#i was just looking out the window and watched the sunrise through the grey rainy clouds c': | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

arotechno · 4 years

Text

The Heartless: Chapter 3

Read on Inkitt

First | Prev | Next

Chapter III: in which the biggest victories are often anticlimactic

The night before we were set to head out, having mapped out an ideal route through a couple of neighboring villages to the southeast, I simply could not silence my thoughts long enough to fall asleep. Fear had bound me to the limits of the Village and the surrounding woods for years. Who could know how much the rest of the kingdom, so far removed from the tiny, isolated village I knew, had changed in that time? Petra would know what the outside world was like, but admitting my fears to her was out of the question; as the older one, who was supposed to keep her out of trouble, I needed to save face.

I stood up from my cot and began pacing circles around the dining table. I needed to relax; if a child could have that kind of courage, then certainly I could, too. Granted, she was young and naive and had a vastly different childhood than mine--but was that fair of me to say?

My pacing was interrupted by a door creaking. Bertrand emerged from his study, scraggly beard more unkempt than usual. He studied me briefly, grey eyebrows raised.

“You’ll wear a hole into the floorboards,” he mused.

My shoulders sank. “Of course, the floor is your main concern.”

Bertrand paused, eyeing me from across the room for a few silent beats. “You leave in the morning, yes?”

I nodded. “Only for a week or so.”

Several carefully concealed emotions passed across Bertrand’s face; his mustache twitched almost imperceptibly. Then, his usual stony expression returned, and he reiterated, “I was being serious about the floorboards,” and said nothing more before returning to his study and locking the door behind him with a resounding click.

I shook my head dismally and returned to bed.

* * *

I woke up to the same drab, brown ceiling as always, the wood rotting away rainy day after rainy day. Blinking away sleep, I rolled out of bed and changed my clothes in the glow of the rising sun pouring through the window. The door to Bertrand’s study was left ajar, and for a moment I thought about saying goodbye—but I decided against it, for fear he’d only try to change my mind. So I stuffed a few stale crusts of bread and supplies into my satchel and left, not daring to look back.

The heat had begun to set in, and the air was thickening with each passing day as summer tightened its grip on the kingdom. I met Petra at the village gates beyond the great oak tree just after sunrise, with my over-stuffed satchel slung cross-body and my bow and arrow at the ready on my back. Petra greeted me as giddily as ever, bouncing on her heels with unyielding energy.

“Are you ready?” she urged, already hopping the fence to the other side.

I willed my legs to move, but they wouldn’t. “Petra… Are you sure this is safe?”

Petra frowned. “I leave the village all the time. Much longer than you’ve been aware, in fact. No one’s ever watching.”

What did she mean, no one’s ever watching? “Petra, the royal guard patrols this area all the time.”

“Have you ever seen them?”

“I— What? No, I’ve never really—”

Petra gestured broadly with both her scrawny arms. “I have walked through here every hour of the day and I have seen a guard perhaps once or twice, and never have they questioned me. They keep the gates locked as a scare tactic, sure, but nothing is stopping you from hopping the fence.” She put her hands on her hips and frowned. “Have you really never even once tried to leave, just to take a walk down the road?”

I felt exposed. She, a child, had seen right through me. Sure, I had taken walks through the woods on the opposite end of the village, and I could see the gate from the oak tree where I spent most evenings. But never had I even considered the possibility of leaving until Petra had convinced me, and not once had I stopped to wonder whether the royal guard were ever really watching, or if they ever really cared who went in or out so long as we didn’t cause them any trouble. Perhaps as long as we kept our mouths shut and vowed to stay in the shadows and on the fringes of society, they did not care what happened to us. After all, clearly no one was truly preventing Petra’s escapades, nor the entrance of the sorts of troublemakers who chased after her.

“No,” I finally admitted. “I’ve never done this before. This is the first time.”

“Why?”

I did not give a response, and after a few moments Petra seemed to decide not to press me for one; perhaps she already knew the answer. Instead, she stepped back and gestured expectantly at the fence. Steeling my resolve and taking a deep breath, I hoisted one leg over the fence and then the other. My feet hit solid ground, and the world did not come to an end as I once expected it would; for the first time in seven years, I was outside the boundaries of the Village of the Heartless. It felt every bit as anticlimactic as you might expect.

We headed southeast on foot, down to a border village not unlike my own hometown, full of tiny cottages and dirt roads and street vendors selling their wares in the market square. No one paid us much attention; to the townspeople, we were no different from them, save for perhaps our appearances. Petra’s ill-fitting clothing and my bow and arrow made us stand out far more than the secret we were harboring seemed to be able to. This, of course, had been how I was able to conceal my identity as a child: from the outside, no one can tell how empty you are--it’s only when they get too close that our true selves come out eventually.

From the look of it, none of this was on Petra’s young mind at all. She waltzed through the town’s bustling streets as though she were its divine ruler, with all the undue confidence of someone young enough to believe themself untouchable and the track record to support it. I had once expected that her brief run-in with death those many weeks ago would have deterred her to some extent, but I had been wrong; whereas I was cautious, eyes always peeled, trigger-happy hands itching for my bow at the earliest sign of trouble, Petra was unabashed, brazen, a master of quick escapes and daring pursuits.

Or maybe she was just lucky, and too young to fear consequences. But then again, if there was anything my 17 years had taught me, it was that age and experience are often two vastly different things.

We browsed some of the market stalls from a safe distance (neither of us had more than some spare change to our names). There were farmers selling their early summer crops, bakers with baskets overflowing with still-warm loaves of bread and pastries stuffed with fresh jams. There was even a vendor selling medicinal potions in tiny glass bottles, which reminded me briefly of Bertrand, but I quickly pushed the thought from my mind and continued walking. At the far end of the square, there was a counter lined end-to-end with sweet cakes and fresh-baked raspberry pies that glistened red and moist in the summer sun, just like the ones that once sat sparkling on kitchen window sills as a promised reward for clean plates and helpful hands.

Petra’s stomach growled audibly. I reached into my bag and retrieved two not-quite-stale rolls, one for me and one for her.

“Come on,” I prompted, nodding at the stretch of dirt road that led back out of the market square. “We should go.”

When we stopped to rest that evening, it was up in the trees on the edge of town, where we would not be disturbed by animals nor discovered by late-night passersby. I watched the people pass by below; workers returning home, couples strolling hand-in-hand, gaggles of laughing children running through the streets, doting parents walking by with their babies. I thought of the Village of the Heartless, its unlit lamps and perilous nights, but also its peaceful mornings and quiet afternoon laughter, and tried fruitlessly to reconcile the two images in my head.

“What was your home village like?” Petra asked quietly, eyes fixed on a group of kids about her age that were playing a game in the street below.

“Not all that different from this one,” I answered simply.

“I see.” Petra fussed absentmindedly with the hem of her shirt, mouth set in a soft frown. “Were there a lot of other kids your age there?”

If I’d had a heart, I imagine it would have clenched. Instead, I felt an aching sort of sadness set deep into my bones. “There were,” I confirmed.

“So you must have had a lot of friends,” Petra pried, both a statement and a challenge in one. She stared firmly into my eyes expectantly.

I sighed. Petra’s budding interest in my past was only going to end poorly for the both of us. “I once thought so,” I replied honestly. “But in the end, when the veil was lifted, maybe it was only ever just Basil.”

Petra hummed thoughtfully, but she did not ask any more questions. Instead, she leaned into the crook of the branches she was perched in, and we sat in silence as the moon rose high above the horizon. Petra closed her eyes and drifted off to sleep, while I listened to the steady heartbeat of the village below. I barely slept a wink.

#The Heartless #aro #aromantic #aro writing #aro writers #aspec writing #aspec writers #writeblr #op

31 notes · View notes

hiddenclawsof · 4 years

Text

aesthetic tag game

tagged by @yutopiada (one of my fav ptg writers out there still notices me to this day im emo--)

rules: bold the aesthetics you relate to and add twenty of your own aesthetic qualities for others to bold.

