Writing The Trio

[Sky Moonflow]

[FONT="Century Gothic"][B][SIZE="1"][COLOR="DarkRed"]So, it has been a very long time since I have posted anything. I like to think that my writing has improved in my absence. Included in this post are three different stories that I have done. [/COLOR][/SIZE][/B][/FONT]

[FONT="Comic Sans MS"][B]This particular piece was done after a round of role-playing with a friend. We were at a point in our story where they were discussing their memories and one of the characters was describing one of their past relationships. He did not go very far into the story and because of that, it sparked something within me. So, I began to write and this came of it.[/B][/FONT]

[FONT="Garamond"][CENTER][B]Cracking[/B][/CENTER]

It?s been more than a long time since he?s seen that shadow on the ground. But he knows every contour, every detail, because it?s the shadow that?s been etched upon his heart.

So he knows that this isn?t it. It doesn?t keep him from remembering when it was, though.

[I]I love you[/I] hangs in the air like a forgotten scent. The scent of a dried Victorian rose in his mother?s vase, years ago. The Victorian rose that reminds him of himself?his heart.

His broken heart.

[I]I love you[/I] is still there. It doesn?t show much. The empty park is filled with remnants of when it did. The tree under which they?d kissed the first and last times. The playground, the simple pond that didn?t play any role but was somehow etched into what had become broken.

His broken heart.

Walking a hairline could only last so long. The shadows stay frozen, immobile. Something is cracking inside him, but by now he is numb. The sun is blinding him. He doesn?t notice, lost in what he had thought he had forgotten. What he had tried to forget.

His broken heart.

He can?t help but play through his mind the simple movements of sitting on the swings. The park is a kind figure, simply wondering where he?d disappeared to. But it asks about the other. The shadow now cast in despair by the aging willow. The man who had laughed, who had cried, who had tenderly held the one who now sits on the swing set, alone, missing strong arms around him and the whisper in his ear, [I]I love you.[/I]

And now he feels a tear slowly trembling at the edge of his eye, now it slips down silently, to be followed by none. A solitary tear. A solitary name. And the shadow still resembles the one from many years before. He can?t bring himself to look away. Coming to terms with emotions never gets easier. He still loves, even if his love is slowly killing him. The willow reaches out to brush his cheek, stopping halfway, like he used to do. But no low whisper calls his name. No [I]I love you[/I] is in his ear, save the old-rose scent of the last one, the last innocent butterfly kiss.

Innocence cannot last forever. Spring turns to hot angry summer, and dies with the autumn leaves. Winter has taken his heart into it, numbing where it was stepped on for lack of the healing of spring. Winter is kind, trying to take away the pain. But no amount of numbness can banish the memory of spring, no cold can completely freeze the blossoming vine of love. And pain. And grief. Passion is left far behind. Passion was summer and rage, summer and lust, summer and then autumn cracked what was left behind. What dried in the sun.

The park is damp from recent rain, but a valiant sun tries to warm it. He wants to cry out, wants to fall, wants to be saved from the memories by their object. But their object cannot, and it is treason to wish him to save what has been ravaged by the seasons.

His broken heart.

The sun finally gives up, obscured by a passing cloud. And his head slips into his hands, and the tears do not flee, but stay hidden where it is safe.
[/FONT]

[FONT="Comic Sans MS"][B]This second one was done the hour I had between classes one day. It felt a bit rushed as I was trying to get the words down before they managed to escape. When I went back to look at it later in the day, I realized that it actually turned out pretty well.[/B][/FONT]

[FONT="Garamond"][B][CENTER]Love[/CENTER][/B]


You love him.

You love him even though he smokes, and you don?t like smokers. He makes a point about not lighting up around you, not kissing you when he?s just had a smoke, about taking off his smoke-scented jacket before he lets you hug him. It would break you, and he knows it. And as much as it scares you when your lungs freeze up and your throat swells shut and your heart races in your chest, slamming against your ribs in a rapid tempo that is so fast, too fast and oh god, oh god, you can?t breathe oh god!?you know it scares him more. You are his world, always have been and always will be. He doesn?t want you to break, doesn?t want your lungs to freeze and your throat to swell and your heart to race.

He loves you.

He loves you even though he really shouldn?t, after all, what you are doing is a sin in the eyes of the lord. That?s what you?re told, anyway. That?s what God said, or so they say. You?re not sure what you think, though. As much as the idea of hell?eternal fire, burning you alive, killing you over and over again, just to resurrect you and kill you again?scares you, the idea of life without him?lonely, lonely life, without the music, without[I] ?Jeremy and Adrian 4eva? [/I]scrawled on frosty windowpanes, without a[I] chance[/I] for Jeremy and Adrian to [I]have[/I] forever?scares you more. You?d give up heaven, you know you would. He [I]is[/I] your heaven, and as long as you have him, you can face hell.

