A Story of Winter

They were beautiful.

Like angels from heaven, like the greek gods and goddesses come to life.

Together, clasped hand to hand, heart to heart, they whirled in a brilliance of red and black. They were a hurricane of fierce joy that spread like a stain through the air, tinting the gold atmosphere with a hint of something darker. It was like they lived in their own world of paradox, shadows of light, gleaming with happiness.

She could not take her eyes off of them, numbed by the emotions that rippled off of them in waves. It was far too strange, the emptiness and the coldness that surrounded her when everyone else was drunk on sensation. It was something that did not belong in the house. There were eyes now, glances thrown askance from corners, whispers pitched beneath music. Of course they would want to know. But she wouldn’t let them.

Instead, she wove deftly through the crowd and slipped out the door, praying that no one would notice. As usual, the air hit her skin like a slap, sending goose bumps rolling up her skin. She shivered and began to walk. What else was there to do? No one would follow her out here of their own accord.

Shoes crunched over snow that was unpleasantly moist. It was not cold enough to freeze everything solid, and not warm enough to make the icy wasteland of the house disappear.

She stopped at the bench near the lake, its contours all too familiar. Tonight another girl sat there, wrapped in her own struggle, kicking at glistening pebbles with her feet, knuckles white with strain as she clenched the edges of the bench. She brushed a hand across the other girl’s shoulders, but she knew there was no comfort she could provide. Those who left the house froze alone until they were ready to return. There was no help for those who had no choice but to wander the ice.

So she wandered, moving through the slush. She wasn’t sure why she was out here. Probably because she couldn’t be in the house either. She wondered, if she kept walking, where would she end up? Was there an end to the snow and the icicles? Was there more than the forest and the lake and the house?

A sudden touch snapped her out of her thoughts and she whirled. She blinked at the taller figure before her, his hair as dark as hers and peppered with snow. She wanted the form the question, ask him what he was doing out here, but her throat closed around the words as she looked at him. She was abruptly, painfully aware that she did know why she was outside. It hurt.

He looked back at her, eyes curiously dark with understanding. Then he reached for her and held her tight. His voice was achingly familiar, even now, teasing and laughter hinted behind the words, “Did you forget who I am? It’s my job to notice.”

The sob bubbled up in her at last, breaking desperately free. She clutched for her comfort, and to her shock, found that he was warm. In a landscape dominated by winter, he had reached out to pain he didn’t have to experience and came to rescue her.

In the same, familiar voice he began to tell a story.

Perhaps there was hope for warmth after all.

 

I Guess That’s It

“I guess that’s it then.”

The words were so hard to say. As if they stuck in her throat and threatened to kill her if she released them into the air. But she had to say them. Just like he had chosen to remain true to himself, she had to choose to remain true to herself. But it was as if the air had just vanished from the room.

“We’ll still be friends.”

How can you speak without air? But somehow, she did it, “Yes.”

And then what was there to say? So she turned and opened to door, every fiber of her screaming in silent protest. But the door opened and the cold rushed in. Every step was like being filled with lead. Slow, heavy, reluctant. Yet bit by bit, she made it to the bench and sat down. What had she brought down upon herself?

Somehow, the world hadn’t vanished. Here was the snow, and the lake, and the forest. There was the ice, and the cold, and the hurt. And there was the house, still glowing with warmth, still filled with people, still filled with happiness. How could it be? How could it be?

And then she heard the faint strains of a song that was shared with her in what seemed like a past lifetime. She closed her eyes and the tears broke her control to drip down her face. They froze like diamonds on the ground.

She knew that eventually, she could go back. She would go back, and everyone would still be there. He would still be there. Everything would be the same – ever though everything had changed. Things would be…not perfect, but okay. Things were never perfect anyways. It would just take time, like all things, time.

But for now she turned and stared across the lake, refusing to look at the empty space beside her. Right now, she just needed to sit and come to terms in the soft, white snow.

 

Apology

I feel like I’m getting progressively better at exaggerating things. Maybe I should blame it on all that Bluff I played yesterday.

She listened to the words, pitched low and fast, spoken softly, barely carrying over. Her companion’s face was serious, warning darkening her complexion even though her brown hair was radiant in the golden light of the house. The girl glanced in alarm at her companion; then her eyes skipped across the crowd to find a form so familiar to her gaze. He was walking slowly towards her, his dark form cutting easily through the warm crowd like a predator among shadows. The girl’s companion gave the girl a soft touch on her arm, whispering another caution before disappearing into the crowd once more, leaving the girl to watch as he came towards her.

