Crim
The blobfish
Hey peeps of STC. Welcome to the first contest voting thread! Thank you to those who entered. I've had gorgeous entries and enjoyed reading them all! I look forward to making next months already!
So, onto how this works. Everyone gets one vote. You can change your vote at any time, but the voting is open for 7 days only.
Whoever has the most votes at the end, wins. At the moment there is no prize except knowing that you get that month's title. In the event of a tie, I'll create another thread for the tied parties for a second round of voting!
For the writing, I had so many entries that I've split it into the poetry/songs and then stories for winners. One from each will win.
So, here are this months entries! Good luck everyone!
@SedentaryCobra
@Jomber
@ArQane
@Deido256
@Imperator Semper Rex
@KittyWolfSpirit
@Rina~!
So, onto how this works. Everyone gets one vote. You can change your vote at any time, but the voting is open for 7 days only.
Whoever has the most votes at the end, wins. At the moment there is no prize except knowing that you get that month's title. In the event of a tie, I'll create another thread for the tied parties for a second round of voting!
For the writing, I had so many entries that I've split it into the poetry/songs and then stories for winners. One from each will win.
So, here are this months entries! Good luck everyone!
@SedentaryCobra
The First had wandered for as long as they could remember, following after the Second. The First walked with bleeding feet across long plains of scorching sand, chilled and numbed across the glassy, frozen tundra. Weathered was the First, who spent their life wandering, following the trail of the Second, the one that mattered truly to them. The First knew not why they followed the Second, for the First had never spoken to the second. The First had seen the second many times, out of reach, never able to find the words to speak, to call out to the one they followed so desperately.
In the hot and gentle winds of the savanna, as the sun grew low, drawing the shadows long, painting the world in hues of orange and red and pink, the First strode up the hill in the dark shadow. The First trekked in silence, listening to the gentle rustle of the breeze through the long grass and rare tree, guiding themselves by the remnants of light in the cloudless chalky pink sky. Cresting the hill, the First walked slow through the brush to an outcropping of pale yellow stone, and sat, gazing out over the vast plains as the sun began to sweep below the horizon once more.
The First became aware that they were in the present of the Second soon after they had seated themselves. The Second made no motion to recognize the presence of the other, swinging their legs idly and carefree over the drop below. The First felt their chest stiffen, compressed and bound by some indescribable longing. The First held a hand up, nearly on the verge of touching the Second, who sat silhouetted in black and pink and gold, but the First stopped, as if afraid to touch them, almost as if they were the most delicate of sculptures, marred or broken by all but the most gentle caress.
It was the second that spoke first, quiet, but strong and melodious, dominant and entrancing over the near silent landscape. The words came slow, but sure. "There are long ties between us. They bring you to me."
The First spoke plain, looking ahead to the sun to focus themselves as they replied, "They hurt." The first said, and paused for a long time. "They burn, they pull. Like long hooks, made from hell. I need to search. I must search."
"Tell me, are you content in your search?"
"I-" The First paused once more, and closed their eyes, searching for the answer to the question, and gave a long sigh. "Regret, despair, and grief. I feel regret, despair, and grief."
"And tell me, why do you feel regret, despair, and grief?"
"Regret. I feel regret with every step I have taken, every footprint I leave behind to be washed away, passing like a ghost from shore to shore, mountain to mountain. There are places I have wished to stay, to never leave, and the things I could have done. I regret leaving them behind."
The First heaved, a long, almost shuddering breath, and relaxed once more. The second remained as expressionless as the stone they sat upon. The First continued.
"Despair. I search and I follow, but my doubts are many, and the answers chilling. What if I wander after you, but it is you that run from me? What if I find you, and you never answer me? What if I follow you, and am received with scorn?" The First hung their head back in helplessness.
"And grief?" The Second pressed, softly, in tones that would have been a whisper in any other place.
The First rolled their head back, and rested their head in their palms, but continued to speak. "Grief. I grieve for myself. Despite my regret, and despite my despair, I search still. I grieve that I cannot do anything else, but follow your shadow on the horizon." The First found their palms hot and wet, and wiped their eyes. The Second wrapped and arm gently over the shoulder of the First, comfortingly and delicately, as one would to a wounded animal. The First rested their head on the shoulder of the Second, and wept in silence, tears drying quickly in the dry savanna air.