@yunwoo, @wookikun , @hojinhoe (hi no pressure in doing this but if you want to do this you are welcome to do so ((: )

7 notes · View notes

yungidreamer · 4 years

Text

Aesthetic tag game

tagged by @seoultraveller

rules: bold the aesthetics you relate to and add twenty of your own aesthetic qualities for others to bold.

i’m tagging @uncommoncold @twancingyunhoe @luthenia and whoever else wants to do it. if you like this, i think you should just totally jump in and do it!! (NO OBLIGATION TO DO THIS!)

6 notes · View notes

seoultraveller · 4 years

Text

aesthetic tag game

tagged by @kodabodaa a very very long time ago

rules: bold the aesthetics you relate to and add twenty of your own aesthetic qualities for others to bold.

i’m tagging @atthispointwhoevencares @closer-stars @yeocult @yungidreamer @daybreakx @atiny-ahgase @chrryhwa @seongghwaa and whoever else wants to do it. if you like this, i think you should just totally jump in and do it!! (NO OBLIGATION TO DO THIS!)

#those are my aesthetics #what are yours?

3 notes · View notes

wookikun · 4 years

Text

aesthetic tag game

tagged by @hiddenclawsof (who wrote the very first WooKi I've read and well I'm facing some unpleasant moments but u still remembers me and that heals me a lot)

rules: bold the aesthetics you relate to and add twenty of your own aesthetic qualities for others to bold.

I'm not gonna tag anyone cuz I'm unfamiliar here but still I want to do this si without tagging I just do it :(((((

2 notes · View notes

milkybonya · 4 years

Text

aesthetic tag game

tagged by my dear @thelilyshope <3 <3 (taking a break from studying to do this!)

rules: bold the aesthetics you relate to and add twenty of your own aesthetic qualities for others to bold.

@tomoonine, @jfc-max, @hiddenclawsof, @yuthoe i tag youuu ! (but there is no obligation to do this :”) )

#no fics just kicks

2 notes · View notes

kodabodaa · 4 years

Text

aesthetic tag game

tagged by @actuallythatwaspromise thank you honey

rules: bold the aesthetics you relate to and add twenty of your own aesthetic qualities for others to bold.

i’ll tag @uwooyu @okayjoonie @seoultraveller and whoever else wants to do it

#i love a good aesthetic tag ngl #tagged #koda stfu challenge

2 notes · View notes

katehuntington · 5 years

Text

How You & I Will Be - part five (finale)

Fandom: Supernatural Main characters: Reader, Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester (mentioned), Bobby Singer (mentioned) Pairing: Dean x Reader Serie summary: When a hellhound case in the mountains goes sideways, Dean and Y/N find themselves trapped in a small cabin, miles from civilization. A serious injury forces the two hunters to come to terms with their true feelings for each other. Rescue is on its way, but will it be in time? Part 5 warnings: angst, severe anxiety, nightmares, hallucinations, swearing, alcohol, description of blood and injury, possible character death. Some fluff. Music: ‘Lullabye’ by Billy Joel Word Count: 2154 words Author’s note: This is it, folks. The end of my mini series, and what a pleasure it was. Thank you @idreamofhazel and @littlegreenplasticsoldier for helping we work on this, you both are wonderful betas. Fair warning when you proceed: I managed to move them both to tears. @littlegreenplasticsoldier even made clear that I will have to hire someone to do my obit at my funeral, because I will have no friends left after this.

Find the ‘How You & I Will Be’ masterlist here!

It turns out Y/N has a little more time on her side than they initially thought. Not that she will be able to remember much, since she laid in Dean’s arms unconscious most of the time, but somehow the huntress has made it till sunrise. Despite her brave attempt, her condition deteriorates with every minute that passes. During the hallucinations, Dean pulled her into his lap, holding the girl he loves with everything he’s got, like he would comfort an infant. The acid trip-like dreams had her in confusion and all he could do to sooth her, cradling her gently, whispering sweet words and promises.

The nightmares seem to have passed now, setting in a new stage that is just as ominous. She has been unresponsive for quite a while, as if she has drifted off into a coma. It feels as if she’s slipping through his fingers like desert sand and there’s nothing he can do about it. Sometimes it takes over twenty seconds for her to breathe in again, which is only a weak gasp for air. Between those inhales Dean keeps her close to his chest, begging silently for her to take another breath, to stay a little longer.

Red ashes have turned into grey charcoal overnight, causing the temperature in the cabin to drop. Now Dean’s leather jacket is the only item that can provide her some warmth; even if there were wood left, he wouldn’t let her go to restart the fire. The storm has passed quickly and it wouldn’t surprise Dean if it was the work of that witch that owed Bobby. The rescue-team was supposed to start their climb at the break of dawn; they are probably well on their way, now that the first rays of sun peek over the ridge, watercoloring the sky with pink and purple. The mountaintop of Glacier Peak is outlined with gold that glows ever brighter as the sun comes up. It’s a beautiful sight, one that Dean enjoys intently, aware that these will be the final moments he’ll have with his girl.

When the sunshine spreads a warmth in the cabin, illuminating the fibers of dust that float in the air surrounding them, Y/N opens her eyes slightly without Dean noticing it. The scenery outside captivates her. The view looks more like a painting from Leonid Afremov than it would seem like reality, and for a second she wonders if she’s hallucinating again. But when she observes Dean, who admires the spectacular scenery as well, she guesses it’s nature’s way of saying goodbye.

“Well…” she rustles, words coming out raspy. “If that isn’t the most beautiful sunrise I’ve ever seen….”

Stunned, Dean looks down at her. He honestly didn’t expect her to ever open her eyes again, but here she is. A moment of clarity. God, it’s nice to hear the sound of her voice again, despite it not being more than a weak whisper. “Hey, you,” he returns, smiling down. She smiles back, glad to be able to gaze up into those depthless green eyes once more. He lovingly strokes some wayward hair from her forehead, and places a tender kiss on her skin. Embracing the moment, she closes her eyes and sighs as her grin reaches wider. When he pulls back and witnesses the satisfied expression on her face, he suddenly notices the difference; she’s made peace with her fate. It scares him deeply, he isn’t anywhere close to prepared for her coming death. “You wouldn’t be able to squeeze out a few more hours by any chance?” he pleads. “The rescue workers are on their way.” For a moment she opens her eyes again, clearly worn out by the fight for life. She swallows with difficulty and lets the air escape from her lips, finding it harder to inhale every time she does so. “I’m so tired, Dean….” Her voice fails, but he heard her. The hunter nods slowly, accepting the true message behind her words. The fight is over. She’s lowered her weapons. With difficulty, he gulps, trying to ignore the sharp, stabbing pain in his chest. After all, he has to be strong for her.

But she’s no fool; she can see right through it. Y/N knows how hurt he is, how he’s trying so hard to prevent himself from caving. She might be okay with the fact that her hour has struck, he can’t say the same. The thought of letting her go causes the tears to pool in his eyes. “Hey… It’s alright,” she tries to comfort him. He scoffs, amazed by her urge to care for him, even now. He manages a quivering breath. “I should be telling you that.” “I’m not the one who’s about to be left behind, am I?” she reminds him.

It’s a solid point. Who knows where she might drift off to. Heaven, the light, whatever one would want to believe. Dean will remain right here, on this spot of land without her. “What do you think is gonna happen next?” he wonders out loud. “Lights out and that’s it?” “Hell, no,” she chuckles, having found a little more spirit to strengthen her words. “It’s gonna be either Vegas or Hawaii. I haven’t decided yet.” Dean scoffs through the tears, imagining it for a moment. He hopes she’s right, it makes the idea of dying a little less terrifying. “Maybe my heaven will be driving down the road towards the sunset in the Impala, backseat to myself…” she continues on a serious note. “Maybe it’s this, this moment right here with you. This view.”

