Everything seemed wrong at that moment, nothing was going the way he was promised, the way he expected. The way it should've been going. What was he supposed to do now? Fight them off by himself? He couldn't do it alone, no one could. They couldn't even do it as a whole together, every one of them in their glorious power uniting and they still couldn't get it right. He broke the pen in his hand, ink droplets flying onto the piece of his scribbled on parchment and to his bare chest, staining it with the black liquid. He yelled out of frustration and threw the broken pieces of plastic into the darkness that was fighting to consume the flickering light around him. He huddled closer to it, though the light didn't bring him the warmth and joy he had once obtained from it. A time not so long ago when he trusted that the plan for him would stay on it's course.
He put his wide hands on his furrowed brow, pressing down as if it would push the doubts and darkness out of his mind and the grand ebony wings on his back ruffled with irritation. He didn't know how to do it anymore, he didn't understand what he should be doing differently. The tortured whispering started again and he gripped his skull, wishing he could tear them out and burn them in the flickering candle. He couldn't go out like the others, he had a mission to complete. But the mission was pointless now.
"Why are you still trying?" Something hissed and the angel flinched. It had been the first time the whispers had actually spoken something other than nonsense. He slammed his fist on the desk, clenching it until his knuckles were white and his short nails were digging into the flesh of his palm.
"They left without you," a more high pitched voice said and it reminded him of a child.
"Enough!" He yelled out so that even the voices deep inside his mind could hear him but he doubted they would stop no matter how loud he wanted to yell.
"You remember," The first voice hissed further, it reminded him of a snake talking, the being's forked tongue creating a slight lisp in his poison words.
"Stop!" The angel screamed, digging his nails into his flesh, wanting so badly to rip out the unknown voices.
"You remember how they looked," a new third voice continued, this one sounding more like nails running down a chalkboard. Before the angel could put up his mental shields the images ran in front of his eyes, his supreme power unable to fight off the dark twisting clouds of black that slunked closer to his being. The candle flickered violently, its warm light threatening to end it's existence as the shadows consumed it's pale contrast hungrily.
His brothers flashed before his eyes. Not in all their endless glory like he chose to remember them, but in their final days, the sky blood red and their wings tattered pieces, ghosts of what the angelic beings had once been. The oldest one, Gabriel, his ink black hair in his hands and the wrists that supported them bloody with the chains that secured him to the dry and rotting ground. He was crying, howling out of gripping pain, but the tears were crimson and stained his once beautiful face that now twisted with misfortune. His shredded wings hung limply, their dingy feathers broken and flapping awkwardly. wishing to fly up into the bleeding heavens just to get away from the agonizing hell.
His younger brother was in a similar shape, his ankles and wrists chained to the barren ground, his torn wings flapping in horror, but his hands weren't full of hair like the brother before him, but gripping his face. They were bent back, broken, each finger twisting sickeningly into a different direction, but they gripped his face, the knuckles turning white with the force he put behind them. "Take me!" He screamed to the bloody skies, though his face was covered.
Michelangelo's heart broke with the images and he cried out. Somewhere in the back of his mind, somewhere he couldn't reach but was conscience of, told him that it wasn't real. That his brothers weren't actually suffering. None of it had actually happened, but right as he was about to acknowledge it, the images pressed back down on him. His brother's screams were louder now, calling out to him.
"You know you did this to them," the hissing whispered again and every muscle in the angel's body tensed with the need to tear the evil out of his body.
"I didn't!" He screamed, desperately trying to convince himself, but in his heart he knew it was true.
"You did." The child's whisper acknowledged. Michelangelo shook his head violently, the image of his screeching brothers melting away. The candle seemed dimmer though the flame seemed the same size and all the angel could think is how much he wished it were the size of the sun. Of heaven itself because he needed the light, the light was his strength.
"You're the one who should be dead!" The third voice accused loudly and it rose goosebumps on his golden tanned skin. Michelangelo pulled on his thick white curls, tugging on the roots, wishing a passage way into his brain to dig out the demons that lived inside the various cracks and tunnels.
"I know!" He screamed, the tears pouring down his face. "I know I'm the one who should be dead." he whispered to himself. The candle flickered again. but he didn't notice this time. The darkness was getting inkier, it was tainting the air he was breathing.
"Why?" He asked, tilting his head up to where he knew the sky was though he couldn't see it. "Why have you taken so many of my people and left me here?" He wasn't talking to the voices anymore. But to his Father. "Why have you left me here, left me hear with torture? Why don't you care about me anymore." The last wasn't a question but a statement the angel had developed to be true in his mind. He knew it was true, he didn't need conformation from the man himself.
With that, the struggling light of the candle snuffed out, submerging the angel to the craving beasts, the inky blackness clawing at his skin as soon as it reached it, stealing the heavenly light that rested in his bones. It devoured him, selfishly, ravenously consumed him. Tearing his wings and seeping into his lungs through his breath.
The angel couldn't scream, he choked on the evil. He couldn't pray, the voices in his head suffocated his thoughts. He couldn't fight, the demons were holding down his arms.
But worse than all of that, the angel had allowed himself into the darkness. He had allowed himself to be eaten alive by the demons that had lurked inside of him.
He had chosen not to be saved. The guilt, the want, the self hate. He had allowed it to eat him alive.
And no one came to save him as he drowned in the darkness, because he had pushed everyone that had ever cared about him into the flames.
Sunday, September 25, 2011
Friday, September 23, 2011
Colors of a kiss.
She sat there, alone like she always was, painting. She painted in brilliant colors, reds and yellows and blues, colors she couldn't see but she could tell they were strong, they reflected her mood even though all she could see was their shades. Everyone always felt sorry for her, sorry that she couldn't see the colors, they said she couldn't appreciate life in the proper way without the color. But, really, she thought, she just had a different view. Another perspective that she enjoyed more than not, yes it was frustrating at times when she couldn't match her clothes or couldn't identify something, but it was all worth it to her. She could see everything in it's raw nature, color not distracting from it's identity. She was never fooled when it came to people, she could see right through their distractions, their efforts to try and draw the attention to somewhere else on their body only made her annoyed.
Yes, it was final in her head that she liked being color blind, though she had hated herself for many years for seeing that way though there was nothing she or anyone else could do about it. When she was younger she disliked herself for being different and she kept it a secret, trying so hard to pretend like she could identify the colors of the flowers on a friends shirt, she thought people would dismiss her for her "deformity". Older, at 19 years old she knew much different than that, she loved being different. It helped her keep herself in check.
She leaned away from the painting, satisfied with her work, and cleaned off the paintbrushes. The way the shades mixed and swirled together in the sink made her smile, you didn't see dark and light shades mix together very often in nature. She threw her dark hair up in a ponytail, determined to walk down to the coffee shop down the street, not much caring about the paint stains on her cargo pants or black t-shirt.
The streets were one of her favorite places, living downtown in Chicago she got to see a multitude of different kinds of people. Some tall and full of wonder, others short and filled to the brim with busy things to do. She never could understand that, being busy. How could anyone be busy when there were so many beautiful things to look at, so many different things to experience? There couldn't be that much to do without stopping for a moment and enjoying life, taking in the things around you with a smile. She liked the cars too, she liked their sleek designs as they cruised down the busy streets. Driving had always been one of her favorite things to do, though she couldn't afford a car at the moment. That was ok with her though, she liked walking and riding her beach cruiser bicycle.