"Will you leave again?" The First asked tentatively, still with eyes closed.
The Second did not respond, though they both knew the answer to the question, even before it was asked, though it had to be asked still.
"Should we have met at all?"
The Second remained silent. The question was one for the First to find and answer.
The first asked one final question, almost as a cry, on the verge of sobbing. "Why?"
Again, the Second remained silent. It was in the arms of the Second that the First slowly drifted to sleep, more peaceful and calm than they had slept in a long time. And in the morning, after the warm night, the First woke to find the Second gone once more. Rising to their feet, the First looked long over the horizon for signs of the Second, knowing that they would find nothing. The First brushed themselves off and set out once more in search for the Second, following the sun that they had shared for one brief night. The First would never see the Second again, and still carried with them the familiar feelings of regret, despair, and grief, but for the first time, felt content as well.
The First would search, for they were sure of one thing after that day:
That the First loved the Second.
In the hot and gentle winds of the savanna, as the sun grew low, drawing the shadows long, painting the world in hues of orange and red and pink, the First strode up the hill in the dark shadow. The First trekked in silence, listening to the gentle rustle of the breeze through the long grass and rare tree, guiding themselves by the remnants of light in the cloudless chalky pink sky. Cresting the hill, the First walked slow through the brush to an outcropping of pale yellow stone, and sat, gazing out over the vast plains as the sun began to sweep below the horizon once more.
The First became aware that they were in the present of the Second soon after they had seated themselves. The Second made no motion to recognize the presence of the other, swinging their legs idly and carefree over the drop below. The First felt their chest stiffen, compressed and bound by some indescribable longing. The First held a hand up, nearly on the verge of touching the Second, who sat silhouetted in black and pink and gold, but the First stopped, as if afraid to touch them, almost as if they were the most delicate of sculptures, marred or broken by all but the most gentle caress.
It was the second that spoke first, quiet, but strong and melodious, dominant and entrancing over the near silent landscape. The words came slow, but sure. "There are long ties between us. They bring you to me."
The First spoke plain, looking ahead to the sun to focus themselves as they replied, "They hurt." The first said, and paused for a long time. "They burn, they pull. Like long hooks, made from hell. I need to search. I must search."
"Tell me, are you content in your search?"
"I-" The First paused once more, and closed their eyes, searching for the answer to the question, and gave a long sigh. "Regret, despair, and grief. I feel regret, despair, and grief."
"And tell me, why do you feel regret, despair, and grief?"
"Regret. I feel regret with every step I have taken, every footprint I leave behind to be washed away, passing like a ghost from shore to shore, mountain to mountain. There are places I have wished to stay, to never leave, and the things I could have done. I regret leaving them behind."
The First heaved, a long, almost shuddering breath, and relaxed once more. The second remained as expressionless as the stone they sat upon. The First continued.
"Despair. I search and I follow, but my doubts are many, and the answers chilling. What if I wander after you, but it is you that run from me? What if I find you, and you never answer me? What if I follow you, and am received with scorn?" The First hung their head back in helplessness.
"And grief?" The Second pressed, softly, in tones that would have been a whisper in any other place.
The First rolled their head back, and rested their head in their palms, but continued to speak. "Grief. I grieve for myself. Despite my regret, and despite my despair, I search still. I grieve that I cannot do anything else, but follow your shadow on the horizon." The First found their palms hot and wet, and wiped their eyes. The Second wrapped and arm gently over the shoulder of the First, comfortingly and delicately, as one would to a wounded animal. The First rested their head on the shoulder of the Second, and wept in silence, tears drying quickly in the dry savanna air.
"Will you leave again?" The First asked tentatively, still with eyes closed.
The Second did not respond, though they both knew the answer to the question, even before it was asked, though it had to be asked still.
"Should we have met at all?"
The Second remained silent. The question was one for the First to find and answer.
The first asked one final question, almost as a cry, on the verge of sobbing. "Why?"
Again, the Second remained silent. It was in the arms of the Second that the First slowly drifted to sleep, more peaceful and calm than they had slept in a long time. And in the morning, after the warm night, the First woke to find the Second gone once more. Rising to their feet, the First looked long over the horizon for signs of the Second, knowing that they would find nothing. The First brushed themselves off and set out once more in search for the Second, following the sun that they had shared for one brief night. The First would never see the Second again, and still carried with them the familiar feelings of regret, despair, and grief, but for the first time, felt content as well.