Dean follows her thousand-yard stare through the window that portrays the colorful picture outside. As the sun rises further, it casts an golden light over the snowy mountains, and Y/N takes a moment to count her blessings. Sure, she wishes she would’ve had more time, but it isn’t the worse way to go. The man she gave her heart to is holding her close and they got the chance to spend their final moments together. The man who told her: I love you. The man she told: I love you, too. It’s not that bad, actually. “Promise me something?” He turns to face her again, waiting for a follow up. Trying to speak, her voice hitches in her throat as breathing becomes more difficult. Her fragile state indicates it won’t take long now. “Promise you’ll let your friends and family help you. Promise you’ll talk to Sam. Don’t bottle it up this time, okay?” The pressure on Dean’s chest becomes so heavy that his airway constricts. He is able to keep a hold of her questioning gaze, though. “I promise,” he assures, choking up. “And no deals,” she continues. “I know you’ve been thinking it.” “Y/N -” But she won’t have it and interrupts his attempt to object instantly. “No, Dean. I don’t want you to get torn up by those hounds. If you make a deal, you’ll go to hell,” she pauses to catch her breath. “And where I’m going… It’s not a bad place.” Dean sighs after a moment’s consideration, trying to blink away his tears as he admits to her conditions with a nod. “Alright.”

She smiles slightly, glad to have his word and relieved that she got the message across. It remains quiet for a couple of minutes as her respiration slows down even further, taking down her pulse as well. Scared, Dean holds his love, watching her subside, further and further away from him. “Dean?” His name is barely audible, it’s more of a breath than her voice. “Yeah?” She forces her eyes open, taking in the hunter above her. For the first time since last night, tears stain her beautiful eyes. Dean knows exactly what she’s trying to capture, because he’s trying to accomplish the same. He takes her in, every feature, every perfect flaw. A few lost birthmarks that decorate her face and neck. That scar on her chin that she always tries to cover up with a scarf or the collar of her jacket. The slight frizz in the lock of hair that she cusses about whenever it’s rainy or windy. And damn, those eyes, those gorgeous eyes. “I-I think it’s time….” she stammers weak.

She’s might be okay with dying, that doesn’t mean that she isn’t scared of what lays ahead. Of course she’s terrified, who wouldn’t be scared of the unknown? Vampires, ghosts, demons; she faced them all. But with every single monster she came across, she knew a way to defeat them. Never, ever, did she show up for a fight unprepared. At the verge of battle she was armed with a weapon of choice, if it was silver, salt, dead man’s blood or the Colt. She knew her opponent, she did her research, she read the lore. But she can fantasize about casinos or white sandy beaches all she wants, the truth is that nothing can prepare anyone for what awaits on the other side. “It’s alright, Y/N. I’ve got you,” Dean comforts, pulling her even closer, resting his chin on the top of her head. “I’m right here. I won’t leave your side, I promise.” She cries against his chest silently, wheezing every time she tries to inhale. Dean’s heart is beating out of his chest as hers will stop any moment now. “Y-you know what my mom’s favorite song was… to sing to me?” she whispers, referring to their talk days ago, about music and songs sang by their mothers. “It was Lullabye... Billy Joel… She always sang Lullabye.” “It’s a good song,” Dean gets out with difficulty. “It is,” you smile into his shirt, before she softly whispers the first lines.

Goodnight, my angel Time to close your eyes And save these questions for another day

Dean joins in with her, cradling his dying girl to the rhythm of the song. The melody somehow makes it easier to pronounce the words.

I think I know what you've been asking me I think you know what I've been trying to say I promised I would never leave you, and you should always know Wherever you may go, no matter where you are I never will be far away

She lets Dean take over the vocals completely, listening to his emotional yet clear voice. It hushes her into a deep sleep from which she will never wake again. Slowly Y/N sinks further into the depths of unconsciousness. But she can still hear him, she can still hear Dean. Scientists have proved that the sense of hearing is the last one to perish when a person dies. Seems like they are right.

Goodnight, my angel Now it's time to sleep And still so many things I want to say Remember all the songs you sang for me When we went…

He stops mid-sentence, waiting for some kind of response from Y/N. A flinch, her chest rising, anything. But nothing happens. There’s no cloud of humid air coming from her lips, even the drum in her chest has stopped playing. When he lifts his chin off her head and loosens his grip on the woman in his arms slightly, he is able to behold the blank expression on her pretty face, eyes slightly opened, but her soul is gone.

“Y/N…?”

Shocked he stares at her as a lump obstructs his throat. A hole in his stomach grows larger when the harsh reality replaces his denial. Dean can’t prevent the tears from building up in his eyes and so he looks up, hoping that they won’t fall down, but they fall anyway. Unable to cope with the avalanche of sorrow that hits him like a freight train, his bottom lip starts to quiver and slowly he begins to move back and forth, mourning, as he presses her lifeless body against his.

He lost her. For a few moments she was his and now he’s lost her. He whispers her name in her hair, tells her he loves her once more and then again. God, he would give anything to see her react to those words, by throwing him that amazing smile. Softly he continues to sing the song. The earth turns and the sun shines its light on the both of them. His voice is shaking so badly that he has trouble getting anything out at all. Being able to hold and cradle her helps, and so he sets off again where her death caused him to pauze.

Remember all the songs you sang for me When we went sailing on an emerald bay And like a boat out on the ocean I'm rocking you to sleep The water's dark and deep, inside this ancient heart You'll always be a part of me

Someday we'll all be gone But lullabies go on and on They never die That's how you and I will be

The end, people. Thank you so much for reading my story. I appreciate every single one of you. If you would like to talk about this or if you need a grief-counselor, let me know. Feedback is very much appreciated.

Follow Forever: @angelsandwinchesters @atc74 @bandobsession98 @books-wands-swords-impalas @canadianspnhunter @chumi-la-chula @cookie-dough-lova @dillpicklesunflowerseed @hannahindie @heartsaved @hennessy0274-blog @hyperella @idreamofhazel @just-another-busy-fangirl @kathaswings @like-a-bag-of-potatoes @mrswhozeewhatsis @myheartbeatsjustforyou @rainqueen @sammyssupersmile @sheepdogs33456 @sofiadiaz04 @spiritofoblivion @spnimag @sunskittlex @supernatural-girl97 @super-not-naturall @susan-is-in-the-house @theyaremyveryownthoughts @trashforwinchesters @ultimatecin73 @unlikelygalaxygiver @uzum4k1-uch1h4 @vvishous @vxxn128 @winchesterxtwo

How You & I Will Be tag: @deanwnchstr @parkeret @professionalspnfangirl @tmiships4life

168 notes · View notes

komorebirei · 5 years

Text

Herald - an original story from the past

I wrote this when I was nineteen. This is un-edited; it’s basically a dead piece, but from writing Broken Fugue, somehow my mind kept coming back to it and I realized this story kind of reminded me of Adrien in a way.

Herald Doctors said the sun would claim him. It would blind his eyes and shrivel his skin, crippling his immune system so dramatically that he was expected to die before the age of eight, when his body would have developed enough to handle the radiation. He was born into a flickering bedroom that became his walled kingdom, and after the candles were extinguished he knew no more than the glow of the sun through layers of pale amber and yellow curtain that covered the four-paneled window of his room. From infancy, when mother (tall, tired) would enter softly and lift him from his crib to teach him warmth, he grew to a child, head too large for his underdeveloped body, playing in and out of the shadows that streaked his domain. He was content this way, except for the day he tried to follow mother out of the room, after she had sat with him for hours—serene, as though praying—and taught him language from pictures and toys. She left when he appeared to sleep, but he waited until the door was open and followed her, in pursuit of the world that she drew for him in hairy blue sketches, that he knew she went back to every night. When she noticed, mother grew sweet and sad as she led him back. He screamed, and she restrained him, repeating a new word, “sorry,” until he grew too tired to fight. His mother’s tears were warm and familiar, and he touched them with pale fingers, over caruncles, over moth-wing eyelids. When mother left, the room was grey, and the boy stared at the shadows and watched dreams move in them until he fell asleep, hoping that mother would come back or that the sun would come up. He knew sunrise by the glow that rubbed away his charcoal nights, and the other thing that came with it. Mother called it music. “It comes from your brother’s violin,” mother explained. “Your brother is my son, but older than you. You are also my son.” She drew a picture, called it a tree, though it looked different from the other trees she had shown him. He and his brother, and mother, were on it. He didn’t understand yet, thought it was another story. He had thought at first she was saying sun. It was difficult to understand that mother was not just her name. That there were other boys and mothers, distant as myth. During the day, he heard a hush sweep the air some days, and the room would lie silent and grey as dusk. Those days he would hear no music, and games would bore him. Mother called these rainy days, and even when she had left he would hear her sighing against the window, long and steady. The music, he thought, was the sound of sunlight stealing in through his curtains. Mother said he could not leave the room because the sun was too strong for him. That’s why, she said, you must keep away from it. The sun, the boy told mother without speaking, tells me stories more exciting than yours.

