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    totallyy
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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. 

Giving Back - 1. Giving Back

Prompt 286: First Line
“Is that really the gift you’re giving him?”

“Is that really the gift you’re giving him?”

“Yeah,” I sighed, as I unhooked the majestic frame from its place on the wall, in my heart.

“But…” she trailed off, inhaling deeply.

My jaw tensed, a dull ache radiating throughout my limbs. The frame felt heavier in my deadened arms.

“Are you sure?” she asked.

The frame leaned against the wooden floor: its gold edges reflecting the morning light, golden forms flitting from one white wall to the next, a fickle dancer. My lips hesitated, halting the words not yet spoken.

An intrusive buzzing cut through the weighted silence. I lay the frame on the ground and answered the door. Hazel eyes greeted me as I embraced the firm body that stood before me. I savoured the heat that enveloped us, breathing in the present.

“I missed you,” he said, heat flushing his cheeks.

“Me too,” I whispered in his ear.

The silent comfort of his embrace muted the thoughts that swirled in my mind, his heart in tandem with mine. I lay my head upon his shoulder, my weight leaning against him as I felt the floor beneath me disappear.

“Guys, get a room!” she spat with mock disgust.

“Don’t be hating on us just cause your nether regions are withering from a drought, Rachel,” he chuckled, his chest vibrating insistently against mine.

“Fuck you Caleb!” Rachel tossed back.

“Now, Jarrell, are you going to wrap this bloody thing or not?” she yelled.

“Fine, sure,” I replied, unwrapping my arms around Caleb unwillingly, fingers loitering at his waist.

I lowered myself, inspecting the smooth rich wood that held an even more precious treasure. My fingers traced the grain of wood, hesitating: friction against my will.

“What’s that?” Caleb asked, his hot breath against my ear.

I turned my head to find his body leaning over mine, his eyes roaming over the canvas within the frame. A sense of violation seized my core, rocking at the floorboards that I had nailed over the sunken pits.

“Just a gift,” I muttered, tearing my eyes from him. My self-control clashed against the burning urge to sprawl myself over the canvas, to hide the naked emotions that seemed to emerge into reality from it.

“It’s beautiful,” he gasped.

“It is,” I sighed.

“Who is it for?” he asked.

His words dug into the depths of my heart and plied open the feeble quick-fix. An ache pulsed through my body as he hammered away at the cracking pillars with his insistent eyes that glistened and shone. I lay back, imagining the ceiling caving and crumbling, burying this cursed gift and me.

“Caleb, I need your help,” Rachel yelled, her voice: an angel’s song.

I heard their bickering seep through the kitchen walls, a white noise that hummed quietly in my ears as a backdrop against the raging conflict that boiled in the pits of my gut. My hand unfurled against the cool glass that protected the delicate canvas, seeking some unknown sign. Warmth unfolded against my open palm: a familiar touch.

Dark eyes looked up at me from the canvas, a damning gaze. Hurt speared through my arm as the warmth lit ablaze, scalding my foolish palm.

Why? I turned the word over in my mind as I did all those nights I lay on my back counting the drops that had been drawn out of my exhausted tear ducts.

I clenched my jaw as repressed thoughts clawed their way up from the darkest recesses of my mind, rattling against my teeth, begging to be released.

We were supposed to be…

I folded a corner of the brown paper inwards, the dull scratchy paper obscuring the rawness and brilliance. An ache flared within me.

I believed we could have been…

The paper creased under my determined fingers, folding and hiding more of the canvas.

I’m sorry. It’s my fault isn’t it?

Brown raced across the surface of the colourful canvas, muting its outspoken and brash voice.

It hurts. I’m sure it hurts for you too.

Dark eyes pleaded with me as the brown paper masked the last bit of exposed emotion.

I miss you still.

My fingers fumbled with the strings, knots unwilling, and tension weak. A firm grip closed around my shoulder, perfectly manicured nails decorating the delicate hand.

“It’s okay,” she said.

“Let me,” a deep voice offered.

