o1.
Against my legs, I felt his head move and I smiled. There was something about the way he slept that almost reminded me of rainstorms in the amazon. Frightening, but necessary in some ultra-natural, wildlife discovery episode.
It was funny, because I always imagined he wouldn't be the natural type, but as he laid there he looked like a baby lion, who was just learning how to fight.
o2.
I was once told I had light skin and dark lips and I suppose that is true. My eyes are light though, or at least, they used to be. Mum always said hope kept your eyes alight and that would make sense, because for a long time my eyes were just distant candles, blown about by fierce winds, ready to go out.
I pitied my irises, for they didn't know how to blink.
o3.
I remember thunderstorms at my window, when I was tucked up into bed. Sometimes I would be in awe and sit up, looking through apocolyptic brightness through my curtains and wonder who would be out there right now, braving the fierce winds, howling rains and the bright lights. I often wondered if there was a special man who controlled the weather and if so, if I asked him to switch off the bad noises would he, so I could sleep safe and secure?
Othertimes, I'd huddle under the blanket, pretending it was my tent and I was camping. The thunder hit my tent and I squeeled, releasing my sweaty palms from the bedspread and giggled with glee; ever since, whenever I've been afraid I've just drifted away and turned the horror into something imaginary.
o4.
I could've sworn I was a boy. Although my hair was long and delicate, like a nightingales wing, I felt somehow my choice of fury was somewhat of a masculine feature. My fists tight at my sides, my voice on ocassion, like venom from a snakes snarl and, perhaps I was simply imagining it, but I felt a little bit of penis envy.
I wanted a key to fit into the door, I didn't want to be the bell that everybody pressed to let them in.
o5.
I giggled, as we ran through streets of slate blue in ten o'clocks arms and bussled our way past guard dogs and younger kids, falling over themselves in costumes of blood red and sequin Gold.
The cold breeze against my nearly bare arm was rather alluring, like the night sky was seducing me. I suppose perhaps her danger and her mystery took me by the hands and drove me to a place where I could smile at the most grotesque of things.
We knocked on doors and were handed all kinds of sweets. Even at one house, were were offered a bottle of whiskey.
I don't like whiskey.
o6.
Next to her top bunk was a shelf, with strange looking dolls and delicate little titbits. I rather thought it reminded me of my grandmas house. Old, stale but rather pretty, in an ancient way. Her age, only one year older than me made this probability rather unlikely, though I still stared as if I looked the Roman empire in the face and shook each emporer's hand, one by one and recited aramaic as if it was my first language.
I never knew, she was not quite as gentle as an old lady and perhaps, if I were to look close enough, with my ten year old eyes, I could've seen this. But I was only human and human, was the worst that I could be.
Her hands stroked my leg and I pulled back all of a sudden and gasped, as if she had electfified me. Her hands were hot, but the way she snaked her fingers close to my inner thigh, I knew that her heart was cold.
There is no need to go on, I am no dairy product and I do not wish to produce nightmares.
o7.
I always found the smell of danger an intriquing feature and I suppose you can't get more closer to danger, than going above and beyond you found yourself capable of.
My feet swung off the side of his bed and my ankles ached; I'd came back from a relatively taxing walk earlier on that day and I felt the need to drop my feet of at the authoptist.
Friend at my side; he was always a hyper one. His eyes - though even less developed than mine - darted about the room, even though he did not know what he was looking for, or even at. Still he talked so quickly whilst our London friend sat in his chair, rolling one.
My hyper friend said no, my adventurous side said yes.
Though I was not keen much of strange substances touching my lips, I knew I loved the taste and feeling it gave me. My heart was calmed, though my eyes seemed sharp and aware. I had a little bit of this experience before, in some way - second hand.
I smiled at all my surroundings, realising that the world had some beauty in it's burdens and some benile truths in it's complexities. I loved that I could see this with optimistic aura for a change. So I knew today wouldn't be the last time I took a drag and I suppose, I still would be willing today.
o8.