- On the last day of his sixth year, he heard voices behind the door. He thought he had heard them before, but couldn’t remember when. When someone finally came in, it was only mother, who asked him to help her fix shutters onto the window. He stood on a stool and struggled to hold the panels in place while she drilled them in. These she closed and locked. The room went utterly dark. “Good-night,” said mother, and he entered the night that grew too long to sleep through. Mother came in often, though her lessons were shorter and less warm, separated by long periods of unexplained crying. The boy was afraid. He did not cry with her and touch her eyes, as always before, but sat beside her, puzzled and afraid. He heard the violin sometimes, and knew that the sun had come out somewhere, though it was dark. This meant that days were passing. Countless days. He did not know why mother continued to pretend the long night. The music faded, though, breaking off sometimes as though wounded, and then it stopped coming. The boy was bored, and tried to make a village out of toy logs without seeing what he was doing. His searching hands knocked over houses. Sometimes he cried when he was alone, lungfuls of wailing. He was afraid of the night. It was too long.

- When he turned eight, mother took down the shutters, slowly and silently, as though she were praying. The light seeped in, though the curtains now seemed so thin that they did not exist, and the boy hid behind his fingers, peeping out through widening cracks until he could see mother sitting on the floor, watching him with reddened eyes. “Forgive me,” she said, sitting there. She was smiling strangely, though her cheeks were wet, and her face more creased than the boy remembered. There was something in the smile, and in the words, that the boy shrunk from. Nonetheless he crawled into her lap, as always, and wrapped thin arms around her waist, looking around the room with squinted fluttering eyes. He heard the violin outside. His toys seemed to be glazed with wetness. “I thought you didn’t love me anymore,” he said.

- Mother first took down his curtains. The room turned painfully bright. Some shadows grew deeper, while others disappeared. The boy stood in the centre of his room, blinking, startled at the light that filled the room like water, difficult to see through, stinging in his eyes. He was not glad or disappointed. He asked, “Is this the sun’s face?” “No,” answered mother, “not yet.” Mother then led him through the door. - When the boy first met the sun face-to-face, he had to peer through the fingers of one hand, squinting so that his eyelashes split the light before it touched his eyes. In his other hand, he held a pair of amber shades that he wore during the day. The world was immense. He was eight years old. In front of him there were no walls, and colours swelled out of everything. Mostly blue. There was a tall person standing at the bottom of the steps (“That’s your brother,” said mother) who had been bending and dipping, sharp yet undulant, like a thing in agony. He was holding two slender pieces of wood—a violin. The music, so familiar, was present and alive. The boy felt its contours enter his mouth, his chest. His hand came down from his face, and he forgot about the pain in his eyes. This was the sun. Hello. But the music stopped, and the tall person sat down in the grass, long legs bent, one arm holding the slender vessel of wood between his knees, his head bent down to the ground. His back rose and fell. Mother said, “He’s tired. Let’s go inside.” - The boy never saw his brother again, and the sun told him no more stories. There was a funeral full of too many people, and the speeches seemed irrelevant. Ignoring words, he watched the glossy black casket, imagining it full of piercing light. - When the boy was seventeen, mother gave him a present. It was a plain leather case, black and rectangular. He opened it and found his brother’s violin. The real wooden instrument was still mysterious and almost disparate from mother’s hairy drawings, and its light, hard-grooved body filled him with a forbidden wonder, as though he were touching something sacred. He went outside, where the sun burned through a sheet of cloud. He did not take off his shades. In the case he found folded sheets of paper, and he stared at the black marks that tracked across these honeyed leaves. They meant nothing to him. The instrument was strange in his hands, but smooth. He lifted it so that the sun glinted off its woodgrains, and drew the bow across hesitantly, the way he had seen. The sound was timid and rough, but sweetly familiar, so he slitted his eyes to let in only the ambered glow of the sun, and listened to its yearning voice, drawing it patiently out of a throat parched with disuse.

#Original Writing #Original Fiction #Prose

4 notes · View notes

hannie-dul-set · 4 years

Text

aesthetic tag

tagged by: @lunatens luna tysm for tagging me!! :D i love doing these things hehe

rules: bold the aesthetics you relate to and add 20 of your own aesthetic qualities for others to bold :)

this was a lot of fun wahaha, but it was kind difficult to think f aesthetics that weren’t already written :’> tagging @lamarkeu @joshva @starlightshua @sehunniepot @lcveletter but you don’t want to that’s totally fine :>