The First would search, for they were sure of one thing after that day:
That the First loved the Second.
@Jomber
A Stupid Romance About Curry
happened at the tavern at the top of the hill. Love that is. The tavern was never known for lovebirds, but this was very much a special occasion. A man by the name of Chris whatshisface was ordering a standard pint of beer, despite having one of kidneys removed in a terrible accident in which he drank too much alcohol. This memory often haunted him, and he chose to forget it by drinking more alcohol. It didn’t help that today was Valentine’s day. He was alone. He was lonely. He bought a body pillow and pretended not to be alone every night.
Whatshisface took a large swig of his beer, his vision blurring a little bit. The barman the one and only Barman Sam slammed his hands on the table.
“Whatsyourface? Yeah you. Why the long face?” It was a terrible pickup line. Whatshisface gurgled.
“You look like you need a nice big bowl of curry longface,” Barman Sam chimed, “I’ll go get some for you. On the house! Free curry!” Barman Sam whisked around, bouncing into the kitchen. He came back, skidding to the counter, and slamming the bowl down, “Eat up, I guarantee you, it’ll make you feel better!” Whatshisface gurgled.
The curry had a sweet aroma, and is tasted like sugar. Whatshisface spooned it into his face. He noticed something odd about the soup in his fork. There was a face smiling at him, and it winked. Whatshisface took another swig of his beer, and then called for another.
“What’s that Whatsyourface? There’s a face in your curry? Nonsense! You must be smashed!” Barman Sam placed down a tall pint of wine down on the counter. Whatshisface gurgled.
There were more faces in the curry, and they were all winking. Whatshisface ate one with his spork. A broken heart formed in the curry. Whatshisface gurgled, and tears started falling down his face. He leaned into the soup, and kissed it. The curry grabbed his face and started making out with him. Whatshisface tried to pull himself away, falling down on the wooden floor with the curry spilling all over him. He was suddenly overcome with a feeling of lust, and began rubbing the curry all over himself, before screaming and crawling away from the plate
Barman Sam came back with three more bowls of curry and placed them on the counter, “Come on, you’re all alone on Valentine’s Day, and the curry just wants to mat- I mean meet you,” Barman Sam grinned. Whatshisface gurgled.
Whatshisface ran towards the door, but was intercepted by several jugs of curry. They were quite steamy. Whatshisface turned to the other patrons for help, but their heads were replaced with bowls of curry. They came at him with chopsticks. They tackled whatshisface down on the carpet floor, attempting to couple with his head. Whatshisface punched back, kicking through their curry bodies. The liquid broke into millions of broken hearts before falling onto marble floor. Whatshisface began licking the hearts. The hearts licked back. Whatshisface gurgled.
Whatshisface began to rub more curry on himself before he screamed. Several bowls of steamy hot curry tackled his face, and they started making out with his face. Whatshisface gurgled. Was this meant to be? He was so alone, and yet here it was, curry embracing him. Curry loved him, and he loved it. Whatshisface gave in and started kissing the curry back. Whatshisface gurgled.
Whatshisface gurgled.
Whatshisface gurgled.
Whatshisface gurgled.
Whatshisface drowned.
Whatshisface lost his second kidney.
happened at the tavern at the top of the hill. Love that is. The tavern was never known for lovebirds, but this was very much a special occasion. A man by the name of Chris whatshisface was ordering a standard pint of beer, despite having one of kidneys removed in a terrible accident in which he drank too much alcohol. This memory often haunted him, and he chose to forget it by drinking more alcohol. It didn’t help that today was Valentine’s day. He was alone. He was lonely. He bought a body pillow and pretended not to be alone every night.
Whatshisface took a large swig of his beer, his vision blurring a little bit. The barman the one and only Barman Sam slammed his hands on the table.
“Whatsyourface? Yeah you. Why the long face?” It was a terrible pickup line. Whatshisface gurgled.
“You look like you need a nice big bowl of curry longface,” Barman Sam chimed, “I’ll go get some for you. On the house! Free curry!” Barman Sam whisked around, bouncing into the kitchen. He came back, skidding to the counter, and slamming the bowl down, “Eat up, I guarantee you, it’ll make you feel better!” Whatshisface gurgled.