As ever, he was breath taking. But something was wrong. The light didn’t settle on his hair; it skipped off it as if he had been carved from a statue. His dark eyes had hardened again, black stones of obsidian. He looked too pale, cold again. Suddenly, she was frightened. Not for her safety, but for something infinitely more important.

The accusation wasn’t hard. It was short, quick – like the clean sweep of a blade. And then he was gone, the cold wind whipping into the room before the door slammed shut.

She stood, frozen, then began to tremble in the wake of his anger. She felt the tears sting her eyes, but she held them back; people were already staring. How could she desecrate this place of happiness with sorrow? But it wasn’t enough to stop the sudden deluge of pain. Her heart clenched, and she desperately wanted to curl up into a ball – to disappear. A mistake, a terrible mistake. What had she done? What had she done?

Still trembling, she took a step towards the door, hesitating – terrified. She turned to look back towards the crowd, and her eyes found her companion, who shook her head. The girl almost allowed herself to be swept back into the crowd. But then she caught sight of the icy landscape outside the window. Another pang shot into her; how lonely it was out there. How desperately separated one had to be to brave the ice.

Still afraid, she took hold of the door and opened it, letting the frigid wind sweep over her. She swallowed hard, taking another step, and nearly ran into him. He stood there, impassive, yet in the processes of returning. His final step brought him close to her, so that she looked up to meet his eyes.

“I’m sorry.”

The apology was whispered, all of her agonizing remorse desperately laid out in those two, fragile words. What else could she say?

A moment of silence, tension hanging in the air – oppressive, looming.

Then, without another word, he reached out and took her hand.

 

Warmth

Wahhhh, I have hiccups, my invisible readers. This is so embaressing. Anyways, another Frozen Moments installment for you.

~

It was warm. The most striking thing about the scene that it was warm. No snow, no ice, no wind. Warmth. Heat. Life.

Joy.

The word permeated the air as often as laughter rang like sonorous bells. The girl’s mouth curved upwards in a gentle smile. She glanced up at the boy standing next to her. His hair was black underneath the golden light, glinting like a raven’s wing. His eyes were black too, but they were gorgeous in liquidity, gazing down at her with affection. Gone was the distance, gone was the frigidity. His mouth lifted in a responding grin. He lifted her hand and lightly brushed his lips along her fingers in a kiss as soft as a butterfly’s touch. Then he entwined his fingers with hers and let their hands fall to their sides. The girl was dizzy with euphoria. She could feel the heat burning everywhere his skin touched hers. He was still breath taking. It was unbelievable

Joy.

The pair was surrounded by people, conversation mingling in the air with ease. But they felt no need to speak. This silence was different. This was not the silence on the bench, outside in the winter. This was

Joy.

Still hand in hand, the pair passed by a window, the edges trimmed with a thin layer of frost. The boy glanced outside at the coldness. Then he spotted something and stopped, catching his partner’s attention and nodding out the window. The girl stopped and gazed out the window with the boy. At first, all she could see was the snow, shifting and dancing. It was a strange beauty, she thought, a haunted beauty. A painful beauty. But then she saw him. The boy who had ventured outside, the silhouette in the window. He was standing near the bench, by the shore of the frozen lake. What was he doing there?

Puzzled, the girl stared for a moment longer, wondering if the boy outside would turn around and come back in. He didn’t. She looked up questioningly at the boy beside her. She shrugged. Her choice. The girl’s brow furrowed in concentration. Her eyes flickered uncertainly from the boy outside, shrouded in shadows, to the boy beside her, wreathed in the light of the house. Her heart missed a beat. She came to a decision. Gently pulling the black-haired boy with her, she made her way through the loosely packed crowd of smiles towards the door.

When the girl opened the door, a chilled wind rushed in, buffeting her and chilling her to the bone. She remembered this wind, how harsh it was, how unforgiving, how relentless. She almost turned away. Almost. But then she remembered, too, something else. So she stepped outside, fingers tightening around the hand still with hers. The door closed behind the pair, shutting out the warmth, leaving them in the gloom.

Crunch. Crunch. Crunch.

The snow gave way too easily as the pair made their way across the expanse of white. The girl shuddered; it was so cold. Had it really been this cold?