#dshfjdskfhk #time to studyyyyyy #tagged #lunatens

0 notes

littlenomo · 6 years

Text

The tales of Lombok and the great big volcanic rock

Phew! It's been a busy 10 days in Lombok. However the toughest challenge we faced here (or perhaps ever!) and the most painful for me to have to relive is that of climbing Mount Rinjani, so I'm going to tell you about that first. We did a 3 day trek up the volcanic Mount Rinjani, not quite to the summit, but still 2600m up (and down) and then 600m down (and up!) to visit the lake and hot springs in the crater of the mountain. It was definitely the hardest physical challenge I've ever had and Alex said it was more intense that the Inca trek and probably wouldn't have taken either of us if he'd known how hard it was going to be!! Day 1 - The Climb After our customary 2 hour wait at the hostel, we met our very international group (Finland, Spain, Malaysia, France, and the Lake District) and set off for a 30 minute journey in the back of a truck to our starting point. What started as a nice gradual climb through rolling hills with clanging cows' bells and a little woodland area, quickly torpedoed after lunch as the route got rockier, more treacherous and; most painfully, steeper throughout. It also didn't help my self esteem that our whole group were super humans. The British guy, Cory, had done the 'Lakes in a Day' challenge and seemed to be looking at the whole climb as if it were a race, Ville from Finland was about to begin training to be a ranger out there and Spanish Marija had been on Everest!! Needless to say, they were at least an hour ahead of us at all times. The last three hours (of 8!!!) were hell and I seriously doubted if we were going to make it even with our guide, Bihan, being so patient with us and making me a stick to help me. The last section (when our legs were about ready to give way) was near vertical with loose rocks on a twisty hillside. It gave me vertigo to look back and see how high up we were. However when we came out of that last wooded area, and turned to see a full moon above the vast valley below us, despite my weariness, I was still blown away by the view. The sun was just setting so it was perfect timing to reach base camp, with the full moon surrounded by pinky hues on one side, and then a bright colourful sky on the other as the sun set behind the crater with a glassy, calm lake at the bottom. I felt a brief moment of elation as we collapsed after taking a few photos, but then the pain kicked in. I think my body must have been in shock, as I was having leg and foot spasms, hot and cold flushes (it got cold very quickly once the sun was down), and didn't have much of an appetite; though the dinner was delicious. My only option for relief was to sleep. It was a small tent with a hard mat and a smelly sleeping bag, but I honestly didn't even notice. Day 2 - Hot springs and Lake While the rest of the crazies climbed to the summit at 2am (another 1000m climb), we had a relaxed morning at base camp; I mostly slept, and Alex had some quiet time watching the sunrise. Oh and guarding our tents from dozens of monkeys looking for leftovers! Eventually our group was back (one couple took over eight hours to do the summit - it sounded very precarious!!) and we persuaded a guide to take us to the hot springs. A landslide on our planned route meant we had to try a bit harder to figure out what was happening and what we were able to do, but we got there in the end. The trek down into the crater and back would have been hard on a normal day, but our already aching limbs made it all the harder. At least this one was 50% steep incline and 50% flat(ish) walking! The springs themselves were amazing to behold: steaming greeny blue streams flowing down between huge cream rocks. The water was extremely hot and I only managed to get my feet in (though they appreciated the special treatment!) before I was craving a cool down, so we headed to the lake for a swim. It seemed like a different world, though only 5 minutes away. It was misty and grey so that the lake looked like it went on forever. When the clouds cleared we realised we were close by to the cone (the most active part of the volcano) which was smoking away. It was such a shame we didn't have more time down there so we could really appreciate the springs and the lake. We were certainly wishing we were camping there for the night rather than facing the climb back to our beds, but climb we did. The second night ended much in the same way as the first; my body just willing for it all to end. Day 3 - The Descent Still knackering, and with a few hairy moments, I must admit once we got past the first super steep bit, I almost enjoyed parts of the descent, especially after my Immodium kicked in (yep, tummy still not quite right!) and I'd swapped my blistering boots for some freeing flip flops. I had a moment where I even felt grateful that I'd got to see such beautiful and remote things that lazy people like me usually never get to see. However, as my feet started aching, the last hour dragged and I could feel myself getting more and more worked up so that when I rejoined with Alex at the finish line, I wasn't surprised that I cried (making it a grand total of 4.5 waves of tears throughout the trek, but only one full blown meltdown: A:"You look miserable" N:"I AM MISERABLE!"), this time mainly just from relief that it was all over. In conclusion, I'm probably never going to climb another mountain like that again (not sure I even should have in the first place!), but we met some great people (Jonah from New York with his brilliant hiking hat was the highlight!), saw great things and certainly pushed ourselves to the limit, which I guess is a good test so early in a marriage! Oh and I've never enjoyed a hot shower and a nice hotel room so much in my life as I did that afternoon. The rest of our time in Lombok has been a stark contrast of relaxation, beaches and just your more your average holiday vibes and we were in the perfect locations for it. Firstly in our very plush hotel in Senggigi which had a really nice pool with an incredible view down over the hillside to the sea and secondly by the unbelievably beautiful south coast in Kuta. This time consisted of mainly of sunbathing (/burning), massages, mosquito bites, ice cream, shopping, swimming and Alex did a bit of surfing, but of course there were some highlights... Firstly, the day before we did the trek we were taken by our rather charming 15 year old guide, Ali, to see some waterfalls in Senaru. Alex got a rather harsh back massage from the first one, but it was really the second waterfall that blew us away. It was a crescent of smaller and narrow flows of water coming down a huge curved rock side in the rainforest, surrounding one bigger, more powerful jet that pushed out into the middle. I'm not sure my description does it justice but it really was amazing!! We also had the fun but slightly disconcerting journey back through the tunnels that bring water down to the town from the waterfalls (so that we could avoid all the stairs back, so it was for good reason!). With water up to my knees, it was pitch black in the tunnels apart from the occasional windows to the pathway which illuminated dozens of intricate dewy spider's webs. The ground underfoot was mostly smooth but did have the occasional hole (goodness knows where to!) that Ali skilfully helped us avoid. A really interesting and fun afternoon!! In Senggigi the main highlight was when we went for dinner in a deserted restaurant (as we've grown quite accustomed to; it's apparently "rainy" season here at the moment, though we've had someone watching out for us on that front so far!), so the live band were essentially just performing for us. The singer, Ronnie, came to chat with us in his break and I made sure to mention that Alex was a bassist. Low and behold, he was up playing "Sweet Child of Mine" with them in the next set, it was great. After the gig they then invited us to their house as it just so happened to be the day before Mawlid (Muslim equivalent to Christmas Eve) and they were having a get together at one of their houses. We said we definitely wouldn't want to eat (as we'd already eaten) and Ronnie assured me it would be OK if I didn't want any, but as I suspected this was met with disdain (I felt like a huge bloaty balloon, I couldn't even attempt it!). Either way, it was so nice of them to ask us there and their singalongs and copious amounts of food did make me excited for Christmas with our families, even if Alex was told off for eating with his left hand! I was sad that the woman who had made the meal wasn't part of the socialising itself, despite Alex trying to invite her in. Apparently it was a men only affair (apart from the tourist!). Kuta was, as I mentioned, breathtakingly beautiful. The kind of beaches you see on exotic postcards and perfume commercials. Aside from just riding around on our hired moped and soaking in the scenery (and eating incredible Mexican food!!), we did also have the closest we've had to a night out on the whole trip! Early on Alex was up to his usual chatty tricks and made friends with a local bar owner, Yoko. He helped us with moped hire and took Alex surfing, and it was his bar that hosted the Friday live music night that seemed to attract in the whole town - we haven't seen that many people gathered together in weeks!! It was a good giggle chatting to lots of drunken surfers from all over the world, fighting off, but simultaneously laughing with kids selling bracelets, doing balloons (Alex had another crazy deja vu experience), and having a dance at a safe distance from the crazy locals who were pouring beer all over each other. The final crescendo of the trip was a walk on our last night out to sunset point, which is every bit as romantic as it sounds. It is a set of surprisingly green rolling hillsides (you could believe you were in Cornwall!) on a peninsula that juts out into the sea at the end of one of the particularly beautiful beaches. There are small foot-made paths over the hills which lead to a variety of amazing vantage points of the stretching coast line in magic hour's golden light. On our way out we saw some cows that from a distance looked shimmery and almost waxy, but which, on closer inspection, turned out to be caked in mud from an unexpected mud bath just over the verge of the hill - a cattle spa! And, at the top, we saw a legitimate flying man! I've never seen it before (not even sure what it's called?), but it was a guy quite simply flying over the hillsides in a seat pulled by a big crescent kite which he controlled from levers in each hand. It was scary but amazing to watch him glide gracefully down the slopes and over the shimmering ocean. He managed to stay in the air for about an hour using only the power of the wind. So yeah, it's been great! However, I must admit, I'm hoping Flores, our next stop, will have less pushy salesmanship. It made me so sad seeing kids as young as maybe 6, selling bracelets at all hours of the day and night and one woman started telling me about how she was married at 15 when she was selling us sarongs and I could feel my blood start to boil!! All that aside, Lombok was one of the most picturesque places I think I've ever seen - certainly any honeymooners dream - and we are sad to go.

1 note · View note

benditlikebedford · 7 years

Text

Shattering || Adam Hann

A/N: I think this is my first Adam Hann fic I’ve published. Poor Hann. He deserves better. This is super angsty and I hate myself for putting y’all through this. Anyway. Y’all better give this some love because I poured my heart into this.

first time i’ve had to do this but i think it’s important I do

TW: pregnancy, blood, injury, death

It had rained that day.

It poured rain the entire day. We woke up at 11:30, the sky outside our window so dark we thought it was still night although it was nearly noon. It had a late start, but we went by our day as usual thereafter.

Having slept through breakfast, Adam made a brunch for us, letting me rest. Even if I had slept nearly 12 hours that night, I was having the hardest time waking up in the morning and Adam had been so concerned through it all. I told him it was nothing, but even nothing was always something with Adam.

After we ate, Adam mentioned he needed to go to the grocery store. He brought it up casually, a way of asking me to go with him without actually having to ask me to. I knew Adam wouldn’t mind going alone, and I knew he only asked for me to go along so we could spend time together. I knew if he left me home alone I’d fall asleep again, a mistake that would keep me up all night unable to sleep when it actually mattered.

The rain was still pouring as we left for the store. Adam, a gentleman as always, dropping me off at the front of the store while he went to park the car. I stood under the awning, laughing as I saw his tall figure running through the parking lot, holding an umbrella with one hand and my large collection of reusable shopping bags with the other.

While we were inside, the storm only got worse, the sound of the rain amplified against the roof of the store. I was starting to get nervous, not liking the idea of being stuck there instead of at home. Adam picked up on this, softly suggesting we split up to get the rest of the items on our list faster. While Adam went to find ice cream for us to share, I went to the pharmacy section to grab more shampoo. Adam always made fun of me, claimed I used more than my share of it, but I always reminded him that with his thin, short hair he couldn’t understand.

The small box caught my eye. It hadn’t been the first time I bought one, but I hadn’t bought one since I started dating Adam. Adam and I were careful, and I only had the slightest reason to believe what was inside that box could read positive. But once I got the idea in my head I knew I wouldn’t be able to put it to rest until I knew for certain. I snuck the box into our shopping cart when I rejoined with Adam and hoped he wouldn’t notice. If he did, he never said anything.

It was still raining when we left the store, dashing to our car together this time. All our groceries were soaking wet and once we were home, we had to dry off each item individually before we could put it away.