The curry had a sweet aroma, and is tasted like sugar. Whatshisface spooned it into his face. He noticed something odd about the soup in his fork. There was a face smiling at him, and it winked. Whatshisface took another swig of his beer, and then called for another.
“What’s that Whatsyourface? There’s a face in your curry? Nonsense! You must be smashed!” Barman Sam placed down a tall pint of wine down on the counter. Whatshisface gurgled.
There were more faces in the curry, and they were all winking. Whatshisface ate one with his spork. A broken heart formed in the curry. Whatshisface gurgled, and tears started falling down his face. He leaned into the soup, and kissed it. The curry grabbed his face and started making out with him. Whatshisface tried to pull himself away, falling down on the wooden floor with the curry spilling all over him. He was suddenly overcome with a feeling of lust, and began rubbing the curry all over himself, before screaming and crawling away from the plate
Barman Sam came back with three more bowls of curry and placed them on the counter, “Come on, you’re all alone on Valentine’s Day, and the curry just wants to mat- I mean meet you,” Barman Sam grinned. Whatshisface gurgled.
Whatshisface ran towards the door, but was intercepted by several jugs of curry. They were quite steamy. Whatshisface turned to the other patrons for help, but their heads were replaced with bowls of curry. They came at him with chopsticks. They tackled whatshisface down on the carpet floor, attempting to couple with his head. Whatshisface punched back, kicking through their curry bodies. The liquid broke into millions of broken hearts before falling onto marble floor. Whatshisface began licking the hearts. The hearts licked back. Whatshisface gurgled.
Whatshisface began to rub more curry on himself before he screamed. Several bowls of steamy hot curry tackled his face, and they started making out with his face. Whatshisface gurgled. Was this meant to be? He was so alone, and yet here it was, curry embracing him. Curry loved him, and he loved it. Whatshisface gave in and started kissing the curry back. Whatshisface gurgled.
Whatshisface gurgled.
Whatshisface gurgled.
Whatshisface gurgled.
Whatshisface drowned.
Whatshisface lost his second kidney.
@ArQane
Call it Obsession
Some people called it obsession; the way I talked about her, the way I looked at her, the way I loved her. It was late one night when I first saw her, and I knew instantly that she was meant for me. I watched her leave the building every day. I recall my face burning as I darted a glance at her as she gracefully strode past me. Something about her was enchanting to me.
I would never talk to her, but watched enviously as the other men made her laugh and smile. If only I had their charm or their looks, she would’ve fell for me too. I had none. What I did have, however, was destiny. No one could understand it, but she was meant to be with me. We were meant to be together.
They laughed and laughed when I explained it to them. They lacked insight, so I didn’t blame them. I’d just prove it to them. It was again night when she again left the building. No one else was around, to my dismay. I wanted to show them that I was right.
But that was no matter; I was there to confess. I followed her and dropped on my knees and said the words. I couldn’t hear myself, but I knew my lips were moving.
“I love you.”
No. No. No…
I returned home that night, proud of myself. It’s been a long night’s work. She indeed, had rejected me, but I couldn’t accept that. I just couldn’t. It was her eyes that had seduced me. And on that night, they were wide open.
Some people called it obsession, but none of them know that she is always with me. Always.
And I love her.
Some people called it obsession; the way I talked about her, the way I looked at her, the way I loved her. It was late one night when I first saw her, and I knew instantly that she was meant for me. I watched her leave the building every day. I recall my face burning as I darted a glance at her as she gracefully strode past me. Something about her was enchanting to me.
I would never talk to her, but watched enviously as the other men made her laugh and smile. If only I had their charm or their looks, she would’ve fell for me too. I had none. What I did have, however, was destiny. No one could understand it, but she was meant to be with me. We were meant to be together.
They laughed and laughed when I explained it to them. They lacked insight, so I didn’t blame them. I’d just prove it to them. It was again night when she again left the building. No one else was around, to my dismay. I wanted to show them that I was right.
But that was no matter; I was there to confess. I followed her and dropped on my knees and said the words. I couldn’t hear myself, but I knew my lips were moving.
“I love you.”
No. No. No…
I returned home that night, proud of myself. It’s been a long night’s work. She indeed, had rejected me, but I couldn’t accept that. I just couldn’t. It was her eyes that had seduced me. And on that night, they were wide open.