You love him.

You love him even though he doesn?t love himself, even though he cannot love himself. He makes a point about not shooting up in front of you, not making you an accomplice to his sins by letting you see what he?s shooting up?he?s always done that, hidden his sins away from you. He knows you don?t approve, that you worry about him every single time. He doesn?t understand that you?re scared shitless every time he disappears for a little time alone with his demons, and [I]that?s[/I] why you scream and rage and yell and cry every time he comes back, eyes blood-shot and dilated, veins bulging and blue, trembling and stumbling. You love him and he cannot love himself.

He loves you.

He loves you even though he?s afraid to love you, is scared to touch you. You are pure, to him, too pure. He?s afraid that he might sully your purity with his stained hands, afraid to dirty you with his sins and his drug-nightmare-pain-stained hands. You deserve to be happy, he thinks. You are special, something set apart from this sordid life. At least, that?s how it is in his eyes. You want him to understand that no, that?s not true, that it?ll never be true, that your happiness is him, but he just doesn?t get it. And somehow, that breaks your heart.

You love him.

He loves you, and you love him. Neither of you really gets this, and you?re constantly working at odd with one another. But when the night closes in around you and the wind whistles past your window, you know he will be there, warm, solid, real, there. And when he shakes and shivers and cannot remember which way is up and which way is down, the one thing he is sure of is that you love him and that you will be there. You love him and he loves you and everything?s okay with the world.

And the little words scrawled on the frosty glass of your bedroom window when you were four are true.

[I][CENTER]Jeremy and Adrian forever.[/CENTER][/I]


And maybe they?ll be true forever. Jeremy loves Adrian and Adrian loves Jeremy, and all?s right in the world. And you love him and he loves you and everything?s okay. And when little words join those already scrawled in the glass, even though you?re twenty-four now, maybe they?ll still be true.
[CENTER][I]
Jeremy loves Adrian.
Adrian loves Jeremy.[/I][/CENTER][/FONT]

[B][FONT="Comic Sans MS"]This final piece was the direct result of another late night role-playing session. I had hoped to be able to tell it through two of my character's eyes, seeing as they had similar thoughts on this one subject.
[/FONT][/B]

[FONT="Garamond"][B][CENTER]Scared
[/CENTER][/B]

[B]It's kind of funny isn't it?

The way things seem to work out?

I mean, you try and plan for them but then all it takes is for something so small to change and it throws everything off balance. You find yourself scrambling to find your footing and it scares you.[/B]

[I]You have no idea what you are going into now. There are so many possibilities that you have to try and factor in..but then it just confuses you. You lose yourself in the endless calculations and you end up having to start all over.

You so desperately want them to understand, but the words just do not make any sense. They come out all jumbled and wrong and they get you into trouble. You will try and explain but they do not believe you.

You ask them if they are okay...and they say yes.

But you know they are not...and you will not say anything.[/I]

[B]So you just go on with it. You take their word even if you can feel it tearing at your chest like a ravenous beast. You want to so desperately say something, anything. But you get scared 'cause you know it won't come out right and it would just make things worse.

You can spend your whole life trying to think of ways to make that person feel just the smallest bit better and when you think you made some sort of progress, you say something so horrible. Like it's hardwired in your brain or something. And you can't even begin to apologize because then you might make it worse. It's really hard trying to make things work when you think like that.

And then they'll ask you if anything is wrong...[/B]

[I]So you lie. You say everything is fine. Even though you really want to tell them everything, you are afraid.

Now, you sit there. You look at them and they look at you. Your words are stuck in your throat and you can not even manage a smile. Any movement at all would seem like it would be wrong somehow. False.

You hate that silence.[/I]

[B]It just makes everything seem a whole lot worse. You can just feel the unspoken words and they're slamming against you, pulling you under. Like a small boat in the ocean. You toss with the waves, trying to stay up. Then a giant wave comes and takes you down and you just can't get back up again. You're drowning in those words.

The silence presses in all around you, it's cold dark fingers curling themselves around your heart, threatening to squeeze tightly till it bursts.

And you're just so-[/B]

[I]-scared.

So you run and you hide away.

It is kind of funny is it not?

The way things seem to work out?[/I][/FONT]

[B][FONT="Century Gothic"][COLOR="DarkRed"][SIZE="1"]Comments are welcomed.

~Sky[/SIZE][/COLOR][/FONT][/B]

[Drizzt Do'urden]

Not sure how your writing was before, but I thought that was really good. I've never read storytelling done in quite that manner. I wish I had some criticisms to offer, but my writing is pretty low calibur (check out my story Jackson McGee and you'll see that). So I can't offer anything I think would help besides I like it.