The coffee shop had the usual low lighting and soft music playing, the smell of the premium roasts in all different flavors mixing into one big caffeinated heaven and Addie couldn't help but smile when she arrived. Todd was working today, a boy just a few years older than her, he was the one that usually made her coffee and they had gotten to know each other in a friend basis. They had gone to a few bands together before, but nothing too serious had ever developed between them.
"Todd!" Addie greeted with her big smile, and Todd returned it, his whole body language seeming to cheer up with the sight of her.
"Addie!" He said back, "It's been a while since you've been in!" Addie shook her head with a smile.
"Actually, it's been a while since you've been in! I was in here yesterday evening!" She said, approaching the counter and looking over the familiar chalkboard menu.
"Ah, that's true I guess," Todd said with a nod. "Why do you look at that?" He asked, motioning to the menu, "I think you have everything memorized on it." She shrugged her shoulders, running over the swirly script again.
"I look at it because I don't want to miss something if there's something new." She said with her warm grin. Addie had always been eternally happy it seemed to Todd. Nothing ever effected her, or phased her the way normal things should've. She was a true optimist, and even though she was beautiful and easy to talk to he had always found that attribute about her slightly aggravating. There was so much in the world to be upset about.
"Todd, there's a new shipment in the back-" A few things happened at once when this new employee walked out from the storage room, each one making Addie flinch and forget why exactly she was in the coffee shop in the first place, considering the only thing she was there for now was him. Color smeared into her vision as he walked into the room, it was surrounding him, she could see the tan color of his skin and the inky colors that laced it, telling stories in the middle of his flesh. She could see his brilliant blue eyes and his shiny brown hair. Finally she could recognize the coffee shops green staff shirts, and his electric blue gauges. Not only was this new stranger in color though, but everything behind him was smeared in it, he was leaving a trail behind him and she realized for the first time that the storage room had a red door, not a purple one like she thought. The coffee beans he was carrying were a rich brown, not a shiny black like she had always seen. Everything he touched was leaving a world of color around her and she felt like shouting with joy.
She was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen in that moment, and he dropped the beans in his hands out of surprise. She had a light around her, something he had never seen before, it gave off a warmth, some kind of hope that tickled inside of his veins and couldn't help but expose itself as a smile on his face. He had never felt so light in his life before, he felt weightless, as if he could float to the heavens, everything was alright in that moment. Nothing to be sad about or feel guilty over- nothing to regret. Everything had been worth it for that moment to be completely weightless.
"Hi." He spluttered out. He was shy, he always had been. But he couldn't deny himself this opportunity. He had never been able to map out anything he wanted to do with his life, until now. Suddenly there were plans he would've never thought of himself making, ideas, a future, everything was unfolding around this girl. He wanted her. No, he needed her. She was a part of his life now and she didn't even know it.
As he spoke the color traveled faster, everything was decorated with it now, her whole world completely painted. But that wasn't the point, no, the point was him. She didn't care about the color, she cared about the fact that a stranger had painted her whole world, a world she could only see in greys and blacks, he had come and changed it all with just a word. "Hi," she said back, tongue tied and blushing for the first time in her life.
"D-Do you want to go get some coffee?" he asked. But she didn't want to get coffee. She didn't want to stay anywhere near here. She wanted to run, with him. Far away so that it was just him and her. He was all that mattered, nothing else was worth it. Just the magnetic draw she felt to him and she walked closer to the counter, unable to take her eyes off of him. He couldn't take his genuine blue eyes off of her either.
"Drew," he could hear Todd scolding him somewhere off in the distance, he didn't mind though. He would quit if he had to. He would do anything just to have a moment with her. No, but a moment wasn't enough. He wanted a day, a year. No. Still not good enough. He wanted a lifetime. Just with her.
"No," she said to answer his question. "No, I don't need coffee. Do you want to go somewhere? Somewhere real?" Drew had to blink. Was he dreaming? Was this something he was making up in his head, the last straw of his sanity playing out into an unrealistic setting, unraveling into his most wanted desire?
"Yes." Drew agreed. He would've agreed anyway. She could've asked him to take his own life and he would've gladly agreed just to see the answering smile he got back in return.
"Todd," He said, unable to take his eyes off her beautiful violet ones. They were peculiar, a color he had never seen before. "Todd, i have to go." Todd scowled.
"Drew-" he started, but he waved a hand to dismiss him
"No, no. I quit if that's what it means. But I have to go." It was final. He threw off his apron and grabbed her hand, it molded perfectly with his, eager even. Nothing had ever felt so right.
They made it into the Chicago streets and Addie couldn't even keep it inside of her. She felt electric, everything seemed new, fresh, and she wanted to embrace every second of it. Quickly, she wanted to take it all in. Drew must've been thinking the same thing, because with the new colors dancing around her he grabbed her face with his cool wide hands, his beautiful face just inches from hers. His breath, the one that had brought color to her world, spilled over her face and her skin became more alive with every particle that touched it.
He placed his lips against hers, and the light radiating from her poured inside of him. He could feel his heart for the first time, thudding and pulsing, warmth flooded his veins, a new sensation. He felt alive. He felt like he had finally found his oxygen, finally he could breathe. Finally, he was warm. Finally there was meaning to his cold life. He would be damned to ever let her go, he vowed that he never would.
Her lips fit perfectly into the gap of his. His warm breath filled her mouth and colors exploded behind her eyelids, her body shivered with the new sensation. She could see now, everything was in color. She was in color. He had made her beautiful in that second. He had made her alive in that moment. All the securities, the doubts, all were vanquished when he kissed her. She was finally protected. She was finally safe. Home. And she would never let him go. She would never go back to that gray world she had lived so long inside of, never go back to what once was, all she wanted now was him. In his entirety. In his whole. She wanted him. needed him. And for a moment she was scared to death. Scared because nothing had ever been as important to her as him. Nothing would ever compare again.
"I'm never gonna let you go." He said, his blue eyes meeting with her violet ones.
"I would never let you." She said back.
Yes, it was final in her head that she liked being color blind, though she had hated herself for many years for seeing that way though there was nothing she or anyone else could do about it. When she was younger she disliked herself for being different and she kept it a secret, trying so hard to pretend like she could identify the colors of the flowers on a friends shirt, she thought people would dismiss her for her "deformity". Older, at 19 years old she knew much different than that, she loved being different. It helped her keep herself in check.
She leaned away from the painting, satisfied with her work, and cleaned off the paintbrushes. The way the shades mixed and swirled together in the sink made her smile, you didn't see dark and light shades mix together very often in nature. She threw her dark hair up in a ponytail, determined to walk down to the coffee shop down the street, not much caring about the paint stains on her cargo pants or black t-shirt.
The streets were one of her favorite places, living downtown in Chicago she got to see a multitude of different kinds of people. Some tall and full of wonder, others short and filled to the brim with busy things to do. She never could understand that, being busy. How could anyone be busy when there were so many beautiful things to look at, so many different things to experience? There couldn't be that much to do without stopping for a moment and enjoying life, taking in the things around you with a smile. She liked the cars too, she liked their sleek designs as they cruised down the busy streets. Driving had always been one of her favorite things to do, though she couldn't afford a car at the moment. That was ok with her though, she liked walking and riding her beach cruiser bicycle.
