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- 08/11/2013
- 600 Words
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Stories posted in this category are works of fiction. Names, places, characters, events, and incidents are created by the authors' imaginations or are used fictitiously. Any resemblances to actual persons (living or dead), organizations, companies, events, or locales are entirely coincidental.
Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you.
Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you.
My Collection - 2. You make me feel alive
You are just like the early spring I've always hated, ever since I was a kid. All those colours make me want to touch and feel, but the leaves are always breaking off under my fingers. The fresh scent of flowers is killing my patience over and over again, all those animals, creatures of another goddess, a goddess who doesn't like seeing pain as much as we do. All kinds of deadly viruses are waking up in the melting snow, all those things that are trying to hurt me deeper and deeper every single year. You blossom next to my dead body and soul, knowing that I'm cold as a snowstorm and cruel as the frostbite, you wont last long when the winter arrives. You know that, don't you? I have no sense of life.
A soft touch on my shoulders, I'm opening my eyes, everything is so bright. I hate it.
"Let's go home, my little failure.” You are grabbing my hand, I'm standing up and we start walking back to our home. Your skin is irresistibly warm, but instead of filling in the shape of emptiness inside my soul, it makes me sad. So very sad, sadder than when I tried to fly, or my fail attempt to burn in a car. You used to really love me back then, but I used to really like being sad back then. We both know what happened since then, and I don't feel sorry at all. What a shame that we all became such broken little things, instead of growing big and being strong. This is not what I wished for when I was a kid, but I also had no idea what a horrible person I am going to become.
"I wish I could hate you more.” You say when you open the door.
"You hate me a lot.” I'm answering without caring enough to look at you. I'm lying down on the sofa. I wish I was dead.
"Not enough. I don't hate you enough for you to care.” You sit on the carpet next to me, you look at me lovingly while your hands are finding my shoulders, then my neck. Your eyes are changing as you are closing your fingers around my throat, I'm not trying to escape. I'm staring in your eyes, as you are falling apart in front of me. There is no oxygen left in my lungs, you are letting me go.
"It would make you happy, I don't want to do that.” You are standing up and leaving without another word.
That evening I cried for the first time when they called and told me that you are dead. You left me here alone while I wanted to leave you here alone. I destroyed you and you stole everything from me, you are not a fair player.
The funeral was nothing special, I met your cousin, I made love to him, I could fall in love with him, but I had no real feelings left. I hate you, I still hate you but I most certainly miss you. There's no warmth on earth that could give me the feeling that I'm still alive but your precious touches, no matter how tragic that feeling really is. There is nothing left after you, and I can still hear your cousin yelling after me when I'm jumping out off the window between the colourful cars and lights of the city.
It smells like spring you know. Even my death reminds me of you.
Dedicated to my very best friend.
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1
Stories posted in this category are works of fiction. Names, places, characters, events, and incidents are created by the authors' imaginations or are used fictitiously. Any resemblances to actual persons (living or dead), organizations, companies, events, or locales are entirely coincidental.
Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you.
Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you.
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