Some people called it obsession, but none of them know that she is always with me. Always.
And I love her.
@Deido256
I loved her...
I loved her, every tiny bit of her. Her perfect life, her perfect body, perfect hair and perfect mind, that kept knowing what to say to make me believe her more.
She said she loved me... she said she loved my flaws, my childish jokes and how I easily got angry at something stupid.
One day she came to me, her eyes looking dry, nothe having this wonderful shiny look as she gazed into my eyes. Her beautiful lips parted. Opening her mouth that was formed to a fake smile while looking at me with those dead and dry eyes. I didn't know what happened to her, didn't know what went through her mind until she started speaking. I curse the day that this wonderful angle started saying the words that would burn up my heart deep inside, leaving nothing but ashes.
"Thank you, goodbye..."
He loved me. He kept filling my heart with joy as he told me about all my perfections and never named a flaw. I loved him aswell, I told him that I can look over all the flaws he had and see him as perfect. We went through a lot together. We laughed and cried, we kissed and we fought, but he never said anything bad about me. A few months passed. My mother came into my room and shattered my whole world by telling me that we will move. Move, away from my school, away from my friends, away from the one I loved the most. I tried to stay happy around him as long as I could. Shutting the thought of leaving him away deep in my mind until the day arrived where I had to leave. The last day I would see him... I walked towards him. My eyes looking right into his. I faked a smile to make him comfortable before speaking the words that made my heart shatter.
"Thank you, goodbye..."
I loved her, every tiny bit of her. Her perfect life, her perfect body, perfect hair and perfect mind, that kept knowing what to say to make me believe her more.
She said she loved me... she said she loved my flaws, my childish jokes and how I easily got angry at something stupid.
One day she came to me, her eyes looking dry, nothe having this wonderful shiny look as she gazed into my eyes. Her beautiful lips parted. Opening her mouth that was formed to a fake smile while looking at me with those dead and dry eyes. I didn't know what happened to her, didn't know what went through her mind until she started speaking. I curse the day that this wonderful angle started saying the words that would burn up my heart deep inside, leaving nothing but ashes.
"Thank you, goodbye..."
He loved me. He kept filling my heart with joy as he told me about all my perfections and never named a flaw. I loved him aswell, I told him that I can look over all the flaws he had and see him as perfect. We went through a lot together. We laughed and cried, we kissed and we fought, but he never said anything bad about me. A few months passed. My mother came into my room and shattered my whole world by telling me that we will move. Move, away from my school, away from my friends, away from the one I loved the most. I tried to stay happy around him as long as I could. Shutting the thought of leaving him away deep in my mind until the day arrived where I had to leave. The last day I would see him... I walked towards him. My eyes looking right into his. I faked a smile to make him comfortable before speaking the words that made my heart shatter.
"Thank you, goodbye..."
@Imperator Semper Rex
"Sorry I haven't been... much conversation." He says as his pen taps the table. She smiles, "It is alright." She says as she stirs in sugar with her tea. He leans back in his chair, deep in thought once more. She sips her tea and sets it down on the saucer with a faint klink.
"I wonder what it would be like to have wings..." She says, inspecting a marionette she saw on the desk. "Like a bird or a Valkyrie?" He asks, pondering it himself. "I haven't a preference." She says, sipping her tea again. He smiles at her, "It would be nice, wouldn't it. Sadly we only have Icarus to reference..." He says with a sigh. She shrugs her shoulders slightly, "What fool would build their philosophy on wax, I wonder." She says as she pours more tea for herself. He nods, "What fool would fly to the scorching sun?" he says thinking aloud. "What fool would not build their wings of feathers and brass?" She says as she leans forward and rests her elbows on the table. "Who would not rather journey along the earth?" He says, leaning forward and resting his right arm on the table.
"Why are we not blessed with such feathers?" She asks, a pout on her face. "Because we have feet for the journey." He responds, looking into her eyes. "What if our feet grow sore?" She asks. "We sit down and rest." He answers. "Will we ever need wings?" She asks as she sets her cup down. "When we are too far apart to walk." He says, and reaches for her hand. She holds his hand, "What if our wings grow too weary?" she asks. "We drop from the sky, and drown as Icarus drowns." He tells her with a smile.