Finally the pair reached the lonely boy by the lake shore. He seemed not to notice them, instead looking out across the lake. The forest on the other side was murky, the majestic pines draped in icicles and enigma. What lay in there? The girl waited, wondering, deliberating. Should she reach out? The lonely boy looked so lost. She lifted a hand tentatively, but at that moment he looked at her.

And she was blown away.

The despair, the misery, the lack of faith. They washed over her like a pounding wave, surrounding her. She almost gasped at the sheer hopelessness in his eyes. They were black, too, but astoundingly bleak. There was no joy in them at all, making them hard stones. How was he still standing? The girl knew that if she had been in his place, she would have crumbled and succumbed to it all. Now he understood why he stood there, by the lake shore. It would be all too easy to take a few steps out, to give the ice a good kick, and to disappear forever. To embrace the blackness of the icy water. The comfort of utter darkness.

And the girl’s heart ached in sympathy. What were her troubles, compared to his? What were her difficulties in the face of his trials?

The lonely boy looked away.

The girl looked up at her partner, heart pounding. Gone was the joy from his expression. Instead it was replaced with a worry deep as her own. Carefully, he nodded to her, giving her fingers a reassuring squeeze. That was enough for her.

Lifting her other hand, she could feel the heat pulsing through them. They were full of her hope for life. She touched the lonely boy’s bare arm, the frostiness of his skin biting at her skin with such ferocity. But she would not give in. Still, her voice was nothing more than a pleading whisper when she spoke, “Please, come back.”

And the trio stood completely still, as if frozen in eternity. The girl waited, hoping.

Would he?

 

Storm

Salutations my invisible readers,

Recently the place where I live has been assaulted by rain. Constant, constant rain. Today is the third day running. My classmates had different reactions to the deluge. Some of them loved it, others hated it, and more often than not, girls complained about their hair. I love the rain, but I hate how the air feels after it because it gets so humid.

Anyways, I don’t have anything constructive to say today, nothing philosophical, but the storm really struck me as beautiful. So I figured I would write something about the storm, but despite the inspiration nothing really came to mind but to try and capture the strange allure of nature. So, here’s an attempt. My homework is beating me to death because I wrote this instead of doing it. Ah, story of my life.

~

“Give me a break, man, it’s just a storm. Couldn’t possibly be that bad, right?”

“No, dude, I’m serious. You do not want to be outside when this thing hits. We’ll reschedule practice till later.”

“But-”

“Trust me. It gets bad.”

“Ugh, fine. Later then.”

“Yeah, later.”

With a sigh, Henry hung up and threw his cell phone on the couch, flopping after it. Jon couldn’t be serious. It was just some rain; there really wasn’t a point in canceling practice just over getting wet. He acted as if Henry had never seen a rain before. Just because he had moved here recently didn’t mean he was stupid.

Henry snorted to himself in disdain, still peeved. He glanced outside and rolled his eyes. Sure it was a little gray, but who cared? But there was no convincing Jon, and so Henry pulled his homework out of his backpack.

Ten minutes later his papers were sprawled out on the floor, but Henry was idly flipping through channels on the T.V. After a little bit of this, Henry sighed deeply and turned the T.V. off. Only then did he realize that it was getting dark. Standing up to turn the lights on, Henry checked the time. Four? It shouldn’t be this dark at four. Henry peered out the window and his eyes widened slightly.

What had previously been a mundane, gray sky had suddenly turned dark and bleak. Almost completely black. Maybe Jon was right after all. Henry shrugged to himself; so what if he was? Finding himself hungry, Henry moved to the kitchen and looked in the pantry. Nothing he wanted there, so he opened the fridge, looking through it for a little bit before settling on a coke. Popping the top, Henry considered for a moment that the sugar combined with being trapped in the house might drive him insane. Shrugging to himself, he took a sip before collapsing back on the couch and turning the T.V. back on, returning to aimlessly flicking through channels.

It was excruciatingly boring.

And then, suddenly, it began to rain. More than rain. It was pouring. It was…

“Holy-!” Henry cursed as a flash of light lit up the room and a split second later, a peal of thunder boomed as if it were right in the house. Standing up, Henry moved back to the window, staring out at the deluge.

“Jeez.” Henry blinked. It was definitely more than rain. It was as if Heaven had opened up its gates and let out the flood. It was almost pitch black outside, the scenery outside reduced to a blur of gray and blacks, as if Henry had fallen into a world of shadow. Water fell from the sky in thick, torrential sheets. It cascaded off the roof, poured from the contours of the house, streamed from the leaves of a tree. Squinting, Henry thought he saw water flooding across the sidewalk in a river. The house echoed with the insistent drumming of the downpour.