“What’s this?” Adam asked, holding the box I had tried to keep secret.

I was embarrassed, shaking my head, “It’s nothing- Don’t worry Adam-“

“Do you think you could be pregnant?” he asked, walking over and placing his hand on my shoulder. Everything he did was so caring, it made me feel bad for worrying him.

“No, no, no,” I insisted, “I just wanted to have it to feel better. That’s all.” He could tell I didn’t want to talk about it anymore, and with that he dropped the topic completely.

We went about the rest of our rainy day as if that had never happened. We didn’t bring it up again; not while we watched a movie, cuddled up on the couch, not while we cooked dinner together or while we cleaned up afterwards. I’d nearly forgotten about it myself, until I went to take a shower.

Alone in our bathroom, I saw the box sitting out on the counter. Reminded again of that seemingly slim, but still very real possibility, I decided to take the test then and get it over with. Even if Adam hadn’t verbalized it, I knew it was likely he was still worried about it too.

And that was my first life shattering moment.

Sitting on the tile floor, staring at those two lines in shock. I opened my mouth to speak. I couldn’t. My legs were frozen too, and eventually a strangled cry left my throat: “Adam”.

It was quiet, but a second cry soon followed even louder, “Adam!” That one was enough to gain his attention downstairs, and within seconds he ran through the door. He immediately joined me on the floor, hands combing over my hair, rubbing my shoulders, “What’s wrong? Are you okay?”

I shook my head. I wasn’t okay. Everything was wrong. I handed him the plastic stick, turning my head to bury it in his t-shirt. I didn’t want to see his reaction. The tears immediately starting falling, and I couldn’t stop them.

“Juliana, it’s okay,” he consoled me, but I wouldn’t believe him.

Adam was more than comforting, in the way he ran back to the store, buying two more tests in hopes that the first one was false, but they both only affirmed it. He held me as I cried, not making me speak until I was ready to, until I felt like my body was physically capable of it. We stayed up until it was nearly sunrise, talking about what our options were. Adam kept insisting that he would be more that willing to raise a child together, that he would be excited to even, but I couldn’t see that. Not at the point we both were in with our careers. Adam would want to be home with our baby, not on the road like he would be so soon again. But it was our baby, it was our child. We created something beautiful, even if it was an accident, and we both agreed that we wouldn’t want to see it destroyed.

Adam made me promise to leave my mind open to keeping the baby, but he was able to agree with me that for right now, how we saw it, adoption was our best option.

I spent days staring at myself in the mirror, rubbing my stomach, looking at different angles of my body, wondering if it had already started to change any. Adam, the scholar he always was, spent his nights reading books or websites, the light from his laptop shining on his face while we laid in bed at night. With each week, I grew more terrified and although he tried to hide it, Adam was only growing more excited.

We had sworn we wouldn’t buy any baby things until we knew for sure if we were keeping it. I was the one most adamantly pushing this rule, but I was the one that broke it.

A blanket, of creams and greys, the softest square only a few feet wide. When I saw it, I bawled, the hormones probably, but I clutched the blanket to my chest. I wanted my baby to have it. My baby.

I was on my way home to tell Adam I changed my mind, to tell him that there was no going back now, that this baby was ours and always would be. That I was willing to make all the sacrifices to keep our baby in our lives.

It was raining that day too.

Pouring rain, hitting the windshield of my car faster than the wipers could push it away. Roads of black glass, flooding so thick you couldn’t see where concrete began and water ended. Someone couldn’t stop soon enough, maybe it was me, or maybe it was all of us. An splitting noise as I closed my eyes so tightly. I closed my eyes so tightly, when I opened them, it was no longer raining.

It was no longer raining because I was inside. I was surrounded by blankets, by bright lights. I was only confused for a second because I knew. I knew when I remembered where I was when I first shut my eyes, I knew when I felt a pain in my leg so sharp, so sudden, the only thing I could do was cry “Adam”.

A hand squeezed mine and my eyes focused. This time in relief, “Adam”.

“Juliana,” he said, there was no tears in his eyes, but I could tell that was due to the fact that I when I was asleep, he exhausted them. “I’m here, love, relax.”

“What happened?” I choked out, nervous to hear the answer.

“You were in an accident-“

“I know,” I interrupted, “What happened to me.”

“You shattered your leg, but that’s the worst of it.”

“What about the baby? Did you tell them about the baby?”

Adam swallowed. He didn’t answer. He reached out and handed me something instead.

A blanket. A blanket of cream and grey and dark red. A soft square dried with blood, the few feet shortened by a rip at almost the exact midline.

“They gave this to me when I got here,” he told me, “It saved your life. A stranger used it as a tourniquet.”

“No..” I mumbled, “I bought this. I bought this for our baby.”

I turned away, I didn’t want to see Adam’s reaction. I didn’t want to see his face, filled with hurt, filled with sympathy. Our baby. The first time I’d said that.

“Our baby,” he repeated back, and I only nodded.

“Is he gone?” I asked, and this time it was Adam who only nodded.

And that was my second life shattering moment.

The sequence of events followed similarly. Adam, so comforting. Holding me until I had no more tears left to cry, a hospital bed instead of ours at home.

I was discharged in a wheelchair. Adam, keeping things light, telling how he was excited to take over caring for me, that after an endless sequence of days I’d finally join him back at home. I stared down at the cast on my leg. A cast covering scars, surgery, shards of glass, spots where my bone had broken right through.

“That’s the worst of it.” Adam had said, in reference to my mutilated leg.

My hands rested on my stomach. Just weeks ago I had two hearts beating inside me. Now just one.

And it was shattering.

#adam hann #adam hann imagine #the 1975 #the 1975 imagine

28 notes · View notes

venora-the-rogue · 7 years

Text

Eyes.

So I’m cleaning out my laptop, and I came across this little number. I think I wrote it for a NaNoWriMo competition a couple of years ago, but anyway it’s hella cheesy and follows an interesting AU regarding eye ‘colour’ and here for your enjoyment or criticism or possibly both or whatever. *

I glanced around at the faces that passed by me. Ghosts that haunt the city. Unaware of the beauty they held in their eyes. Not the concrete jungle around them, of course, but the world in that area of the beyond – you know, the one that lies just at the edge of your periphery, clutching at the corners of your eyes, wanting to be seen, to be acknowledged.

But not in this world.

No, this world was monotonous shades of black, grey and chrome, broken here and there by the white glare of “social networking”. Which was all a lie, of course. Because nothing says “social” like the urban solitude of eyes locked in battle with touchscreens. Like the windows of our souls have been chained to the bars of the windows of applications, and the chain continues to link through all the new windows opened in new tabs, as souls are slowly pulled forth and sucked into the vastness of the Ethernet to be held on display for eternity.

Does it even matter anymore that those windows, individual and personal and precious, so deeply reflect nature in all its glory?

There was a buzz in my pocket. I pulled out my phone.

Sin u fre

I sighed. Goddamn.

Are you going to ask me properly?

He’s going to hate me.

The phone buzzes.

Grr SINEAD R YOU FREE?

I chuckled.

Close enough. Where am I meeting

you?

Corner 5th n Bdwy

I pocketed the infernal device and strode out of the square.

As I walked to the corner I watched as people’s eyes stayed glued to their technology. Every now and then a pair of eyes would glance up at me as I passed, but would immediately dart away.

I let the crisp afternoon air whistle out of my nose.

People were always afraid of that which was different.

Where their eyes were (at this point in the late, rainy afternoon) a mottled grey, mine glared back with their deep, speckled black.

I pulled my hood close around my pale face, knowing my little nose and pale cheeks were flushed a soft red by now. Gah, how embarrassing.

I wove through the bustling bodies and spotted Kevin at the corner, waving at me. Got to give him credit: when he meets up with me he avoids the drag of technology. He knows how much I hate it. He stood there in his fashionably holey jeans, Docs and a flannel over a plain white t-shirt. Keeping up with modern trends, yet a little rough around the edges. His coat hung from the nook of one arm. How is he not cold?

I strode up to him, hands stuffed in the pockets of my jacket, and stretched up on my toes to lightly head-butt him, as was our friendly greeting. He chuckled, and his breath burst through those annoyingly perfect teeth in smoky white gusts. This winter was quickly becoming a cold one.