Rough hands removed my trembling ones as they twirled the strings around the bulky package, the ends coming together in a perfect knot. Hazel eyes looked at me worriedly as his hands reached across, settling against my cheek. A thumb swiped gently under my eye, collecting the drop that clung stubbornly to my lashes.

My eyes flickered between the soft eyes in front of me and the haphazardly wrapped package, littered with spots of salty tears.

“You don’t have to say anything, “ he said, “Rachel didn’t say anything either.”

“But, are you sure?” he asked.

"I am,” I muttered.

“I am,” I pleaded.

His warm palm rested against my cheek, I flinched. His thumb brushed tender strokes against the delicate skin, soothing the tensed muscles that scrunched up under.

“It’s a gift,” I said.

Caleb looked up at me, he said, “I know.”

“No, it was a gift,” I said slowly, “to me.”

I pulled myself to my feet, gathering the package under my arm, feeling the warm gaze of dark eyes even through the paper.

“Now, this is a gift,” I said, “to him, to you, and to me.”

***

The doorbell chimed an electronic melody.

Feet guided their owner to the door, padding across the smooth polished wood. Rough hands pushed the lever and opened the door to reveal the mailman, face red and short of breath.

“Package for you sir,” he piped, “just sign here.”

The pen glided across the smooth line as the short mailman heaved the large package through the door, leaning it against the freshly painted white walls.

“Thanks,” a deep voice rumbled.

Fingers tore at the crumpled paper, revealing colour at every opening. A final rip revealed dark eyes that peered into the original pair.

Trembling fingers searched out the card that dangled from the majestic frame.

“Someone has to let go first.

It’s time I gave back.

Merry Christmas.”

Prompt 286: First Line
“Is that really the gift you’re giving him?”
Copyright © 2013 totallyy; All Rights Reserved.
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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. 
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I love this, totallyy.

 

I'm a little confused, but it was a beautiful story, one that I would love to read more about so I can put all the pieces together. I'm slow like that. lol

 

I really loved the descriptions though. The way you had the narrator looking at the painting and wanting to be the only one who saw it, and hearing the painting talking to him, it was really beautiful.

 

And, great job with the prompt! :2thumbs:

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I believe that I understand the story. It does move at a quick pace though, too quick in some places, perhaps hiding something entirely different that what I could interpret. The underlying emotional context was clear though and that is reason to be content. Thanks for the prompt response, totallyy.

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On 12/24/2013 01:24 PM, Lisa said:
I love this, totallyy.

 

I'm a little confused, but it was a beautiful story, one that I would love to read more about so I can put all the pieces together. I'm slow like that. lol

 

I really loved the descriptions though. The way you had the narrator looking at the painting and wanting to be the only one who saw it, and hearing the painting talking to him, it was really beautiful.

 

And, great job with the prompt! :2thumbs:

Thank you for the review Lisa!

 

This piece was more convoluted than I expected.

 

I'm really glad you enjoyed it.

 

:D Thanks!

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On 12/24/2013 02:23 PM, joann414 said:
I never expect anything but wonderful from you, and you delivered. Emotions rule us during the holidays! :hug:
As always, your review never fails to make me feel great! :D

 

Thank you for the review! I'm glad you enjoy it :hug:

 

Have a great holiday yourself.

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On 12/24/2013 03:33 PM, Ron said:
I believe that I understand the story. It does move at a quick pace though, too quick in some places, perhaps hiding something entirely different that what I could interpret. The underlying emotional context was clear though and that is reason to be content. Thanks for the prompt response, totallyy.
Thanks for the review!

 

If you would like to discuss, you could always drop me a pm. I would love to hear your take on the story. The writing came across a little vague, but any effort I put into clarifying it just muddled up my intentions so I left it be. I'm not the happiest with it but I shall refrain from stripping it. :)

 

So I'm really up for discussion!

 

Thank you for taking the time to work your way through this piece. It's not the clearest.

 

:)

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Nice Merry Christmas story! Yes, the story is a little vague, but I think that's why your stories are wonderful. I like the open to interpretation part, but I think it's a happy ending.

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