The coffee shop had the usual low lighting and soft music playing, the smell of the premium roasts in all different flavors mixing into one big caffeinated heaven and Addie couldn't help but smile when she arrived. Todd was working today, a boy just a few years older than her, he was the one that usually made her coffee and they had gotten to know each other in a friend basis. They had gone to a few bands together before, but nothing too serious had ever developed between them.
"Todd!" Addie greeted with her big smile, and Todd returned it, his whole body language seeming to cheer up with the sight of her.
"Addie!" He said back, "It's been a while since you've been in!" Addie shook her head with a smile.
"Actually, it's been a while since you've been in! I was in here yesterday evening!" She said, approaching the counter and looking over the familiar chalkboard menu.
"Ah, that's true I guess," Todd said with a nod. "Why do you look at that?" He asked, motioning to the menu, "I think you have everything memorized on it." She shrugged her shoulders, running over the swirly script again.
"I look at it because I don't want to miss something if there's something new." She said with her warm grin. Addie had always been eternally happy it seemed to Todd. Nothing ever effected her, or phased her the way normal things should've. She was a true optimist, and even though she was beautiful and easy to talk to he had always found that attribute about her slightly aggravating. There was so much in the world to be upset about.
"Todd, there's a new shipment in the back-" A few things happened at once when this new employee walked out from the storage room, each one making Addie flinch and forget why exactly she was in the coffee shop in the first place, considering the only thing she was there for now was him. Color smeared into her vision as he walked into the room, it was surrounding him, she could see the tan color of his skin and the inky colors that laced it, telling stories in the middle of his flesh. She could see his brilliant blue eyes and his shiny brown hair. Finally she could recognize the coffee shops green staff shirts, and his electric blue gauges. Not only was this new stranger in color though, but everything behind him was smeared in it, he was leaving a trail behind him and she realized for the first time that the storage room had a red door, not a purple one like she thought. The coffee beans he was carrying were a rich brown, not a shiny black like she had always seen. Everything he touched was leaving a world of color around her and she felt like shouting with joy.
She was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen in that moment, and he dropped the beans in his hands out of surprise. She had a light around her, something he had never seen before, it gave off a warmth, some kind of hope that tickled inside of his veins and couldn't help but expose itself as a smile on his face. He had never felt so light in his life before, he felt weightless, as if he could float to the heavens, everything was alright in that moment. Nothing to be sad about or feel guilty over- nothing to regret. Everything had been worth it for that moment to be completely weightless.
"Hi." He spluttered out. He was shy, he always had been. But he couldn't deny himself this opportunity. He had never been able to map out anything he wanted to do with his life, until now. Suddenly there were plans he would've never thought of himself making, ideas, a future, everything was unfolding around this girl. He wanted her. No, he needed her. She was a part of his life now and she didn't even know it.
As he spoke the color traveled faster, everything was decorated with it now, her whole world completely painted. But that wasn't the point, no, the point was him. She didn't care about the color, she cared about the fact that a stranger had painted her whole world, a world she could only see in greys and blacks, he had come and changed it all with just a word. "Hi," she said back, tongue tied and blushing for the first time in her life.
"D-Do you want to go get some coffee?" he asked. But she didn't want to get coffee. She didn't want to stay anywhere near here. She wanted to run, with him. Far away so that it was just him and her. He was all that mattered, nothing else was worth it. Just the magnetic draw she felt to him and she walked closer to the counter, unable to take her eyes off of him. He couldn't take his genuine blue eyes off of her either.
"Drew," he could hear Todd scolding him somewhere off in the distance, he didn't mind though. He would quit if he had to. He would do anything just to have a moment with her. No, but a moment wasn't enough. He wanted a day, a year. No. Still not good enough. He wanted a lifetime. Just with her.
"No," she said to answer his question. "No, I don't need coffee. Do you want to go somewhere? Somewhere real?" Drew had to blink. Was he dreaming? Was this something he was making up in his head, the last straw of his sanity playing out into an unrealistic setting, unraveling into his most wanted desire?
"Yes." Drew agreed. He would've agreed anyway. She could've asked him to take his own life and he would've gladly agreed just to see the answering smile he got back in return.
"Todd," He said, unable to take his eyes off her beautiful violet ones. They were peculiar, a color he had never seen before. "Todd, i have to go." Todd scowled.
"Drew-" he started, but he waved a hand to dismiss him
"No, no. I quit if that's what it means. But I have to go." It was final. He threw off his apron and grabbed her hand, it molded perfectly with his, eager even. Nothing had ever felt so right.
They made it into the Chicago streets and Addie couldn't even keep it inside of her. She felt electric, everything seemed new, fresh, and she wanted to embrace every second of it. Quickly, she wanted to take it all in. Drew must've been thinking the same thing, because with the new colors dancing around her he grabbed her face with his cool wide hands, his beautiful face just inches from hers. His breath, the one that had brought color to her world, spilled over her face and her skin became more alive with every particle that touched it.
He placed his lips against hers, and the light radiating from her poured inside of him. He could feel his heart for the first time, thudding and pulsing, warmth flooded his veins, a new sensation. He felt alive. He felt like he had finally found his oxygen, finally he could breathe. Finally, he was warm. Finally there was meaning to his cold life. He would be damned to ever let her go, he vowed that he never would.
Her lips fit perfectly into the gap of his. His warm breath filled her mouth and colors exploded behind her eyelids, her body shivered with the new sensation. She could see now, everything was in color. She was in color. He had made her beautiful in that second. He had made her alive in that moment. All the securities, the doubts, all were vanquished when he kissed her. She was finally protected. She was finally safe. Home. And she would never let him go. She would never go back to that gray world she had lived so long inside of, never go back to what once was, all she wanted now was him. In his entirety. In his whole. She wanted him. needed him. And for a moment she was scared to death. Scared because nothing had ever been as important to her as him. Nothing would ever compare again.
"I'm never gonna let you go." He said, his blue eyes meeting with her violet ones.
"I would never let you." She said back.
Monday, September 19, 2011
Miss Murder
There she was, standing there in all of her glory, and Marcus Rent could do nothing but take in a shallow breath of satisfaction. He had been plotting and racing around for 3 years for this moment, staggering death rates climbing, newspapers chewing him up and spitting him out half digested, losing countless hours of sleep and possibly a few portions of his mind, just for this moment. The moment when all of that would be worth it. He had been doing this alone for a while now, everyone had given up. For what? To live in fear of this monster- no, he corrected himself, not a monster. A human being. Though she had been built up to a monster in his mind. He wished idly that she looked like one, wished she looked as terrifying as the portrait she displayed to the people.
But if he was being truthful to himself, like he always tried to be, she very well could've been the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen in his whole 26 years of life.
"You stand there as if you're shocked to see me," She said in her perfectly toned voice, her cherry lips curved up into a smirk that seemed to be more a tone of voice than an expression. Marcus ran his fingers through his curly copper hair, not out of nervousness but out of relief, conversation always made things more comfortable for him.
"Not shocked," he said with a slight shake of his angled jaw,"I was expecting you, I just thought your schedule would be booked for quite some time." She let out a laugh, not a twisted one like he would've expected but something much more lovely. Like wind chimes clinking together in a soft summer breeze- he had to stop that. Stop analyzing everything she did, he would get caught up in her if he did, though he wanted so badly to hate her, to make her out as the terrifying threat she was, but her beauty was divine and he was having more than a difficult time rationalizing his emotions.