"I wonder what it would be like to have wings..." She says, inspecting a marionette she saw on the desk. "Like a bird or a Valkyrie?" He asks, pondering it himself. "I haven't a preference." She says, sipping her tea again. He smiles at her, "It would be nice, wouldn't it. Sadly we only have Icarus to reference..." He says with a sigh. She shrugs her shoulders slightly, "What fool would build their philosophy on wax, I wonder." She says as she pours more tea for herself. He nods, "What fool would fly to the scorching sun?" he says thinking aloud. "What fool would not build their wings of feathers and brass?" She says as she leans forward and rests her elbows on the table. "Who would not rather journey along the earth?" He says, leaning forward and resting his right arm on the table.
"Why are we not blessed with such feathers?" She asks, a pout on her face. "Because we have feet for the journey." He responds, looking into her eyes. "What if our feet grow sore?" She asks. "We sit down and rest." He answers. "Will we ever need wings?" She asks as she sets her cup down. "When we are too far apart to walk." He says, and reaches for her hand. She holds his hand, "What if our wings grow too weary?" she asks. "We drop from the sky, and drown as Icarus drowns." He tells her with a smile.
@KittyWolfSpirit
http://www.storytellerscircle.com/t...ng-competition-february-2017.2360/#post-35517
Above is the link to Kitty's. Her's is too large to copy here, and attached as a file so not sure how to get that here. But that's the post to her amazing story!
Above is the link to Kitty's. Her's is too large to copy here, and attached as a file so not sure how to get that here. But that's the post to her amazing story!
@Rina~!
81 Days
2nd of September
Today, the amaranth bloomed. You drag me to the top of the hill, kiss me and whisper for me to stay, right here under our tree. With my heart still, you go down. You run against the wind, shifting through the sleepy, red plants, each step softer than the last. There is an illusion of a glow about you. Your white dress flows behind you as you dart through the field, hair streaking through the twilight air. Then, you start dancing. You waltz among the leaf blades. The moonlight around you flickers, swirling with you as you sift through the grass. I can see it in your eyes, or rather, how they are closed. You don’t want to stop. This is your paradise, and you don't want to leave. On stage, with a script, you dance with all you know. Here, you dance with all you are.
My chest feels heavy. It’s like you hypnotized yourself. This is something I’m not supposed to see. This show is intended for only the stars to watch. Then, why, I ask myself, who am I for you to choose to behold? You get to the cliff to the far end, and you keep moving, the moonlit sky at your back, my heart in the front. I feel like you’ll vanish. I don’t know why, but I feel like you’ll fade away with each dash and each twirl, slowly melting to the wind. It’s as if you’d grow wings, and fly off to the midnight. So I reach out my hand to grab you before those wings could rise up, before you leave me with nothing but a trail of feathers. I almost call to you, but I stop myself, or rather you did, you and your trance and your madness. So, trapped in this prison of inaction you locked me in, as I watch you dance alone, I drop to my knees. You start to laugh. At that point, I let my tears fall on the dying flower below me, wishing, ever so desperately, that someday, you’d dance with me, and take me to wherever you truly are right now.
3rd of September
I went to the kitchen to make you some eggs. Midway, I realize that we were out of salt, so maybe, just maybe, or maybe I’m just trying to convince myself, that this was the reason why I sprinkled my tears over the pan instead. What’s wrong? You ask behind my back. I turn off the stove them drop the ruined eggs into the trash bin. I turn around to meet your wide open eyes and answer your question. Me, I reply.
5th of September
You screamed for me from the living room. You waited for me so we could read the letter together. I almost slip on the way from the shower. Your fingers slide over the glossy wax and you touch it the way you hold my hand, like it’ll shatter into a million pieces if you do so too tightly. I could see your eyes reflected on the theatre company’s seal—they sparkle. You squeal before I could finish reading. Well, I didn’t need to. Your kiss already told me what it said.
8th of September
It was too big, it didn’t fit! B---- said. Everyone laughs, including you, as you gulp down your 5th bottle. I could tell you got some in your nose. You nudge me and smirk. That’s what I said the first time, you whisper then giggle, except it wasn’t a whisper because everyone in the table heard you.
12th of September
It is 4 in the morning. Wake up, you say, shaking me. You might as well splash my face with water. You’re in your attire. You’re even packing the costume already. The audition is not until afternoon, I reply. Doesn’t matter, you say. It does, I snap back. Fine, I’ll go alone. You don’t. I didn’t let you.