“Hey, I’ve got someone for you to meet!”

He moved aside to reveal a girl about my age, my height, whose back was to me. He tapped her on the shoulder and she spun around, having been oblivious to my approach, and I noticed the white cord of her earphones brushing against her dark neck. She saw me and quickly pulled them out of her ears with one hand, extending the other towards me.

“Hi! I’m Leena!”

I blinked at her and took her hand, trying not to notice the stark contrast between her rich skin and my ghostly own.

“Sinead. How do you know Kevin?”

“Economics 101. You?”

“Film and Visual Studies.”

She shot a glance up at Kevin. “I didn’t know you studied Film!”

He shrugged. “It was a phase.”

“Excuse me,” I shot at him, “Fine Arts are not just a phase. If I remember correctly, you enjoyed those classes. Not my fault your father made you change.”

“Yeah, remember how we don’t talk about that?”

“Whatever, man.” I returned my gaze to Leena, and for the first time really considered her eyes. Even in the cold grey of the afternoon, amidst the looming clouds and the steady shimmer of rain, her eyes remained an almost iridescent honey gold, with pink undertones.

She blinked and looked to the ground, tucking a curl behind her ear.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to stare.”

“No, it…it’s okay.” She glanced back up at me. “Yours are different too.”

I felt my cheeks flush, and cleared my throat. “So, where are we going for coffee?”

“I know a nice little café near the park,” Leena suggested. “It’s tucked away in a quiet side-street, they’re really lovely in there.”

***

The train rattled along the tracks, taking me home. We’d spent most of the evening in the café talking and laughing and sharing snacks, reminiscing in our pairs. But I’d noticed something different in the air all evening.

Kevin hadn’t brought Leena along by accident.

After we’d farewelled Leena I’d probed him about it. His enduring silence had left me with an almost sour taste in my mouth. He never kept anything from me.

I found myself unintentionally glaring at people along the train carriage. With the sun gone down and the stars beginning to pop out, everyone else’s eyes looked almost like mine now. So when they accidentally caught my gaze, nobody quickly averted their eyes.

The night was my realm.

Yet I felt far from comfort.

My mind tracked through the course of the day. Lectures, a hurried lunch from the deli as I walked to the square, then the café.

I felt like I’d barely listened to Kevin talking that afternoon. Most of my memory of the café was filled with Leena’s face. Especially those eyes…

Was she like me, then? One eye colour, one mode, trapped in that time frame, where all others shifted with the hours and the weather?

Ugh. It was beginning to bug me more than it should. I’d have to let it slide for now.

But as I went through my daily routine, dragging through the week, I couldn’t get her out of my mind. Her lilting laugh echoed through the crowded caverns of my mind as I drifted through the tedious tasks of the day, her eyes glowing in the backdrop of my dreams. For my dreams are always backed by a golden sun just below the horizon.

The following weekend, sitting on the floor of my shower, the chemical smell of shampoo staining the air, warm flush staining my cheeks, I heard my phone buzz through the music that beat against the edges of the surrounding steam. I sighed heavily, heaved myself up to my feet, turned off the water, and wrapped a towel around me. I quickly dried my hands and reached for the phone.

Sinead, are you doing anything

today?

Kev, since when do you use

proper English in texting?

Actually it’s Leena.

Kevin’s in the men’s, he told

me to message you and ask

if you wanted to join us – we

were thinking about that new

indie film that’s just come out?

I’d thought about seeing that one. The reviews had only given it 3.5 stars, but I’d long ago given up on their judgement of films.

Sure thing. Text through the

cinema of choice and I’ll meet

you guys there asap.

***

We ended up going bowling instead, but made plans to get together again by the end of the month to see that film.

It was alright.

We continued like this over the course of a few months, and over several coffees we grew into a very comfortable friendship. Leena and I had found a lot in common, even down to our favourite ice-cream flavour and book genre.

Our next movie date was for another newly released indie film. It was an ‘exclusive’ early viewing. Leena knew a place. This one had only received 2.5 stars.

The film, as I’d suspected, was worth at least 4 stars. Idiot critics. We decided on a new café afterwards and discussed our own personal reviews over coffee. Kevin thought the cinematography was unique. Pssht yeah, like he’d hated Film Studies.

Leena, on the other hand, was enraptured by the soundtrack. She talked about how it had moved through the scenes with perfect grace, with crests and falls and overtures that told as much story as the characters did. I noticed that when she talked about something with this amount of passion, those golden eyes lit up something fierce. It was like staring into a sunrise, the sun just waiting to burst over the horizon.

I talked about the performances, having found them both moving and stoic enough in the right moments to be realistic and relatable. After a while I noticed Leena was watching me with the same interest as I had when she’d spoken.

When she’d gotten up to go to the ladies, I turned on Kevin.

“What gives?” I whispered.

“You like her? I knew you’d get along.”

“Dude, she’s…I don’t know, she’s…”

“She finds you very interesting too. She wouldn’t stop talking about you at lunch. She was the one who insisted on you joining us today.”

“I mean she seems nice, and pretty cool, but—”

“Sin. Really. You don’t have to explain yourself to me.”

“Dude…”

“You’re more alike than you think.”

“Oh, I know how alike we are.” My thoughts turned again to those eyes. “What’s with—”

“The burning sunset in her eyes? Dunno. Pretty cool, huh?”

I glared at him. “As ‘pretty cool’ as my freakishly dark ones?”

He shrugged. “So your eyes are stuck in eternal night. So what?”

I shook my head. There was no reasoning with this boy.

Leena hurried back and pulled her phone out of her bag as she recounted how strange the ladies room was in this café, marvelling at the range of fancy, organic soaps.

But as she checked her phone, her face immediately fell.

“Oh god, I…I’m so sorry, I have to go.”

My throat tightened. “What is it? What’s happened?”

“I can’t, I…I just…” she quickly gathered her things, pulling on her coat haphazardly. “…I’m sorry…” She rushed out of the café, leaving Kevin and I staring curiously at the door, completely befuddled.

All the way home I tried messaging her.

Hey. Is everything okay?

Do you want to talk about

it?

It’s okay if you don’t want

to talk about it. But we’re

here for you. Kev and I. You

know…if you need us.

I compulsively checked my phone the whole train ride home, but it remained as silent as the carriage for all its barren conversation.

***

It was 3am before I heard back from Leena. I’d slept restlessly, my stomach churning, and had woken up at a quarter to three. Propped up in bed, re-reading a book whose cover had worn away years ago, I heard my phone buzz against the table. Never before had my hand lashed out to grab it so fast.

I need help.

My heart stopped for a second. Shit, don’t panic…

Okay…what do you need?

It was a good ten minutes before she responded.

I don’t know…oh

god, I don’t know…

Where are you?

Princess Memorial

Hospital.

My heart jolted again. My fingers were a blur as I replied.

I’ll be there asap. I’m bringing

ice-cream. You like strawberry,

right?

I don’t think they’ll let

you bring food in.

I really don’t give a damn. I’m

bringing it. Also books. Got a great

one I think you should read.

Without waiting for her to reply I jumped out of bed, hurriedly pulled on some sweatpants and a jacket, stuffed the necessities into my bag, messily pulled my fair hair into some sort of bun, and rushed out the door.

I got to the hospital within the half hour, nervously waiting in the empty foyer for the elevator as Leena gave me the room number. I was losing patience, contemplating taking the stairs, when it arrived with a –ding!-.

I rushed in before the nurse at the front desk got back, before she could tell me the usual ‘no visitors allowed after hours’.

The doors opened onto the third floor and I stuck my head out, checking that the coast was clear. I quietly dashed out and down the hall to the right, checking the numbers. 15…16…17…

I reached 18 and stopped, hesitating.

Taking in a deep breath, I lightly tapped on the door, and it swung ajar.

Peeking in, I spotted Leena in the corner, dark circles under her puffy eyes, her sunset gaze staring into nothingness.

I sidled in quietly, closing the door with a –click!- behind me. She blinked and turned those eyes on me.

Oh god…the pain in that gaze was almost unbearable. My heart lurched against my ribcage, and I walked slowly, quietly, further into the room.

