Terrified of being alone, stranded in a pool of merciless light, surrounded by the darkness. Even now the shadows stretch closer, dancing on the edges of this unprotected space. Too fearful to move, trying to pretend, as children while parents fight, as soldiers while bombs fall, breathing "it's okay" though I know it's a lie. Whispering it in my head, trying to drown out the noise - or is it the silence? - of being so alone. Creeping closer, tendrils caressing. Not long now.
It's the agony of waiting. Knowing already the inevitable end.
Fit to burst, the panic tightens the chest, rising, rising.
Ever rising. When will it begin? can'ttakeitcan'ttakeit
it'sokayit'sokay
the shuddering, violent gasp, the shock of a harsh night air suddenly in the lungs,
it'sokayit'sokay
skin so tight, pulled taut by expanding ribs,
pressure moving outward, upward; threatening to snap
bones like twigs, Crack. Crack.
Heart beating? no,
rather a pulsing of the blood, from temple to fingertip, fingertip to toe.
Frozen, conscious,
Pressure rising...
Friday, April 24, 2009
For nothing breeds panic like loneliness.
Wednesday, April 8, 2009
Flawed Reflection
She broke my heart with every glance I stole at her, with every word about it that slipped from her mouth. She was my younger sister, and she was beautiful. And she had no idea what she was doing. Or maybe she did. Who could say? Either way, it broke my heart. In the mornings, preparing for school in the bathroom, betwixt brushing of teeth, make-up application and hair syling, I'd sometimes catch her looking at me, oddly, intently. I'd ask what was the matter and her answer nearly stopped my breath. "You're so pretty... All the time." I'd stop in the middle of curling one set of eye lashes, as a twinge of something akin to sorrow shot through me. I wondered what she would said if I told her the same thing, and I despised the reply I knew I would receive.
My gorgeous sister, so blind to her own assets, the least of which was beauty. Why did she feel the need to correct these perceived imperfections she saw in himself? How could she not see what shone out so clearly for everyone else to see? I wanted to scream out what I saw in her, all the good she could never see; scream so that she would hear, and realise it for herself. And yet, for all my trying, she could never see the same person when she looked in the mirror that I saw when I looked at her.
Matter of perspective, indeed.
Thursday, April 2, 2009
Topic topic topic
I find it really hard to come up with topics to write about. In attempting to draw on my own life, I'm not really finding anything there. Which either means I'm not looking hard enough, or my life sucks ;P
So come on guys, any ideas for me? Anything at all. Even a random starting sentence. I'll make do with whatever I can. Desperate here. ;P
I need to practice my writing and write more often, so please help me. There's a short story competition in the newspaper of our city that's deadline is in June /Julyish, for high school students.
P.S. I'm really, really sick of writing in first person.