"Oh darling, I do not run on schedules, simply on my heartbeats and emotion." She tousled her golden hair, but Marcus couldn't remove his eyes from her brilliant green ones.
"That's dangerous, you know." Marcus said while turning to the kitchen, heading for the half filled bottle of scotch resting on the messy counter. "Running off emotions."
"Mmm, Danger is my middle name. Besides, why deny yourself of what you want?" She asked, laying herself across the couch as if she'd lived there her whole life. She looked like something out of a comic book, but in a sophisticated manner, it had to do something with the fishnet tights, Marcus noted idly, trying not to stare at her black lace corset.
"Because sometimes it's not always best. In addition, though, it can hurt people, not that you care much about that." Marcus said, not concerned with offending her as he dropped the ice into his mug. He had always been perturbed that he couldn't drink his expensive alcohol out of a proper glass, but money had been needed in other areas regarding his search.
"See, that's the problem with you mundanes, you think you have to make everyone around you happy when all you really need is to just think about yourself. People are too concerned with everyone else. Everyone would be much much happier if they put themselves first." She said, lifting her tauntingly long legs so they rested on the wall, her blonde curls resting on the floor and her green eyes resting on her black nails as if she was the most bored she had ever been in her life.
Marcus poured his drink and walked back into the living room, surveying the mysterious women with curious eyes, the sound of his familiar drink clinking in his hand. She tilted her head so she could observe him more realistically, her emerald eyes piercing through him like a dagger though she seemed to have no hostility toward him at all. "You're a terrible host." She stated, indifferent.
"Is that so?" Marcus asked, leaning against the wall and taking a sip out of his mug. He recalled his mother calling him an alcoholic just a few months before, and rejected the idea. The booze helped him think more solidly, alcoholics needed the drink to forget.
"It is," she said, answering his question while looking at the glass casings he had that held her things. "If you were a good one, you would've offered me a drink." Marcus found himself smirking at that.
"You wouldn't have taken it," he said and took another gulp out of his cup. It all seemed too casual to him, but yet in a sick kind of way he enjoyed the company.
"You still should've offered." She countered, but still there was no sign of hostility or anger in her voice.
"Excuse me," he said, pardoning himself for his bad behavior with a grin, "I'll be sure to offer you one next time." She chuckled at that, both knowing there would be no next time. With one of her fish-netted legs she tipped the clock on the wall so that it's rectangular shape hit the shelf where the glass casings belonged. Marcus watched out of pure fascination as the glass boxes filled with various weapons toppled on to each other, some cracking, others withstanding the blows completely, until the last one dropped off the shelf. It crashed to the floor, lining the dark hard wood and shag rug with pointed shards, deadly little weapons, each one something she could no undoubtedly destroy him with.
But it wasn't the glass she had been wanting, it was the small piece of cloth that rested in the middle of the shattered glass that she was after. She moved the sharp pieces aside and picked up the white cloth gingerly, the lipstick stain still as red as the day she'd put it there. Her thin fingers ran over it lightly, cherishing the way the cloth felt. She kissed it again, her lips making the already perfect imprint just a few shades darker.
"Do you know what this is?" she asked quietly, her voice low and full of conflict. Emotion. Something he didn't think he would see from her.
"Evidence. From a crime scene." He remembered that crime scene. It was like it was yesterday, the crime scene that had haunted his dreams for years. The only one thing that had ever really disturbed him from his work. He could remember every second he was there, every emotion he felt within those seconds. The dreams had helped him with that, but more so than any of that he remembered the twisting in his stomach. He had never thought his stomach could twist so absurdly, so painfully, from just a sight.
He had opened the door, he wasn't the first one there, but he was one of them, he remembered seeing the white wall, spattered with the crimson liquid, his shoe dipping into it as soon as he opened the door. It was everywhere. A thin layer of blood covered every ounce of the wood floor. The blood wasn't even the worst part though, it was the temperature. The room itself had been icy cold, enough to raise goosebumps on his covered arms, but the floor was warm with the sticky liquid. Fresh, as if the body hadn't been torn apart 5 minutes before he walked in. The man was there, in the middle of the crimson pond, he looked as though he was floating though it was just an illusion to the mind, in a perfect stillness. A stillness you wouldn't have even been able to capture in a photograph. And even though all the gore around him seemed straight out of a horror film Marcus had never seen anyone look so peaceful. The stillness and the peacefulness of the handsome man had all about put Marcus into a coma he was so frightened. He was perfectly in tact, from the front, as if he was alive, not a scratch to bear another witness. But later the investigators had found that the line of his spine, all the way from his neck to the start of his pelvis, he been cut. Down the center. That's what had haunted him all those years, the stillness and the illusion that that man had never been broken into, never been torn apart in the first place. And then there was the kiss stain on that man's collar.
"Evidence?" she asked, as her thumb ran over a blood drop stain in the cloth. "And what did they find with this evidence?" The hair on Marcus' arm rose ever so slightly and he new he was heading into stormy weather, stormy weather with the most dangerous woman the world had ever seen.
"They found nothing. They couldn't get a match to any kind of DNA." Marcus informed her indifferently. As if the case hadn't affected him, as if he had just been telling another scientist the results.
"I wouldn't call that evidence, then." She sounded more calm, but there was an underlying tone that still kept Marcus on his toes. "You know, people don't understand me, Marcus." She said, starting up a new conversation as she twisted around on the couch, now sitting upright, her legs crossed as if she was trying to be polite.
"You are quite mysterious," Marcus agreed, taking a few more sips from his cup. If he waited much longer to solve this, he would end up just like another lily pad floating in a deadly pool.
"People only see what I've done, they think of me as some kind of monster." she explained, and she looked the most beautiful at that second. She looked deadly, mysterious, but poised and elegant. If Marcus was a different man, not so set on his work, he would've gladly melted at her feet.
"Do you see what you've done?" He asked her, setting his finished mug down on the small coffee table. The burn of the alcohol was helping his mind stay sharp. Keeping him awake in this deadly nightmare.
"Of course I have. I'm aware of my actions. I'm aware it's against the law. They were all terribly rotten people though, you see. I'm making the world a better place because of it." She explained, twisting a butterfly knife around in her fingers that she had drew from somewhere inside of her lace.
"Terrible?" Marcus asked, interested in this new part of her ever unfolding story. This was something that had not shown up in her victim's files.
"Oh yes." She said, flipping the butterfly knife faster now, a distraction her emerald eyes were ravishing in. "One man was a thief, he would seduce single women then take all their money, leaving them to starve. Some had children. Another was just an evil man, filled with hate for the world, he made everyone around him miserable to the point where some committed suicide. Oh, oh, but my favorite was that man--the big one, mm, what's his name-?" she asked him, her emerald eyes darting to his hazel ones for half a second then returning to the knife.
"Charles Montgomery." Marcus finished, remembering that bloody mess as well.
"Mhmm," she agreed, "he was so afraid of me." The smirk returned to her lips and it sent a chill down Marcus' spine. "He beat women, hired cheap prostitutes-killed a few of them because they were going to black mail him-"
"He killed a few of them?" Marcus asked, surprise showing a little too boldly in his features. She nodded quickly, the knife was spinning in her hands even faster now, the tricks becoming more complex and dangerous.