The wind howled furiously, slapping against the window, splattering water against the glass. Tentatively Henry touched the window; it was sharply cold, and trembled with the strain of the storm. Water rushed down the glass, giving Henry the strange feeling of needing glasses; he couldn’t see anything clearly.

Without warning, the world was suddenly brilliant again, lightning screaming through the air. Its stark white light tore through the sky, bleaching everything of color in its radiance. For a moment, Henry could make out his front yard with absolute precision. Every line stood out in sharp contrast; it seemed as if Henry reached out, he could cut his finger on a blade of grass.

Then the world fell back into darkness, the glow of lightning leaving an afterimage on Henry’s eyes. Only a moment later, with all the strength of a roc, thunder cracked like a whip. The very foundations of the house shook under the power as the noise rolled and crackled, louder than any set of drums. Its cadence was majestic and noble.

There was a strange order to the pandemonium. Or perhaps it was the sheer turmoil that made it so strangely alluring. There was no controlling this storm. There was no defying it. It was a terrifyingly deadly display of nature’s wrath.

Adrenaline pumped through Henry’s veins, so he whirled around and nearly spilled his Coke when his sister walked beside him, “Can you believe how it rains here? It’s terrible. I swear if we don’t have flood insurance…”

Henry turned back to look out the window, where the wind and rain and thunder and lightning still danced in chaos.

“I don’t know. It’s kind of beautiful.”

The storm raged on.

 

Cold

I’m just on a roll! Perhaps you guys missed my miserable bits and pieces of ranting interjected by depressing stories? Well, we’re back in business, ladies and gentlemen.

~

“Then I’ll stop.”

The words seemed to tremble in the air, their echo shivering long after they had been spoken. Something inside her clenched. He had given in. She had won. So why did she feel so bad about it?

Her eyes flickered to his face and then dropped back to the frozen ground. He looked so…distant. She looked up at the lake sprawled out in front of her. It was still iced over, impenetrable. A chilly wind cut through her and raised goosebumps on her skin. The breeze carried with it the fleeting sound of laughter. Glancing backwards, she saw the house as it usually was; warm light spilled from the windows into the frigid environment, people enjoying themselves on the inside.

Except this time it was different. Someone else stood outside in the cold air. He was watching the pair on the bench. Was it concern that drew him outside? She wondered, was it uncertainty that kept him back? As she watched, the other boy turned and went back into the house. His silhouette appeared in the window briefly, still watching, then he turned and disappeared into the crowd.

She returned her gaze to the boy beside her. He had not spoken, his black eyes intent on the snow-covered ground before him. Not knowing what else she could do, she whispered, “I’m sorry.”

He didn’t seem to hear her, but finally he turned to look at her, “Don’t be.”

Even in his coldness, he was breathtaking, she thought, unable to look away from him. Every line was perfect. Somehow, she mustered up the strength to respond, but he cut her off gently, “Don’t reply.”

A pause, and he looked away, “You don’t have to be sorry for something that’s not your fault.”

“But I-”

He looked at her again, and she faltered. Her eyes lifted tentatively to his face, but she quickly dropped her gaze back to the ground; she couldn’t meet his eyes without losing her will, “I…I feel like…I’m suppressing you.”

The last words came out as a frustrated sigh.

“You’re not.”

The words dropped dead like stones.

“Don’t just say that. Tell me the truth.”

“I’m not. I am.”

She looked up at him, desperation darkening her eyes. He returned her gaze evenly, seriously, without emotion. Looking at him, her heart constricted. His sun-browned hair stood in dark contrast with the icy world behind him. It made him look deadly, with his able fingers and lean muscles. A killer. And yet she knew he would never harm her, not intentionally. But he was so cold, like the gorgeous scene that spread out behind him. It was always winter here. Always slick with snow, dangerous with icicles, frozen with the arctic wind.

Finally she took a deep breath and sighed, steam pluming into the air with her reverence, “Thank you.”

“Don’t.”

“Why?”

“You don’t have to thank me for something that’s a given.”

A given. He thought telling her the truth was a given. She saw the lake quiver and blur as hot tears slid down her cheeks. Soundlessly, he moved closer and wrapped his arms around her. Instinctively she shifted and reached out for him, feeling absolute security. She knew she would be safe in his arms. It was as if he was holding her together.