13th of September
It’s exactly 12:01 AM. We are still here in the parking lot. The theatre is closed and empty. You didn’t want to leave it, and I didn’t want to leave you, so here we are, after all the judges, all the other performers, all the better performers, you say, for the 31st time, have left long ago, the shards of your dreams with them. I’ve been counting. I never liked numbers too much, but when it comes to you, I count. You were about to say it for the 32nd time, but you don’t. I didn’t let you.
After a long quiet, you reach out your open palm. What? Money. For voice lessons. You laugh, tears still drowning your words. You don’t need voice lessons. You are joking, I know. But I actually wish I had enough to give you.
14th of September
I am stroking your hair. You are watching Zoella on your phone.
17th of September
You weren’t touching your plate. You were just fiddling with the spoon and fork, and this doesn’t make sense since I made curry for tonight, but what really bothered me was that you were dead quiet.
Hey, you start to speak, much to my relief, but the tone of your voice instantly cancels that out. There’s a walk-in at St. Maergery’s next week, you continue, and I try to smile at you, urging you to go on because I didn’t understand why you were down. You finally return my look. There’s pain in your eyes. Audition’s cost---, you stop, just as I put down the spoonful I was about to shove in my mouth. Cost what? It took a few moments before you replied, but when you did, you started crying. I went to you then embraced you then kissed the top of your head. Okay, I said. Okay. You try to suppress a whimper. You don’t have to, you never had to, you cry. I want to, I reply, my face still buried into the scent of your hair.
21st of September
I could hear you from the shower. You’re reciting your lines to me in an accent you’re not supposed to be using. Do you not see, bravest queen? The winds are unrest, and the skies cry for your vengeance. Shut up, I scream back. It’s Jamaican, you say. No, it’s not. Violet isn’t Jamaican, anyway. I’m the actress, you pout. I do what I do with the role. Then you laugh with that laugh you have that pierces with such softness.
26th of September
The moment you heard those words, you looked at me with that firm face you always have when I say something that tears down your shields, when I break you apart because I know I need to. I lock down your gaze. I won’t take back what I said. Then, your face softens, and you smile at me. My chest sinks. That moment, that split-second when your face transforms from strength to weakness and back—I want to capture it. I want to freeze it then hang it in the walls of my mind, in a frame, together with all the other empty frames that were meant for the eternities I failed to keep. You kiss me. Thank you, you said. For reminding me. I don’t reply. My head is still reeling.
1st of October
You enter the room wearing your shirt and nothing more. You close the door then go to me. You stare at me. Your eyes are dreamy—just the way I like them. I stare back. You put your hands on my shoulders, and rub them. You push me down to my knees, and I don’t resist.
3rd of October
You’re not letting me finish my sentences. You keep trying to force all these words and blame down my throat. Your eyes are different when you’re angry at me. It’s like someone splattered paint over them and they change into this weird hue.
I don’t want to scream at you, but I do. You don’t want to hit me, but you do.
I hit you back. I don’t know what happens next, but, like always, we go our ways—you to our dead garden outside and me to my room, as if we split the house into two and drew borders by writing all our curses to each other in crooked handwriting.
I cover myself up in blankets, trying to breathe as heavily as possible. It’s the only way I can stop the rage from pounding my head.
4th of October
It was 3 in the morning when I felt you lie down beside me. We were waiting for each other to make the first move. But no one did, because we looked at each other at the exact same time. I could tell your eyes are tired and still moist. We put our heads together. Sorry, we tell each other.
9th of October
I wake up with your hair sprawled over my face. However, I don’t move, and I don’t want you to move. Your hair smells deeply of wilted flowers drenched in rainwater, and I stay there, feeding my obsession, my addiction to you. I get lost in the scent and I’m startled when you begin to move. You inhale for a long while and you tense up your body as if to stretch it without actually getting your arms out. After, you let all the air out in a paced, soft breath—the same way when you blew a bunch of lavender petals from your palms to my face. You face me, then, slowly, you open up your eyes. I stare into the infinite shades of the blacks, the blues, the greens, the violets that pool them.
You stifle a laugh. You apologize about where your hair is, but I tell you that it’s all right, that I like it there. You raise a questioning eyebrow, but this time you fail to hold in the giggle. You call me a weirdo. I tell you you’re right.