"The things you don't know about some of you people's politicians is amazing." She murmured, only slightly interested. There was a silence between them, a silence Marcus took to gather some of his thoughts, and what he came up with was simply that he was astounded with this woman. She wasn't a monster, simply someone who was living by her own rules, someone going by what she thought was just. A murderer, of course, but she seemed content with her self, proud, even. She didn't think she was a bad guy.
"I see your point of view," Marcus acknowledged, "But I don't understand the gore." She laughed at that, wholeheartedly with genuine humor, exposing her perfect white teeth. Then like that, the knife flew out of her hand and into the wall next to Marcus' face with a flash of silver. Not an inch away from his ear. Marcus tried to keep calm at that, flexing his jaw and keeping his breathing even, fear was only something that got you in trouble. She rose up from the couch then and walked over to him, her high heels carrying her as if she weighed nothing, flawlessly as if she was walking on some sort of black cloud.
She stopped when her face was just inches away from Marcus' her hand over the handle of the knife. She moved in closer still, her lips just inches from his and her eyes no longer meeting his own but mapping his face as if she wanted to remember him forever. "I like blood," she said in a whisper, her eyes meeting his once again, the words sent a shiver down his spine, and the way she looked at him didn't make him feel at ease. "I like the color, the way something so simple-a liquid can control something so great like a life. Did you ever think about the fact that without the liquid concoction your body makes up so perfectly beneath your veins that you would die? And just spilling it can take away your life...fascinating really." Marcus couldn't find it in himself to react, though his composure was perfect his mind was racing. She was going to kill him, he knew it.
"Are you going to kill me?" he found himself asking before he could control the words. They had no emotion. He stated it more like a fact than a question. She yanked the knife out of the wall with a flick of her wrist then looked back at him, confusion strong in her eyes and a slight frown on her lips.
"Of course not." she said as if he was some kind of ridiculous, as if she had never harmed a man in her life. "My killings are personal...justified. Killing such an attractive, intelligent creature like you would be wrong." Marcus found himself chuckling at that, relief washing down every part of his body, because he believed her. And even beyond that..he felt comfortable with her.
"I came here to see you." She clarified, stroking his face with one of her thin fingers.
"Why?" Marcus asked with a scoff, clearly unimpressed with himself.
"Because you have a fascination for me. I thought-no. Never mind." Marcus looked at her, taken aback. Did, did she want some kind of romantic encounter with him? Was the mistress of death...lonely?
"What did you think?" He asked, clenching his jaw, unsure of what he wanted the answer to be.
"I thought you, you of all people would have the guts." she said, looking lost, vulnerable even.
"Had the guts to what?" He asked, leaning into her even though his heart screamed not to, but she was pulling away.
"To get rid of me. I thought, well. I came here. I came here to die, Marcus." That turned everything Marcus had ever thought about this day around. This woman had taken so many lives, but yet right in that moment the only one he valued was hers. She was too cunning, too brilliant to waste away under the dirt like her victims. She deserved it, yes, but she was much too smart to allow that to happen to herself.
"Why on earth would you want to do that?" he asked, wanting so badly to reach out and touch her porcelain skin, to feel that she was real because for so long she had just been a murderer in the paper, a topic to talk about, a story to scare children with.
"I don't belong here, you see." She was flipping the knife around again, avoiding his eyes. "I belong where the dead are. I belong in a life where there is no judgement, only the souls of the forgotten. I've shared my experiences, I've had my fun, but I'm done now. There's nothing left to hold here. But, you see, I admire myself much too much to take my own life, which is why I'm giving it to you." And with that, she handed the butterfly knife over to him. Marcus took it, his well worked hands shaking ever so slightly. For most of his career he had hunted down this woman, studied how she worked, tried to figure out her next move. But she was random. And not one of his long studies or long nights without sleep had prepared him for the fact that she wanted to die. That she wanted him to kill her.
He felt the blade with his thumb, pressing down onto it until it drew a thick line of blood that oozed around the surface. She looked at the blade then at him, her eyes pleading.
"Take me to him," she said softly, putting her hand around his and forcing the blade to her neck, "Let me see the one I crave so badly."
"Who?" Marcus asked, his hand shaking more violently now. She closed her beautiful eyes, a tear slid slowly, tenderly down her face, carressing the skin like it never wanted to let go.
"Please." she asked again, her whisper full of emotion. Marcus let her guide his hand, she pushed the blade down and a smile played on her lips as she embraced the pain. "I'm coming home my darling," she whispered but it was distorted with the lack of oxygen the blood was consuming. Marcus found tears streaming out of his eyes, his whole body quivering with raw emotions, emotions he hadn't felt in a long time.
"You loved him." He stated, remembering how peaceful the man looked, lying there in his red pond. She nodded, letting a new stream of crimson stain her corset.
"He drank a poison. I tried to save him, I wanted him to live so badly. It was too late. I was angry. I made a scene. I wanted everyone to feel as disgusted by his death--as-as I was." Marcus helped her fall, he laid her on the ground gently and she smiled up at him, her ashy hands gripping his arms. Marcus couldn't stop the tears now, they were mixing in with her own crimson filling. "Thank you," She whispered, and kissed him on the collar.
Miss Murder died like that. The notorious mother of massacre, with a smile on her lips. And peace in her black heart.
But if he was being truthful to himself, like he always tried to be, she very well could've been the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen in his whole 26 years of life.
"You stand there as if you're shocked to see me," She said in her perfectly toned voice, her cherry lips curved up into a smirk that seemed to be more a tone of voice than an expression. Marcus ran his fingers through his curly copper hair, not out of nervousness but out of relief, conversation always made things more comfortable for him.
"Not shocked," he said with a slight shake of his angled jaw,"I was expecting you, I just thought your schedule would be booked for quite some time." She let out a laugh, not a twisted one like he would've expected but something much more lovely. Like wind chimes clinking together in a soft summer breeze- he had to stop that. Stop analyzing everything she did, he would get caught up in her if he did, though he wanted so badly to hate her, to make her out as the terrifying threat she was, but her beauty was divine and he was having more than a difficult time rationalizing his emotions.
"Oh darling, I do not run on schedules, simply on my heartbeats and emotion." She tousled her golden hair, but Marcus couldn't remove his eyes from her brilliant green ones.
"That's dangerous, you know." Marcus said while turning to the kitchen, heading for the half filled bottle of scotch resting on the messy counter. "Running off emotions."
"Mmm, Danger is my middle name. Besides, why deny yourself of what you want?" She asked, laying herself across the couch as if she'd lived there her whole life. She looked like something out of a comic book, but in a sophisticated manner, it had to do something with the fishnet tights, Marcus noted idly, trying not to stare at her black lace corset.
"Because sometimes it's not always best. In addition, though, it can hurt people, not that you care much about that." Marcus said, not concerned with offending her as he dropped the ice into his mug. He had always been perturbed that he couldn't drink his expensive alcohol out of a proper glass, but money had been needed in other areas regarding his search.
"See, that's the problem with you mundanes, you think you have to make everyone around you happy when all you really need is to just think about yourself. People are too concerned with everyone else. Everyone would be much much happier if they put themselves first." She said, lifting her tauntingly long legs so they rested on the wall, her blonde curls resting on the floor and her green eyes resting on her black nails as if she was the most bored she had ever been in her life.