The thought made her cry harder. Here he was, shielding her from harm, withholding nothing from her, despite everything. Despite that fact that she had hurt him.

She hurt him.

The sharp fact pulsed to the beat of his heart, drumming strongly in his chest. Guilt washed over her, hot and furious, so she let herself cry. What was wrong with her? She had not been the one that had been hurt, and yet she was the one being comforted. It was terrible, terrible, terrible. Yet deep down within her she knew it was not the guilt that sulked in the corner of her heart that grieved her. It was something she dared not admit to herself. If she did, how could she live?

Perhaps, despite the soothing heat coming off him, he was really made of ice. Perhaps, despite it all, he didn’t understand.

What then?

What then?

 

Consumed

Right now, I’m pissed. But I don’t really feel pissed. You know? No, of course you don’t know. Basically, all you need to know is my own personal korean drama that’s been going on for two years now has suddenly flared and ballooned into a huge, giagantic problem. All because of tiny fragment of an IM conversation. Not even an entire one. Just a fragment. And now my hopes drop and fall everyday, shattering on the ground too many times for me to count. My internal mood fluctuates at the smallest thing, but so far I’ve been able to keep my own pain out of other people’s lives. I used to think I could live with waiting. Now I can’t. The point is, I’m tired of waiting for an answer. I just need an answer so I can stop smashing my heart against a wall. At least if I know that it’s not possible, then I can begin to distance myself and walk away. But no, this is how people do things. They just toy with me like I’m a puppet on strings. A marionette. And I feel like, deep inside of me, I’m seethingly furious. But I can’t take it out. I can’t vent, I can’t rant, I can’t cry. It’s that deep inside of me that there is no way for me to get rid of it. And until I get an answer, I’m afraid there won’t be. This is basically what has caused the sudden flare in emotional pieces. Incidentally, this post is supposed to be another one. But I don’t have time right this moment. But I will, eventually. And yes, the title is another generic one. Consumed. How on earth did you guess? Aren’t you just amazingly smart.

And since it occured to me that you probably don’t know what is happening, I’ll give you the vague sketch. One guy. Three girls. One me. Two confirmed, one plausible crush(es). Mine, of course. To make things even worse? We’re friends. All of us. And even better, a fifth girl. One of my best friends. She doesn’t like him, but the feeling might not the same on his end. She’s also unable to help her flirting, which only makes the situation worse. Who the heck does he like? What the heck am I supposed to do? How am I going to live like this?

Jealousy? Check. Broken hearts? Check. Anger? Check. Shattered friendships? Check. Depression? Check. Gossip? Check. Everything else under the sun? Plausible check.

~

~

Shring Shring. Shring.

The stone scrapped rhythmically over the blade over and over again, long, smooth strokes soothing. The woman who held the sword peered down the blade, holding the hilt up to eye level before lowering the long sword and scraping the sharpening stone across its edge again. Her short-cropped golden hair curled neatly around her face, framing her intensely tawny eyes. Her body was well toned, her hands worn with the use of a weapon.

The girl sitting across from her could not be more different. Her hair was straight and long, a sheet of nighttime that cascaded over her shoulders. She was petite and lithe, clearly lacking in strength. She gazed forlornly out of the window at something in the middle distance. Suddenly she buried her face in her hands and groaned, “Alanna! What am I supposed to do?”

The woman, Alanna, stopped sharpening her sword, glancing at the girl. She sighed deeply and set the sword down carefully, laying the sharpening stone next to it. Then she turned to face the girl completely before speaking, “Concerning what, my lady?”

Throwing her hands into the air the girl huffed, “Everything!”

Alanna waited. In a few more moments, the girl elaborated morosely, “I’m so…so angry. Well, I feel angry. But at the same time that I don’t. Do you understand?”

“I’m afraid not, my lady.”

“How do I explain? How…I think I have every right to be so angry at him. It’s like he’s toying with my emotions. One day he likes me, the other he likes some other girl. One day he thinks I’m important, the next I’m just someone in the backdrop. Every moment of my time is spent fighting for his attention! If he really likes me, would he want to spend all his time with me? How is he so good at hiding it? It’s so impossible for me, and you know me, Alanna, I usually excel at this sort of thing.”

“And you think that if you can’t hide it, how can he?”

“Yes. I…I do think that. And it makes me so insecure. I hate being insecure. I don’t want to be rejected.”

“Does anyone?”