In the bed across from Leena’s chair was a middle-aged woman, unconscious, sunken-eyed, hollow-cheeked, and wired up to all manner of contraptions that gathered around her bedside like mechanical vultures to prey.

I glanced back over at Leena, who was staring at the woman again. She tried to take in a deep shuddering breath, got about halfway there, and then broke down. I dropped the bag I was carrying and moved over to her, kneeling before her, resting a hand on her arm.

“Leena…what do you need?”

Her eyes swam, a river of tears cascading down her full, speckled cheeks as she shook her head. “I don’t…I don’t know…”

I watched her pull her legs up to her chest, drawing in her arms, and realised that internally she was slowly imploding.

I perched myself on the arm of the chair and wrapped her up in my embrace, resting her head on my chest. We stayed like that for ages, as I just let her cry it out.

While I gently stroked her tight, messy curls, I did the math.

The woman in the bed: probably her mother. The situation: some kind of cancer, judging by how little of her was left. The circumstances: life support. She was practically on death’s door.

When Leena had calmed down some, I picked up the bag and produced the tub of ice-cream and two spoons. I sat myself on the floor in front of her, resting against her legs, quietly providing the comfort of presence, and passed back one of my old, tattered books.

We waited out the early hours of the morning in reverent silence.

***

The next day I finally plucked up the courage to ask her about it.

“So…what is it?”

“Lung cancer.” Ouch. “She wasn’t even a smoker, she was always super healthy. I guess some people are just…” she trailed off, then blinked. “Anyway, her body hasn’t been able to fight it well enough.”

“Has it spread anywhere else yet?”

“No. But lungs are delicate things.”

I hesitated, trying to find the right words. “Both lungs? Or just one?”

“Just the one. But it hit her hard. The life support is mostly to pump oxygen into her, since her lungs aren’t doing a good enough job of it. The good one is struggling on its own.”

“Has nobody stepped forward as a donor?”

“I have. Otherwise the waiting list is a mile long. But they won’t do a full lung transplant from a living donor.”

“Right.” I thought at length about it, then pulled out my retched device to message Kevin.

Come to PMH. Asap.

Bring your portable

wifi.

***

As Kevin consoled Leena, I stepped out into the corridor. Having taken full advantage of his wifi, I was in the process of looking up medical advice when a specialist approached the room.

“Ma’am, are you here visiting the patient in Room 18?”

“Kind of. Hey, what are the chances of a lung transplant from a living donor?”

He sighed with resignation. “I have spoken to Miss Leena about this. We’d need a second living donor volunteer for there to be any hope of a successful transplant.”

“Blood type?”

“Uh…I’m not exactly authorised to share—”

“Sir, I really need to you understand the gravity of this situation.”

He hesitated, then checked his notes. “B positive.”

I nodded, thoughtful. It was decided.

“Doctor, I’m wondering if you could help me.”

***

As the doctor spoke to Leena, I pulled Kevin out into the corridor.

“Kev, I need you to cover for me. Look after Leena post-surgery, okay?”

“What surgery, what—” something changed in his blue-sky eyes. “Sin…”

“Dude, this is a really important favour.”

He scratched the back of his head. “How the hell am I supposed to look after two people at once?”

“Do I have your word?”

“…ugh, fine.” We butted heads lightly, and I patted him on the shoulder. The doctor was done speaking with Leena, so I popped in my head.

“I need to run some errands. Finish off the ice-cream, and get through as much of that book as you can. Trust me, you’ll love the ending. I’ll see you later, okay?” Before she could answer, I was gone.

*****

I woke up slowly, the anaesthesia doing its utmost to drag me back under. My eyes wouldn’t open, and my throat felt dry.

“Mm…”

I felt a hand on mine. A little rough around the edges.

“Sin, how are you feeling?” Kevin’s voice was low, quiet.

I tried speaking again. “Lee…”

“You two are a pair of crazy ladies, you know that?” He chuckled quietly. “She pulled through nicely. They’re transplanting the lung segments now.”

I sort of nodded, as best I could in my condition. I could feel myself drifting back into sleep.

“It’s okay, Sin. I’ll be here.”

“Look…”

“Yeah. I’ll look after her. I know.”

***

The mid-afternoon sunlight shot through the blinds, searing through my eyelids, turning my waking vision into a sea of red.

I pulled up a weary hand to shield my stinging eyes, and felt a shadow fall over me. I took the opportunity to blink my eyes open.

Kevin was standing by me.

“Afternoon, Sleeping Beauty.” I responded by poking my tongue out, and he laughed quietly, his eyes blazing the bright gold of mid-afternoon. “Feel any better?”

I licked my lips, desperate for moisture. “More awake.”

“Good, because there’s someone on your other side who has a bone to pick with you.”

Even in my groggy state I felt my heart shudder, and as I turned my head I was met by that searing golden gaze.

“What the hell were you thinking?” Leena croaked, propped up in the bed next to mine.

“Same thing you were.” I swallowed hard. What’s a girl got to do to get a drink of water around here?

“You could have…” she trailed off, and I suddenly felt my stomach drop. Oh man, I didn’t even think…

“Leena’s mom came out alright too.” Kevin moved around and pulled up a seat between us, at the foot of our beds. “She’s still on life support for now, while her new lung material figures out what to do, but the doc reckons she’ll start a good recovery soon.”

I sighed with relief, and turned back to Leena. She was still glaring at me.

“What?”

“Did you even stop to think—”

“No, actually, I didn’t.” I let my gaze drop to the floor. “I didn’t think. Sorry.” I sighed. “I just wanted to help. Seeing you like that…”

“Like what?”

I looked back up at her. “It wasn’t just killing her. It was killing you.” She held my gaze, unblinking, processing. “You just didn’t know it yet.” I couldn’t tear myself away from that gaze. “I couldn’t bear to see you like that. So I did what I could.”

She was quiet for a long time.

“How will I ever make it up to you?” she asked, almost a whisper.

“Leena, seriously, you don’t have to—”

“Sinead.” Her eyes were intense. “How can I make it up to you?”

“Well, you could take her out to dinner.” Kevin’s voice cut in, booming in comparison to our near-whispers.

“Kev!”

“She likes Mediterranean.”

“KEVIN!”

“Done.” I shot my glance back to Leena, who was nodding, her concentration face on.

“Leena…”

“No, this is perfect.” I saw the ghost of a smile touch the corner of her lips. “It’s a great idea.” She looked up, letting that smile gently spread. “I know a place.”

“Of course you do.” I sighed with exasperation. “Fine. Okay. But the next meal I’m buying.”

“Oh shut up, we’ll split the next one.”

“Depends how good this place is. If it’s really as amazing as I know you’re about to suggest—”

“You’ll love it, it’s…” she stopped, catching up to my comment, and a small laugh escaped her. I joined her momentarily, until we both had to gasp for breath. Our lungs were still healing, after all.

“So…”

“Yeah…so…”

“Oh for god’s sake, get a room,” Kevin sighed loudly.

“You’re in it,” I shot back, and as he hauled himself out of the chair he laughed.

“Alright, alright. I’m going to go feed the first floor vending machine all my precious small change to get a downsized can of soda. You gals want anything?”

I glanced back at Leena, and we both smiled. “Nah, we’re good.”

He shrugged, striding out, leaving the two of us to settle into a comfortable silence, her lost in the constant midnight of my gaze, and I knew that I’d follow the burning sunrise in her eyes to the end of my days.

* Copyright © 2017 Kasey Boyd a.k.a arroea-la-kinfa All rights reserved. No portion of this post may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted, on any form or by any means - electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise - without the express written permission from the creator. But you may reblog, with appropriate tags, and talk to me if you wish!

#wowee #please dont vomit cheese all over your screens #eyes #by me #yo girl k #sigh

0 notes

haechanisnctssun · 4 years

Text

tagged by: @pastelsicheng

rules: bold the aesthetics you relate to and add 20 of your own aesthetic qualities for others to bold :)

I have no one to tag, but feel free to do it if you want to. ♥

#I had no idea what aesthetics I should put #so I just threw some random things in there #ty 😚😚😚♥#emmy 💚#moots 🥰🥰🥰

0 notes