Marcus poured his drink and walked back into the living room, surveying the mysterious women with curious eyes, the sound of his familiar drink clinking in his hand. She tilted her head so she could observe him more realistically, her emerald eyes piercing through him like a dagger though she seemed to have no hostility toward him at all. "You're a terrible host." She stated, indifferent.
"Is that so?" Marcus asked, leaning against the wall and taking a sip out of his mug. He recalled his mother calling him an alcoholic just a few months before, and rejected the idea. The booze helped him think more solidly, alcoholics needed the drink to forget.
"It is," she said, answering his question while looking at the glass casings he had that held her things. "If you were a good one, you would've offered me a drink." Marcus found himself smirking at that.
"You wouldn't have taken it," he said and took another gulp out of his cup. It all seemed too casual to him, but yet in a sick kind of way he enjoyed the company.
"You still should've offered." She countered, but still there was no sign of hostility or anger in her voice.
"Excuse me," he said, pardoning himself for his bad behavior with a grin, "I'll be sure to offer you one next time." She chuckled at that, both knowing there would be no next time. With one of her fish-netted legs she tipped the clock on the wall so that it's rectangular shape hit the shelf where the glass casings belonged. Marcus watched out of pure fascination as the glass boxes filled with various weapons toppled on to each other, some cracking, others withstanding the blows completely, until the last one dropped off the shelf. It crashed to the floor, lining the dark hard wood and shag rug with pointed shards, deadly little weapons, each one something she could no undoubtedly destroy him with.
But it wasn't the glass she had been wanting, it was the small piece of cloth that rested in the middle of the shattered glass that she was after. She moved the sharp pieces aside and picked up the white cloth gingerly, the lipstick stain still as red as the day she'd put it there. Her thin fingers ran over it lightly, cherishing the way the cloth felt. She kissed it again, her lips making the already perfect imprint just a few shades darker.
"Do you know what this is?" she asked quietly, her voice low and full of conflict. Emotion. Something he didn't think he would see from her.
"Evidence. From a crime scene." He remembered that crime scene. It was like it was yesterday, the crime scene that had haunted his dreams for years. The only one thing that had ever really disturbed him from his work. He could remember every second he was there, every emotion he felt within those seconds. The dreams had helped him with that, but more so than any of that he remembered the twisting in his stomach. He had never thought his stomach could twist so absurdly, so painfully, from just a sight.
He had opened the door, he wasn't the first one there, but he was one of them, he remembered seeing the white wall, spattered with the crimson liquid, his shoe dipping into it as soon as he opened the door. It was everywhere. A thin layer of blood covered every ounce of the wood floor. The blood wasn't even the worst part though, it was the temperature. The room itself had been icy cold, enough to raise goosebumps on his covered arms, but the floor was warm with the sticky liquid. Fresh, as if the body hadn't been torn apart 5 minutes before he walked in. The man was there, in the middle of the crimson pond, he looked as though he was floating though it was just an illusion to the mind, in a perfect stillness. A stillness you wouldn't have even been able to capture in a photograph. And even though all the gore around him seemed straight out of a horror film Marcus had never seen anyone look so peaceful. The stillness and the peacefulness of the handsome man had all about put Marcus into a coma he was so frightened. He was perfectly in tact, from the front, as if he was alive, not a scratch to bear another witness. But later the investigators had found that the line of his spine, all the way from his neck to the start of his pelvis, he been cut. Down the center. That's what had haunted him all those years, the stillness and the illusion that that man had never been broken into, never been torn apart in the first place. And then there was the kiss stain on that man's collar.
"Evidence?" she asked, as her thumb ran over a blood drop stain in the cloth. "And what did they find with this evidence?" The hair on Marcus' arm rose ever so slightly and he new he was heading into stormy weather, stormy weather with the most dangerous woman the world had ever seen.
"They found nothing. They couldn't get a match to any kind of DNA." Marcus informed her indifferently. As if the case hadn't affected him, as if he had just been telling another scientist the results.
"I wouldn't call that evidence, then." She sounded more calm, but there was an underlying tone that still kept Marcus on his toes. "You know, people don't understand me, Marcus." She said, starting up a new conversation as she twisted around on the couch, now sitting upright, her legs crossed as if she was trying to be polite.
"You are quite mysterious," Marcus agreed, taking a few more sips from his cup. If he waited much longer to solve this, he would end up just like another lily pad floating in a deadly pool.
"People only see what I've done, they think of me as some kind of monster." she explained, and she looked the most beautiful at that second. She looked deadly, mysterious, but poised and elegant. If Marcus was a different man, not so set on his work, he would've gladly melted at her feet.
"Do you see what you've done?" He asked her, setting his finished mug down on the small coffee table. The burn of the alcohol was helping his mind stay sharp. Keeping him awake in this deadly nightmare.
"Of course I have. I'm aware of my actions. I'm aware it's against the law. They were all terribly rotten people though, you see. I'm making the world a better place because of it." She explained, twisting a butterfly knife around in her fingers that she had drew from somewhere inside of her lace.
"Terrible?" Marcus asked, interested in this new part of her ever unfolding story. This was something that had not shown up in her victim's files.
"Oh yes." She said, flipping the butterfly knife faster now, a distraction her emerald eyes were ravishing in. "One man was a thief, he would seduce single women then take all their money, leaving them to starve. Some had children. Another was just an evil man, filled with hate for the world, he made everyone around him miserable to the point where some committed suicide. Oh, oh, but my favorite was that man--the big one, mm, what's his name-?" she asked him, her emerald eyes darting to his hazel ones for half a second then returning to the knife.
"Charles Montgomery." Marcus finished, remembering that bloody mess as well.
"Mhmm," she agreed, "he was so afraid of me." The smirk returned to her lips and it sent a chill down Marcus' spine. "He beat women, hired cheap prostitutes-killed a few of them because they were going to black mail him-"
"He killed a few of them?" Marcus asked, surprise showing a little too boldly in his features. She nodded quickly, the knife was spinning in her hands even faster now, the tricks becoming more complex and dangerous.
"The things you don't know about some of you people's politicians is amazing." She murmured, only slightly interested. There was a silence between them, a silence Marcus took to gather some of his thoughts, and what he came up with was simply that he was astounded with this woman. She wasn't a monster, simply someone who was living by her own rules, someone going by what she thought was just. A murderer, of course, but she seemed content with her self, proud, even. She didn't think she was a bad guy.
"I see your point of view," Marcus acknowledged, "But I don't understand the gore." She laughed at that, wholeheartedly with genuine humor, exposing her perfect white teeth. Then like that, the knife flew out of her hand and into the wall next to Marcus' face with a flash of silver. Not an inch away from his ear. Marcus tried to keep calm at that, flexing his jaw and keeping his breathing even, fear was only something that got you in trouble. She rose up from the couch then and walked over to him, her high heels carrying her as if she weighed nothing, flawlessly as if she was walking on some sort of black cloud.