I didn't really like the sun much and today was no exception. Our strides were uneven and his longer, deeper and mine frantic and impatient. I wiped the sweat of my brow and begun to recite conversations in my head, to pass the time away; it didn't really work.
My stomach was in knots. I felt you - maybe, I wouldn't know - tell me to sit us down and relax a bit, if only for a while. It took a time to grant your wish, but I tried.
Sitting on Stuey's porch, my ex and your Daddy - though the sound of that makes me want to excrete ectoplasm from every orifice I possess. Stuey seemed pleased; he told us that he hadn't seen much of anyone over summer and it wall all rather boring. I held many a sympathy, as I found the tanned skinned, muscular boy a beauty, in ways you couldn't call a child and in others, you couldn't call a man. Perhaps an angel was closer to what I saw.
Eating icecream and tapping my toes and throwing a ball to his nan's doggie--his face excited and interested, as if normally nobody played with him. I suppose it's hard when you're old and have an energetic dog. He barked at a couple of other canines as they went by.
Stuey and the ectoplasm equation walked with me into town. My sweat bucked again and I knew that perhaps this time, you weren't going to hold up and I expect, due to what happened about a week later, that I was right.
I told Stuey that day that he was handsome and if I was alone, I may want to touch his lips against mine and show him that not all woman are bad and not all hope was gone. I wasn't a cheater, I just wanted what was best for everyone.
o9.
It made sense now why I always loved artistry. The poetic apostles and painter picasso always caught me off guard and managed to make me feel, from time to time.
It's funny, because I always thought I was a little bit too logical in some respects, to enjoy the natural elegance of a brush, or the touch of clay against clammy hands, but now I realise the logical and emotional walk hand in hand; they must have dated.
Those lips painted with such perfection, were like how I saw Stuey's. Delicate, angelic and almost ethereal. The sky above was beautiful, enchanting but not as much as this angels eyes were.
I wondered what my eyes looked like to an outsider; warm, confused, cold?
I doubt I'll ever know.
1o.
I feel guilty for looking out the window at the sunshine and thinking of how I wish it would rain. Sometimes I doubt my understanding of nature and all it's aspects. I equally find myself staring at the rain and wondering if she has a voice and if she does, what would she say.
Could I have a conversation with her?
Would my tears be the same hydroxide that she leaked from precious skies, or would they equal difference. One for sorrow, two for joy? Which one would be which anyway?
11.
I used to believe in the devil as my God, because he was the only one who could understand the blackness that lay dormant in my heart.
I used to think I was superhuman, that I had secret powers that I could use to get my way. I suppose in some sense I do, because everytime I wish something bad on someone, it takes place - I suppose I don't believe in a devil, because I must be one. But I rarely wish harm on anyone anymore.
I try to convert my negative energy into hope and radiance of hope, but it doesn't always turn out that way. My flashes of psychic ability confuse me and my empathy, full blown - I never needed to be taught the understanding of emotions and how to read others. I didn't even need to look at them much. I hear it, I think it, I feel it - everyday.
But I wont linger on something I cannot explain. I can feel you're confused, already.
Perhaps I am too, in some twisted way.
This is where the story should end, as I have too many memories that I can't seem to tuck away. I will find another page and another day to rip out emotions I'm afraid to face and memories I'm afraid to remember.
Author notes
This is about all the experiences I've had in my life, as little flashbacks for memories.
If you want to know what a particular section is about, if you don't understand, then let me know and I'll tell you.
Hope it's not tooo long.
M i d n i g h t - x - R o s e
In a list
A contest entry
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Be honest, be true. Be honest to me, I'll be honest to you ♥;
Comments
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Wow. This is absolute brilliance. It is amazing and beautiful, wonderful, magnificent. Lots of pretty adjectives. Thank-you very much for entering this piece into my contest.
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Wow. You definitely took the time and really got it all out. That's really wonderful. There are times I wish I could do that too but I just don't feel like I have that much to say. You sound like you've had some pretty strong experiences that have really shaped who you are but it sounds like you are a thinker and that has helped you deal with it all and put it into prospective. You did a good job of expressing yourself here.
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