“Well, no, but I don’t want to wait either! This is taking too long, and he’s already breaking my heart. We’re not even courting yet!”

“So are you angry?”

“What?”

“You said you weren’t angry.”

“Oh. Right. See, Alanna, I feel as if I should be angry. I mean, I have every right to be so, don’t I? He’s playing with me. And yet…yet I can’t really find it within myself to be angry at him. At others, yes, but not at him. And this is such a deep set fury that I can’t really vent it. I haven’t cried, screamed, hit a wall. Anything! It won’t go away that easily.” The girl sighed deeply.

Alanna contemplated the girl’s words before replying slowly, her words carefully sought, “You really love him, don’t you?”

The response was undeniable, “Yes.” A pause, “But…how can I really be sure? I know…I know I’m capable of loving him, but is he good for me?”

“Would you be able to break away if he wasn’t?”

“N-no. I don’t think so.”

“That’s not good, my lady.”

“I know, Alanna, I know. But he’s like…a drug, in many ways?”

“Now you’re comparing him to a drug?”

“No! I mean, yes. Maybe. I didn’t get my daily conversation with him yesterday, and it made me miserable. I need to have some sort of interaction with him every day. At least a little bit. Fifteen minutes. I don’t want him to be with other girls; I want him all to myself. I feel insane, uncontrollable when I don’t have him. I would do almost anything to get him. Doesn’t that sound like the symptoms of a drug addict?”

“Well…come to think of it…”

“He’s consuming me, Alanna. There’s no denying it. I feel like every bit of me is wired towards him. If I am a moon, he is my earth. The problem is, I feel like everywhere I go, I’m about to crash into another moon.”

Silence. Warm rays of sunlight filtered into the room, setting the dust floating in the air alight, like the brightest embers. One ray caught Alanna and the girl, setting Alanna’s hair aflame with color. The girl’s eyes glimmered with contrasting darkness as she sighed once more. Her eyes did not pool with tears. Her pain was beyond that. Her frustration was beyond that.

Finally, Alanna stood, picking up her sword and sheathing it with a firm clang, “I can’t tell you what to do, my lady. But I can tell you this: You have nothing to lose. If he means this much to you, you can never be just friends with him. Meet your challenge head on. I cannot guarantee anything. But at least you know you tried. Even with your dying breath. Otherwise, you waste away in regret. Then you will truly be consumed.”

 

Façade

Yes, I know. Generic titles, stories that don’t make sense/are ambiguous. Don’t you just love me? I know you do.

~

~

The silence hung heavy in the air, thick and impenetrable. Charged with unspoken emotion, it seemed to defy all laws of the world, clinging to a quiet duo. A girl and a boy, they sat upon a well-worn-bench, close together, but not touching. They might as well have been worlds apart. The girl stared at her surroundings, something unreadable glimmering in her eyes.

It was cold, cold enough to make each exhaled breath a cloud of white steam that matched the rest of the landscape. Light, pure snow covered the long dead grass. Once in a while, a breath of wind would lift a few flakes from the top of the smooth blanket and send them tumbling across the miniature slopes. Icicles dangled precariously from the branches of trees, glimmering like silver swords in the moonlight.

It was very still.

The girl sighed, a plume of fog curling from her mouth. Her gaze flickered hesitantly to the boy. He was staring out across the frozen lake. His dark brown hair was dusted with frost, and his dark brown eyes revealed nothing. The girl knew better. The corner of her mouth turned downwards in a fleeting frown before she looked over her shoulder at the house behind her. Warm light poured from the windows, and the faintest threads of conversation drifted forth.

The girl sighed again. The last time she had been here, she had been with a different boy, a different circumstance. She had needed comforting then. Now it was she who gave comfort. But even so, she was unsure if he would accept it. They were so close, and yet every space in between them was powerfully symbolic. The girl yearned to reach out and brush the snow out of his hair, to hug him and chase away the cold as someone had done for her in the past. But if he would not accept it, she could not give it.

He remained silent.

Frustrated, the girl bent down and grasped a smooth pebble, hurtling it towards the lake. The stone clattered noisily onto the ice and lay there, lonely. The cold air swallowed up all other sound.

“What did you do that for?” The boy asked. The girl turned to meet his gaze, her own eyes deep with troubled emotion. It was as if she showed what he hid. She spoke slowly, “I wanted to see if I could break the ice.”

“With a pebble?”