She stopped when her face was just inches away from Marcus' her hand over the handle of the knife. She moved in closer still, her lips just inches from his and her eyes no longer meeting his own but mapping his face as if she wanted to remember him forever. "I like blood," she said in a whisper, her eyes meeting his once again, the words sent a shiver down his spine, and the way she looked at him didn't make him feel at ease. "I like the color, the way something so simple-a liquid can control something so great like a life. Did you ever think about the fact that without the liquid concoction your body makes up so perfectly beneath your veins that you would die? And just spilling it can take away your life...fascinating really." Marcus couldn't find it in himself to react, though his composure was perfect his mind was racing. She was going to kill him, he knew it.
"Are you going to kill me?" he found himself asking before he could control the words. They had no emotion. He stated it more like a fact than a question. She yanked the knife out of the wall with a flick of her wrist then looked back at him, confusion strong in her eyes and a slight frown on her lips.
"Of course not." she said as if he was some kind of ridiculous, as if she had never harmed a man in her life. "My killings are personal...justified. Killing such an attractive, intelligent creature like you would be wrong." Marcus found himself chuckling at that, relief washing down every part of his body, because he believed her. And even beyond that..he felt comfortable with her.
"I came here to see you." She clarified, stroking his face with one of her thin fingers.
"Why?" Marcus asked with a scoff, clearly unimpressed with himself.
"Because you have a fascination for me. I thought-no. Never mind." Marcus looked at her, taken aback. Did, did she want some kind of romantic encounter with him? Was the mistress of death...lonely?
"What did you think?" He asked, clenching his jaw, unsure of what he wanted the answer to be.
"I thought you, you of all people would have the guts." she said, looking lost, vulnerable even.
"Had the guts to what?" He asked, leaning into her even though his heart screamed not to, but she was pulling away.
"To get rid of me. I thought, well. I came here. I came here to die, Marcus." That turned everything Marcus had ever thought about this day around. This woman had taken so many lives, but yet right in that moment the only one he valued was hers. She was too cunning, too brilliant to waste away under the dirt like her victims. She deserved it, yes, but she was much too smart to allow that to happen to herself.
"Why on earth would you want to do that?" he asked, wanting so badly to reach out and touch her porcelain skin, to feel that she was real because for so long she had just been a murderer in the paper, a topic to talk about, a story to scare children with.
"I don't belong here, you see." She was flipping the knife around again, avoiding his eyes. "I belong where the dead are. I belong in a life where there is no judgement, only the souls of the forgotten. I've shared my experiences, I've had my fun, but I'm done now. There's nothing left to hold here. But, you see, I admire myself much too much to take my own life, which is why I'm giving it to you." And with that, she handed the butterfly knife over to him. Marcus took it, his well worked hands shaking ever so slightly. For most of his career he had hunted down this woman, studied how she worked, tried to figure out her next move. But she was random. And not one of his long studies or long nights without sleep had prepared him for the fact that she wanted to die. That she wanted him to kill her.
He felt the blade with his thumb, pressing down onto it until it drew a thick line of blood that oozed around the surface. She looked at the blade then at him, her eyes pleading.
"Take me to him," she said softly, putting her hand around his and forcing the blade to her neck, "Let me see the one I crave so badly."
"Who?" Marcus asked, his hand shaking more violently now. She closed her beautiful eyes, a tear slid slowly, tenderly down her face, carressing the skin like it never wanted to let go.
"Please." she asked again, her whisper full of emotion. Marcus let her guide his hand, she pushed the blade down and a smile played on her lips as she embraced the pain. "I'm coming home my darling," she whispered but it was distorted with the lack of oxygen the blood was consuming. Marcus found tears streaming out of his eyes, his whole body quivering with raw emotions, emotions he hadn't felt in a long time.
"You loved him." He stated, remembering how peaceful the man looked, lying there in his red pond. She nodded, letting a new stream of crimson stain her corset.
"He drank a poison. I tried to save him, I wanted him to live so badly. It was too late. I was angry. I made a scene. I wanted everyone to feel as disgusted by his death--as-as I was." Marcus helped her fall, he laid her on the ground gently and she smiled up at him, her ashy hands gripping his arms. Marcus couldn't stop the tears now, they were mixing in with her own crimson filling. "Thank you," She whispered, and kissed him on the collar.
Miss Murder died like that. The notorious mother of massacre, with a smile on her lips. And peace in her black heart.
Saturday, September 17, 2011
Save Me
Throw me a life jacket
Some kind of floating device
Keep me above the water
I'm drowning in the lies
Help me stay afloat
I need you to grab my hand
Tell me that you love me
If you don't, I understand
But I need you to come and save me
Because I'm fallin' far behind
I need you to complete me
Because without you I'm undefined
Help me to see the good in this
Just help me to stay alive
Keep me on my toes
Because without you I won't survive
You told me that you loved me
But I am still asleep
The poison does not kill
But baby it makes me weak
And I need you to come and save me
Because I'm fallin' far behind
I need you to complete me
Because without you I'm undefined
Help me to see the good in this
Just help me to stay alive
Keep me on my toes
Because without you I won't survive
Some kind of floating device
Keep me above the water
I'm drowning in the lies
Help me stay afloat
I need you to grab my hand
Tell me that you love me
If you don't, I understand
But I need you to come and save me
Because I'm fallin' far behind
I need you to complete me
Because without you I'm undefined
Help me to see the good in this
Just help me to stay alive
Keep me on my toes
Because without you I won't survive
You told me that you loved me
But I am still asleep
The poison does not kill
But baby it makes me weak
And I need you to come and save me
Because I'm fallin' far behind
I need you to complete me
Because without you I'm undefined
Help me to see the good in this
Just help me to stay alive
Keep me on my toes
Because without you I won't survive
My Scarred Shooting Star
I had always looked at those girls, the ones that seemed to give their heart away to every boy the met. The ones that were always crying in the hallway, so upset that the boy hadn't returned the love they had so graciously given away. I promised myself I would never let a boy hurt me the way those girls had hurt, I would never let someone affect me, never allow myself to need someone.
Then he came into my life. It was like a bright shooting star, forcing me to look at the night sky even though I had so many things to deal with here on the ground. I could feel him as soon as I walked into the room, an electric current I could feel under my skin, something I had never felt before. Something I didn't even know could exist until that moment. I tried to ignore it, brush it off as just another hopeless cause, something else that I wouldn't be able to have. Just something else nice to look at.
His eyes met mine and I realized that my heart had been practicing flips while I had been dreaming, preparing for this moment when it executed the perfect form, it would've received a flawless ten if there had been judges, but there was only me and I had to hold my breath to keep from gasping out loud.
Then I found myself running after the shooting star, afraid that it would disappear from the sky forever, something that if I had been in my right mind I would've never done, knowing that they always disappear all too quickly.
"You're cute." He said, his arms wrapped so solidly around me and I could've died like that, perfectly happy and without regrets. I managed to wiggle closer to him, taking in his sweet scent and wishing nothing more than to lay there for eternity. "I can feel your heart beating." he whispered into my ear, and the chills that racked down my back made me grin.
"I can feel yours too," I whispered back, placing a hand on his chest.
"What's it like?" he wondered aloud, his eyes searching my features, his breathing so steady he could've been asleep. I laid my head where his heart lurked, determined to answer the question out of my own curiosity.
"It's strong and steady. Like it's determined to live forever." I said after listening to it's rhythmic pounding for a comfortable stretch of time. He closed his eyes at that, satisfied with the answer but seeing no reason to comment on it, and the silence was very loud with our hearts beating in their own patterns of life, completely different yet in tune with each other.
