmer every time afterwards?
I know—that’s impossible. Stars are just suns, aren’t they? They aren’t living things. They don’t have any emotions. And even if they did, why would they care about the pathetic beings on a tiny planet in the solar system that isn’t even theirs? I’m just crazy and stars with good or bad intentions are children’s dreams, right? But it does make me feel a little better, whenever I think that, maybe, just maybe, something out there cares. You see, I don’t have anyone else anymore. I used to have my Dad, but he’s been something-ed. (Yeah, I don’t know what happened to him. One moment he was there, laughing and joking about this stupid TV show while sharing about his work day at the office, the next moment he was wheeled into an ambulance and became as cold as the untouched sandwich that sat on the dining table that night. He never got to finish it. Nobody did.) I used to have my best friend, Chase, too, but Chase has been moved to another town. (Orphanage complications, if you know what I mean.) Hannah, my other best friend, has been caught and locked up in the mental hospital in the city. (Apparently she was also something-ed. Nobody ever tells me what’s going on, now. Chase and Dad were the only ones, and since they’re both gone, I’m on my own—unless somebody decides to ditch me in an orphanage, which probably wouldn’t change the fact that I’m on my own.) And then there’s my neighbor’s kid, Alec, who’s at the hospital after a car crash. (Nobody told me, I found out by eavesdropping on my devastated neighbor. Apparently, Alec’s in a coma.)
But, to stay on the bright side, if they let me stay in the same high school, I have Counselor Jaime. She’ll help me. She’ll steer me back into the right way. I’m certain. I mean, that’s what high school counselors do, right? If you’re on drugs, they set you back straight. And Counselor Jaime is one of the best there ever will be. The only failure she’s ever had for the past thirteen years of counseling, is me. But in her defense, it doesn’t matter who counsels me, I’ll forever be wrong in the head. My synethesia and tetrachromancy might be part of the reason, but not everybody is convinced that colors affect somebody’s opinion of objects. (They still think I’m mentally ill for talking to or talking about objects as if they’re living things with emotional capability.)
Counselor Jaime tries her best not to make me feel pressured and tries to ease me into a ‘game’ of ‘talk to living things only’, but it’d drive me crazy keeping everything to myself. I’ve enough things bottled inside of me, already. What’s wrong, anyway? Doesn’t everybody think of crazy things? I just happen to speak of them. What’s so wrong about pretending that stars are blinking to-be life saviors? Everybody is just being biased. I’m just being hopeful. I’m just like those people stranded at sea after a ship wreck. They hope for people to save them in time, don’t they? Aren’t those fantasies too? I mean, there are dead people. Not everybody is saved on time. Some people aren’t even saved at all.
I’m just hoping that maybe one day, the stars will be able to save me. If not, maybe the kite Alec always flies whenever he gets sad. Or the grand piano Chase always plays whenever he’s free. Or the teddy bear Hannah always has with her whenever she goes to sleep—or anywhere at all. Maybe they might give me hope one day. Maybe they’ll save me from the dark pit I’m about to fall into. Maybe the stars will shine brightly one night and I’ll decide that I would stay for one more day to see them shine again. Maybe Alec’s kite will remind me of what Alec goes through, and I’ll gather the courage and bravery from that to pick up the shattered pieces of my life and piece them back together. Maybe Chase’s piano will remind me of Chase’s songs and tunes and I will decide to stay till his next recital to hear him play again. Maybe Hannah’s teddy bear will remind me of her beliefs and maybe I’ll find enough hope and faith for a better tomorrow that I’ll stay just for one more day. Maybe I need my colors. Maybe I need my swimming. Maybe I need those everyday items to remind me of what’s life supposed to be and what’s supposedly waiting for me. (I use “supposed” because nothing’s working the way I’d expected them to. Chase says it’s okay, though, he says things will take a turn for the better sooner or later. I believe him, I guess. He should know, shouldn’t he?)