The girl shrugged miserably. She struggled with the words as they lodged in her throat, but as she opened her mouth to speak, the boy gently cut her off, “I’m fine.”

The girl closed her mouth and stared, frustration flaring. He was not fine! What stupid, stupid words. They were completely and absolutely false. And she had believed them for so long. She had let them lure her into a sense of peace, allowing him to plaster on a mask of contentedness. Why had she not known earlier? Was she that blind? Or were they not as close as she thought they were? Or perhaps she should have known that he was the master of the façade, skilled in the art illusion and deception.

The girl turned her eyes back to the lake. It looked so peaceful from here. So undisturbed. She suddenly felt as if it symbolized her situation. Breaking the ice would take more than a pebble. And the ice wouldn’t break itself. The girl inhaled deeply, then swallowed hard, determined yet shaking. Heart thumping, she reached out a hand, searching for his to lace hers through.

It was time to break the façade.

 

Love Sick

This was a piece kind of inspired by Animal by Neon Trees, which a friend recommended to me. The first verse goes, “Here we go again, I kind of want to be more than friends.” And then there is a part of the chorus that goes, “What are you waiting for?” A majority of the story is based off of those lines. And a lot of it based upon…stuff…in my life. Which I never expected to find myself trapped in.

And yes, I know, cliche titles are my specialty. Tell me about it. I also learned a little bit about <span> coding while trying to get the last two words into Edwardian Script ITC. So, yup.

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The candle burned steadily, casting a low, golden glow into the room. A crisp piece of white paper lay neatly upon the worn wood. An inkwell glimmered mysteriously at the corner of the desk. Darkness huddled around the little circle of warmth, but the girl who sat in the sphere of light felt nothing. Her attention was pinned to a white piece of paper with fairly neat writing printed out in firm line across its pureness. The girl had read and reread the words a thousand times, and yet she still felt as if she had to keep reading it. Finally, she sighed deeply and dipped her quill into the ink. The words started slowly, smoothly, neat and legible. But as the girl wrote, the words began to pour out like water through a dam. Faster and harder, until her quill could no longer keep up with the rapid pace of her mind, letters smearing and words smudging.

How am I supposed to explain to you the depths to which you have changed me? I suppose I must try, lest my heart shatter from trying to hold all of this emotion in. You are like a luminous fire, a lantern in the darkness. I was drawn to you from the very start. The heat told me to stay away, but I wouldn’t listen. My friends told me if I played with fire, I would get burned. But I wouldn’t listen. Now your flames have utterly consumed me. And I cannot bring myself to care. Every second of every minute I can think of nothing but you. You dominate every aspect of me. My mind tells me this is irrational. My heart tells me it’s perfectly reasonable. And is it not clear which one is winning?

I wonder, sometimes, do you notice when my eyes jump to you, when I search for your face among the crowds. I wonder if you can’t hear my heart sputter when you smile at me, when you laugh with me. I wonder if you can’t see the adoration behind my eyes when I talk to you, when I say these foolish things.

You drive me completely and absolutely insane. It’s irrational for so much of my joy to hinge on one person, to hinge on just you. I never thought that men were capable of being coy, but sometimes I think you have achieved just that. You’re twisting my poor heart around your finger, keeping me close just like that. Do you or do you not love me? Your self-control is astonishing. Does your heart not leap for joy when you see me? Do you not flush with jealousy when you see me joking with other men? Do you not make every effort to be with me whenever you can? How do you hide these things so well? Is it because I am a woman, and my emotions are so much stronger than yours? Surely not! Unfathomable.

I used to think that I could wait, that I could wait for when you gathered your courage and your wits. I imagined that day, and I was anxious in anticipation. But now, now I don’t think I can do it anymore. I cannot bring myself to stay away from you. You’re wrenching my heart asunder the longer we remain seperated. Soon you will hold nothing more than little splinters, and still I will remain forever yours. Such is the strength of my devotion.

And now you tempt me once more, only to draw away. How much longer must I wait? When I saw your words, my heart stopped, and my breath caught. The blood rushed to my face, and I felt light headed. Ever since, I have walked around in a daze. I cannot say if anyone else has noticed, but I have no longer been myself. You have melted me, changed me into something else irrevocably. Someone else. My stomach and my heart aches. Eating is unimaginable. I am addicted to you, and you alone. Being apart from you is causing me physical pain. The emotions that surge in me like a maelstrom are wreaking havoc upon my body. It’s all your fault, and once more I cannot find it in myself to blame you. Can you not tell? I am

 

Suddenly something small and warm dripped down the girl’s face, interrupting her flow of words. It fell upon her paper, stark crimson against the whiteness. It trembled there, perfect in shape, deeply vermillion. The girl blinked, and another drop fell to join its partner. With a quavering hand, the girl lifted a hand to her eyes. When she lifted her fingers, they were painted red. With shaking hands, the girl picked up her quill. After a moment’s hesitation, she dipped it into the two droplets. She had just enough to scratch out two words.