He kissed me then, and it was unlike anything I had ever felt before. His touch was gentle and soft, as if he squeezed me too hard or moved too quickly I would surely shatter beneath him. My cheeks blushed with warmth and my stomach twisted with delight, and I smiled, unable to keep it back and he leaned away with a crooked grin.
"I like your lips," he said then snatched another kiss, this one just as sweet as the one before.
"They like you too." I whispered in between the kisses. Simple, sweet, not demanding. Easy. It was like breathing, everything seemed so natural and perfect, I couldn't have created a more satisfying experience. The best part was that it was with him, though. I had finally obtained something that I never thought I could get away with.
But that's the problem with shooting stars, they continue on their path through the sky no matter how much you wish you could follow them, or keep them lingering there, they shoot off into oblivion anyway. My shooting star did exactly what should've been expected of it to do, it shot off and I only had it in my sight for a blink of an eye. I wish I never would've blinked. I wish I had kept my eyes open forever, more than that, though, I wish that my shooting star would've fallen. I wish it would've fallen right at my feet so that I could've kept it forever.
"There's a lot about me you don't know." The text read and I wished that I was listening to his voice instead of just reading his words.
"I know...but I want to know, if you'll let me. There's a lot about me you don't know either." I responded, my heart already throbbing with fear. My hands were shaking and I was desperate to keep my shooting star in sight.
"No, I mean there's a lot of shit you don't want to know." his words made me want to run to him. Recklessly, thoughtlessly, I wanted to run to him. Feel his lips on mine again, hear his heart thudding so perfectly in his chest, to inhale his unique scent and just have his arms around me one more time.
"It's alright...you don't have to tell me. But you shouldn't be so hard on yourself." I said, trying to be cool, trying so hard to not offend him or do anything that would send him into the night sky faster than he was already heading.
"No, I should be." I didn't know what to say, all I knew was that I didn't care. I didn't care about what he had done, I didn't care that he was flawed, I didn't expect him to be perfect. I just wanted him to trust me, to trust that I wouldn't hurt him, that I would treat him as gently as he had treated me. I didn't ever want to snuff out his beautiful light.
"You should stop giving yourself less credit than you deserve. You're worth it. You shouldn't let yourself tell you you're not." I had said what I thought I needed to say, something that would help him have hope in himself again, something that I wished so desperately that he would see. That he was worth it.
Without another kiss, a goodbye, or another word my shooting star flickered and shot straight out of the sky. Into the oblivion I would've gladly followed him into. I've been watching the sky, hoping that maybe he would shoot back across. But shooting stars don't work that way, and the hope I had for his light to keep me warm has long since shriveled and died somewhere in that dark night sky. All I'm left with is my thudding heart, it's broken pattern and quick beats will never measure up to the ghost of his strong determined ones, but I'm alright with having the taste of his lips stained on mine forever if it helps me remember the light he put across my starless sky.
Then he came into my life. It was like a bright shooting star, forcing me to look at the night sky even though I had so many things to deal with here on the ground. I could feel him as soon as I walked into the room, an electric current I could feel under my skin, something I had never felt before. Something I didn't even know could exist until that moment. I tried to ignore it, brush it off as just another hopeless cause, something else that I wouldn't be able to have. Just something else nice to look at.
His eyes met mine and I realized that my heart had been practicing flips while I had been dreaming, preparing for this moment when it executed the perfect form, it would've received a flawless ten if there had been judges, but there was only me and I had to hold my breath to keep from gasping out loud.
Then I found myself running after the shooting star, afraid that it would disappear from the sky forever, something that if I had been in my right mind I would've never done, knowing that they always disappear all too quickly.
"You're cute." He said, his arms wrapped so solidly around me and I could've died like that, perfectly happy and without regrets. I managed to wiggle closer to him, taking in his sweet scent and wishing nothing more than to lay there for eternity. "I can feel your heart beating." he whispered into my ear, and the chills that racked down my back made me grin.
"I can feel yours too," I whispered back, placing a hand on his chest.
"What's it like?" he wondered aloud, his eyes searching my features, his breathing so steady he could've been asleep. I laid my head where his heart lurked, determined to answer the question out of my own curiosity.
"It's strong and steady. Like it's determined to live forever." I said after listening to it's rhythmic pounding for a comfortable stretch of time. He closed his eyes at that, satisfied with the answer but seeing no reason to comment on it, and the silence was very loud with our hearts beating in their own patterns of life, completely different yet in tune with each other.
He kissed me then, and it was unlike anything I had ever felt before. His touch was gentle and soft, as if he squeezed me too hard or moved too quickly I would surely shatter beneath him. My cheeks blushed with warmth and my stomach twisted with delight, and I smiled, unable to keep it back and he leaned away with a crooked grin.
"I like your lips," he said then snatched another kiss, this one just as sweet as the one before.
"They like you too." I whispered in between the kisses. Simple, sweet, not demanding. Easy. It was like breathing, everything seemed so natural and perfect, I couldn't have created a more satisfying experience. The best part was that it was with him, though. I had finally obtained something that I never thought I could get away with.
But that's the problem with shooting stars, they continue on their path through the sky no matter how much you wish you could follow them, or keep them lingering there, they shoot off into oblivion anyway. My shooting star did exactly what should've been expected of it to do, it shot off and I only had it in my sight for a blink of an eye. I wish I never would've blinked. I wish I had kept my eyes open forever, more than that, though, I wish that my shooting star would've fallen. I wish it would've fallen right at my feet so that I could've kept it forever.
"There's a lot about me you don't know." The text read and I wished that I was listening to his voice instead of just reading his words.
"I know...but I want to know, if you'll let me. There's a lot about me you don't know either." I responded, my heart already throbbing with fear. My hands were shaking and I was desperate to keep my shooting star in sight.
"No, I mean there's a lot of shit you don't want to know." his words made me want to run to him. Recklessly, thoughtlessly, I wanted to run to him. Feel his lips on mine again, hear his heart thudding so perfectly in his chest, to inhale his unique scent and just have his arms around me one more time.
"It's alright...you don't have to tell me. But you shouldn't be so hard on yourself." I said, trying to be cool, trying so hard to not offend him or do anything that would send him into the night sky faster than he was already heading.
"No, I should be." I didn't know what to say, all I knew was that I didn't care. I didn't care about what he had done, I didn't care that he was flawed, I didn't expect him to be perfect. I just wanted him to trust me, to trust that I wouldn't hurt him, that I would treat him as gently as he had treated me. I didn't ever want to snuff out his beautiful light.
"You should stop giving yourself less credit than you deserve. You're worth it. You shouldn't let yourself tell you you're not." I had said what I thought I needed to say, something that would help him have hope in himself again, something that I wished so desperately that he would see. That he was worth it.
Without another kiss, a goodbye, or another word my shooting star flickered and shot straight out of the sky. Into the oblivion I would've gladly followed him into. I've been watching the sky, hoping that maybe he would shoot back across. But shooting stars don't work that way, and the hope I had for his light to keep me warm has long since shriveled and died somewhere in that dark night sky. All I'm left with is my thudding heart, it's broken pattern and quick beats will never measure up to the ghost of his strong determined ones, but I'm alright with having the taste of his lips stained on mine forever if it helps me remember the light he put across my starless sky.
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