Sighing, I open my eyes. I take in the smell of the forest around me and the beautiful sky above me. I love nights like these, when I creep out of the house back door and to the lake in the forest just behind my street. The whole town is in the middle of the forest anyway. These nights are the nights that I always look forward to. Besides Hannah’s stories, Chase’s music, Dad’s jokes, Counselor Jaime’s advice and Alec’s laughter, swimming in the cool lake keep me alive. I hate to think about miserable things whenever I’m enjoying my life—which is extremely rare—so I shake my head and try to clear my mind. I need something else to think of, but my mind always finds way to turn the topic to suicide. Death isn’t as bad as everybody thinks, you know. It’s called freedom, what America’s so hardcore about. It sets you free of worries and responsibilities. You won’t have to suffer anymore, and even if it means not being to have the thrill of being alive, you’re too dead to care. It’d be peace for eternity.
So I guess the miserable people who understand aren’t afraid to die, they’re afraid of what happens next. Not to them, but to their loved ones. I understand that, too. It’s what I’ve been thinking about these few hours. (The last six hours after Chase disappeared to another town, Dad died, Hannah was locked away and Alec falls into a “death-like sleep”.) What’s going to happen when Chase calls to find out that my number is no longer in use, when he races back to town, and is told that I’ve committed suicide the day after he left? What’s going to happen to Hannah when they finally let her out and she knocks at my door to find a stranger who’s taken over my house? What’s going to happen to Alec when he wakes up to hear that the girl next door drowned herself and that nobody’s going to get him some chocolate ice cream anymore? What’s going to happen to Counselor Jaime when she goes to my hideout and calls for me, only to be reminded by the silence and the cobwebs that I’m already gone?
Before I go, I have to give them something to remember me by. Chase has to be able to live in his new town with a free heart, knowing that there’s a girl in Heaven who will always listen to him whenever he plays his piano. Hannah has to be released and to be able to smile and remind herself that the girl who always protected her is still praying for her and is telling God that that she’s her little girl. Alec has to wake up and fly his kite not whenever he’s sad, but when he’s happy, and to always keep that toothy smile of his and make the world cheer for him. Counselor Jaime has to let a student who is lost in the world into her office and be able to fix their heart knowing that she’s never had a failure in her life.
I need them to know that what happens to me after this isn’t their fault.
I need them to know that no matter what happens to me, I will always love them.
I need them to know that they were perfect to me, even if they have their flaws.
I need them to know that if I die, I was happy to.
And I need them to know that they should be happy too.
Tʜᴇ Sᴛᴏʀʏ ᴏғ JᴀᴄᴋThe story of Jack is a lonely one.
Jack is a twelve year old boy who lives in the hospital. He looks like an average kid, the kind you'd walk past and not give a second thought about. If you even gave him a thought in the first place. But Jack is no ordinary kid. He's been living in this Home ever since he was eight, ever since the night he murdered his sister and his parents disowned him. He's never seen anyone else but me, Jennifer, Darcey and Louis. We're the only four people in his life that are still alive.
But every day, when I enter his room and shake his hand and tell him my name, he gives me a surprised look, as if he's never met me before. He remembers everything else--from the day he was born to the day he killed his sister--perfectly well, but the days and years after that are just a blur. Maybe it's because he's been isolated from the world for so long his mind just wants to cling on to the days where he still laughs and still talks. Maybe he doesn't want to know what's happening to him.
I would have let him out, let him meet the other kids in the Home. Let him play with them for a while, but his mental state is too severe, too "messed up" to guarantee the other kids' safety. So Jack stays in his grey world alone, until the number of his "bad days" go down. But every day is a "bad day" for him. Every day he can't help but do something wrong. And I don't even know why he can't help it. He won't tell me. He can't.
He blames it on the death of Gwyn, his sister. And he doesn't know, right now, that he's the cause of it. He doesn't know that because of him, his sister was found buried in the garden, holding a wilted flower in her hands, as cold as the makeshift gravestone he'd planted over the cardboard box he'd shoved her into.
They still haven't found out what he did to kill her, because he can't remember, or he won't tell us. But they know, it was him.
So everyday, I ask him about his day and he stammers out an answer. Then I ask him about his story again. He'll tell me, brighter this time, all about how he grew up and everything. His story ends the day before Gwyn was found dead. His story ends when he says, "Gwyn smiles, because she's happy, and I smile too". I'll tell him its a good story, and then I'll leave. His story fits what his parents had said the day they sent him here. It's the truth.
So I wonder sometimes, what made him kill Gwyn? What made him shatter his beautiful, colorful life? What made him fall into this grey world of his?