Love sick

 

Maelstrom’s Key

I…am not exactly sure what I mean in writing this…just an outpouring of the thoughts swirling around in my head. I swear, I don’t think like this all the time. Just when I’m thinking deeply about the things going on around my life. Yeah, so this is raw, unedited for the most part. I’m sure it won’t even make sense to me later on. But anyways, it’s definitely too vague to post as a writing contest submission, so I might as well xD

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Now this conflict has reaches sizes of epic proportions. It’s dangerous, and I fear for his self-control. The emotions broiling around him are a maelstrom. He is the only one holding it in and keeping it from unleashing its terror. If it does explode, it will tear damage across the stratum and more. It will rip asunder true, good friendships and whip away the gossamer veil that thinly disguised hate. And yet even though he is the wall, the lock that holds all this danger safely back, any one of us can be the earthquake that weakens the foundation of his will. Even I, in the know of nearly all aspects of the peril, don’t have enough power to stay away. Things could easily become disastrous and doom us all to lives of solitude.

Under deception and under deceit, the others are equally lucky and unfavored. They need not have considerations for those who they may hurt, no concerns for those they might scar and harm. They are not even aware that they may be the cause of sleepless nights and waking nightmares. Their weapons are mere words, but should the tides turn, I fear these may turn to actions. Actions that will change the paths of fate beyond repair. But such is the reason that I hide my knowledge from them. So long as they remain innocent in their ignorance, they need not toss and turn over the worries that I suffer, the worries that I may injure those who I consider closest to me. Oh, their blessed ignorance.

Yet, perhaps such lack of knowledge is not such a blessing for them, but a curse. No commander may enter a battle without full knowledge of her enemy and their goals. Surely I stand in the advantage, with insight upon every aspect of the coming battle, and allies from whom I may draw. Surely they will fall short in their calculations, leaving me crowned victor? Surely I shall be the hero and the villain who has prevailed against all odds? “Hail Théoden King!” But no, I cannot do this. With knowledge comes responsibility, and I have sworn to myself that I shall not be the dagger that shatters their hearts, nor shall I be the poison that steals their life. I leave the decision in his hands, and if he is wise, that decision will be one that is made not today, not tomorrow, but in the future. One day they must know of what they have stepped into, the labyrinth they may lose themselves in. But not today. For if they know today, I cannot be sure they will show discretion in their actions, and use kindness in their considerations. No, I fear that they will be blinded by the knowledge and break into open war.

And perhaps that should be my goal. Perhaps I am truly the evil one, the one who lurks in lies. Does not my human nature coerce me to allow all others to fall – even to force them to fall? Do I not leave them in the darkness? And yet! Yet I do this for their sake. What joy could I gain from victory should I rejoice while they suffer? What joy indeed. No. I keep them gloom so that they may think the shadow is light, lest they see each other, lest they see their enemies waiting upon the wings of war.

Even as I pen these phrases, even as I hide away the knowledge, perhaps my efforts are all in vain. Should I turn a blind eye to what unfurls before my eyes? Should I, too, take refuge in ignorance? Perhaps I believe that this war is to be fought honorably, as a war among friends should be. Perhaps I believe that little blood should be shed, and everything that can remain whole does so. But what if they do not? What if their desire for victory overpowers their sense of morality, if their desire breaks the cords that tether them to their humanity? Oh, but they will not see it as such. They will claim that battles are not won with honor! How it angers me to see that they do this even now, chafing against the ties of friendship, ready to untie the knots at a moment’s notice. They will throw away the balance of their lives. All for one person. All for one battle. Such is why I do not tell them such things, but I cannot keep this from them forever.

How destructive words can be! How rampant are the simplest of phrases! Three of these are the key that will break his guard, that will shatter his gates and let loose to Maelstrom. Three of these, once spoken by him, once uttered into the air that we breathe, they will be the first shots of the battle that is to come. And what is the key to the Maelstrom itself?

I.

Love.

You.