But as much as I wonder, this is my final report on Jack. His condition is going from bad to worse, and there's no sign, no sign at all, that he'd ever get better. There's no sign at all that one day he'll be safe and one day he can be released into the world. There's no sign at all that the color will ever return to his world.
So, I'm sorry, Jack.
Your lonely story ends tomorrow.
- based on the game The Company of Myself
The shrink leaves, and suddenly I don't even have a person to tell my story to anymore.
GʀᴇʏIn this world of color,
there shall be no grey.
And as I watch her smile,
I fade away.
Oh, wow. I really like your writing, especially the last two pieces in particular. Good work! :)
the last two were very...moving. I feel like I'm somehow affected by what I just read.that is true talent. I held on to every word.
amazing job
And they have such frantic, tragic endings...incredible :)
Hᴇʟᴘ MᴇDear person,
Are you a man or a woman? If you are a man, you are a woman. If you are a woman, you are a man. But that does not concern me, I need neither a man nor a woman. I only need an honest person.
Can you be honest to me? Will you, please?
I am trapped in this world alone, except for this voice in my head, who told me that I was a man when I had told him I was a woman. I beg for your help, because I cannot even tell myself I am a woman anymore. I've become so confused as to who I am. I don't have a name anymore, I don't have an age, all I know about myself is that I am the voice's "boy".
In this black and white, chessboard world, I am lost. The voice asked me if he will guide me the way home, and I said yes. But then he told me that I did not deserve it. I was scared. So I listened to him and did whatever he told me to, trying to prove myself worthy of his help. But every time I did as he said, I ended up hurting myself, even though he would say "good boy" and praise me. He once told me to throw myself into a pit of barbs and I did, piercing my every limb and bleeding to death. Every time after I woke up, the world was clearer and I felt closer to home. I knew that if I continued to follow his every word, I might just be able to escape. But I could not tolerate the pain anymore, I could not handle the pain of dying again.
So I began disobeying him, trying to find my way out on my own. And every time I followed my heart and did what was good for myself, color began to bleed into the world. I was happy. I thought that I had finally found my way home. But when the colors filled the world, they overwhelmed me, flooding into my eyes and sending me tripping over my own feet. The angry snarls from the voice did not help either. Everything I did began to drive me crazy and soon I began to walk straight into my own death.
The pain is killing me and I am not getting any closer to home. Please, I need your honesty now. Please, tell me, which is better? Which will get me home?
To live in a mad and crazy world, following what my heart tells me to do or dying again and again in a silent world where I am owned by a voice who does not know me?
Please help me.
I'm scared.
I want to go home.
2 AMIt's 2:36 AM and I'm still lying awake, because 2 AM is not for the lovers who sleep in each other's loving arms, dreaming of sunny days and smiling as the stars shine outside the window. 2 AM is for the poets and writers who can't sleep because their minds are alive and running wild with the words for someone who's not there to accept them. 2 AM is for the alcoholics drinking themselves into amnesia and the smokers who sit and watch their sorrows drift up in smoke, trying so hard to forget someone who left without a second thought. 2 AM is for the brokenhearted with tear-stained faces and glassy eyes, the ones who lose track of what is in front of them as they desperately cling on to the past, trying to re-live the memories.
2 AM is for the lonely, the ones who are so painfully in love with the loved, but are not loved in return.
RᴀɴThere is this kid in our class who we all used to laugh at. We used to call him Mommy's Boy, because he used to run home every day after the bus dropped him off at his street for months before. It wasn't the typical jog back home, the kind you get when it's been a rough day and all you want to do is fall asleep in your cozy bed. He ran like there was a pack of wolves chasing after him. Frantic, panicked, and most of all, scared. But scared of what? The bus wasn't going to eat him. So what was he running from? Us? The big bad bullies? We had no idea, but we laughed at him anyway because the way he ran and the fact that there was nothing to be scared of was funny. Ridiculous.
And we really had no idea. We didn't know that Mommy's Boy was the elder brother of a sixteen-year-old girl. We didn't know the girl, because she didn't attend our school. We didn't know that she returned home everyday sobbing and wailing. We didn't know what her classmates called her. We didn't know how ugly she thought she was. We didn't know of what she did to herself with the same old razor every night. We didn't know that all she wanted to do was vanish without a trace. We didn't know that Mommy's Boy wasn't scared of us, or the bus, or anything that could harm him. We didn't know that he was actually afraid of his sister killing herself when he was out in school. We didn't know that was why he ran home every day, making sure he wouldn't give her an extra second to kill herself.
So we were a little sad when Mommy's Boy missed school one day. Where had our daily entertainment gone? Was he so scared of us that he didn't even dare to come? Or was he just sick? That day, the class was full of laughing and rumors about why he didn't come. Mommy's Boy was the best student in our class, he would never miss a lesson or even come a second late. That's why our teacher decided to tell us. Tell us about Mommy's Boy's depressed little sister. After hearing her explanation of why he ran home every day, we stopped laughing. We stopped talking. And we just sat there in silence for a while. Because all of us knew what happened to Mommy's Boy that day. And we were truly sad, this time for him.
And we're still sad, you know. Up till now, whenever we look at "Mommy's Boy" hopping off the bus, we feel sorry for what we did and what happened. We stopped laughing. We stopped doing a lot of things. And "Mommy's Boy" stopped running.
You understood what happened in the end, right? [[ It's a true story. :( ]]
btw I think your writing should have more recognition...it's just so well-put together every time and always leaves an ending that gives a feeling of completion, but also it's very dramatic and keeps the reader thinking.that's talent
Yeah, yeah, I suppose it's a true story. I came by this internet post once: "In junior high, there was a kid on my bus who would always run home as soon as the nus [bus] dropped him off. We would laugh at him every day. We didn't know that he ran because he wanted to make sure his sister hadn't killed herself while he was gone at school.
One day, he missed school. A week after, he was back. He stopped running."
Oh wow, I love your writing. If your writing was a person I would want to marry it. I especially love your use of repetition in "Ran" when you keep saying 'we didn't know', it just makes the reader sense what was to come and I don't know. I just really love your writing.
❅║▌Aʟᴇssɪᴀ wrote: "2 AMIt's 2:36 AM and I'm still lying awake, because 2 AM is not for the lovers who sleep in each other's loving arms, dreaming of sunny days and smiling as the stars shine outside the window. 2 A..."
Oh, I saw that poem and really liked it too! :)
(view spoiler)
(view spoiler)"If you were to write a story about us, what would the title be?"
"I would never write a story about us, it would only be one word long."
"And what word would that be?"
"Screw it, we - whatever this is between us - doesn't exist. Not in the way you think it does."
"Fine, if I were to write a story about us, what do you want the title to be? Darwin and Carmen?"
"That's an Eleanor and Park rip-off."
"Then? Love Story the thousandth and first version?"
"How about Death and Cemeteries? Danger and Casualties? Deadlines and Consequences?"
"That makes it sound as if somebody dies."
"Somebody does. You do."
Darwin needs more time. He doesn't want to graduate high school and leave town for college yet. He wants to stay and win Carmen's heart. He wishes that he lives in another dimension where both Carmen and him get together like in some romance novel.
Carmen needs to get away. She's sick and tired of her home. She's sick and tired of high school and the drama and Darwin that comes with it. She wishes that Darwin would just disappear and she can leave the hell she lives in.
When they throw their pennies into the fountain, their wishes come true. But not in the way Darwin and Carmen wanted them to.
Now Darwin keeps falling in love with Carmen and every time he gets close enough, he's torn away and tossed into another dimension, where he loves Carmen still. Even if she only sees him as another person on the street, in the bus, at school. Even if she hates him and wishes he'd just die and leave her alone. And even more when she loves him back. Darwin is thrown everywhere, into the future, back in time, into other worlds.
Now Carmen sees Darwin everywhere. She can't shake him off. And she can't stop herself from falling in love with him. But however tight she clings to him, trying to save him from the danger she can't see, he's torn away from her. Every time they fall in love under a different sky, Carmen has to bury Darwin into different soil. Carmen is falling in love, but her love keeps slipping away.
Now every time Darwin wakes up, he wonders where he'll be thrown to next.
Now every time Carmen wakes up, she wonders how she'll bury him this time.
Now every time he says hello, he says goodbye, again and again.
Now every time she falls in love, her heart is broken, again and again.
"What will you name the story of us, Carmen?"
"Again and Again."