No words follow. We just stay there, your eyes locked to mine, our breath mixed with the first rays of sunlight, your hair still scattered across my face. I move a few strands—just a bit for me to see you more clearly, but not enough to weaken the smell. At one point, you hold my face, and I rub your waist.
You whisper that you can’t hold it in anymore. It was my turn to laugh. You laugh back, peck my lips, sit-up, hesitate for a moment, kiss me again—this time, fuller—then rush for the door at the back of the room
.
I watch you as you almost trip. I watch you as you shut the bathroom door close.
I stare at the ceiling, trying to catch the last trails of your scent.
12th of October
I’m at the sidelines of the gym, munching on one of those cheap, tasteless energy bars as I watch you practice. It’s the only lunch I can afford, but I’ll get you something more. You need the food.
You nod profusely to the director—like a little girl trying to minimize the consequences her father would give her after she did some wrong. He tells you for the 8th time today to be at the very edge when you do the twirl. There’s something in his face that tells me he won’t have enough patience to tell you for the 9th time.
15th of October
I look up to you as you move, stray hair strands glued to your face with sweat, chest heaving, voice producing ragged breaths and sweet moans. I’m almost there, I struggle to tell you. You bend down to kiss me. You whisper, it’s okay, I’m on the pill.
17th of October
It was dusk when I woke up to you knocking on the door. You had this smug look on your face when let you in. You head straight inside after giving me something. It was a ticket for your show next week’s. I can’t help but have this big dumb smile on my face. You actually got me front row tickets.
20th of October
I sit there on our bed, watching you go back and forth from the dresser to the mirror, trying out all these sets of clothes then asking me if you look good. I’m not sure if you’ve noticed, but I keep spouting out the same answer every single time: you look beautiful. And every single time, you reply with a laugh and a “oh… how about this one?”
At one point, I start feeling bad. There’s this odd weight of guilt in my chest as you keep repeating the process. Do you not feel good enough? Do I need to say something different?
I call out your name. You stop, abruptly—almost as if on cue—then turn to me and smile. Yes? You ask.
The smile catches me off guard. Maybe you’re not distressed after all, and I’m just over thinking.
23rd of October
It’s 2: 51 AM. I’m sitting up on the bed, watching you sleep, my back to the wall. Your body heaves, slowly, in sync with the soft breaths you make. Then it stops. I gasp and try to lie down, but panic holds me there. R----? You say, still half dreaming. I shut my eyes and pretend to be asleep. I know you’re awake, annoyance in your voice. I just went to the bathroom, I excuse, poorly. You tumble over so that your face is right above mine, your eyes gazing with a focus I only see on stage. Then it softens. Can’t sleep again? You whisper. I don’t know how to react, but you already knew the answer. Slowly, you lower your lips, then press it to mine. Your hair cages our two faces, and its scent is addicting. Thank you, I whisper back. I guess that was all I needed to fall asleep.
24th of October
It’s time for you do the finale twirl. You go the edge—the very edge. You fall.
I catch you.
I can’t feel my legs.
25th of October
You’re still in your dress as you hold my hand. I try to speak despite this sharp lump I feel in my throat. You’re pinching the serum in my hand, I tell you, forcing out a smile. You apologize and try to laugh, but you’re still crying. I tell you a joke. Now you actually laugh.
27th of October
The doctor calls you out, and after a few minutes, you come back in. You’re rubbing your arms and your eyes are cast downward.
The doctor said--, you stop. Your eyes close as if something sharp went in them.
You go back out and get the doctor to tell me instead.
29th of October
The lights on the ceiling are too bright. It’s almost blinding, I want to tell the doctor, but I can’t. The pain is too much as the metal cuts in, so I have to gnash my teeth. My top teeth slide off and I bite the side of my tongue. Blood bursts out and it hits the doctor, causing him to make an error with the blade.
I scream.
I want it to be done. Not because of the pain. I just want to see you again.
21st of November
We were walking down the street, alone among the bustling city. I stop. Something in me just made me stop. It wasn’t the crutches, or the reality of the amputation, but I just had to stop. I try to walk again, but my feet won’t move. You keep walking a bit, but then you stop as well once you realized what happened and look back at me. I look you in the eye, irises as full as ever. I don’t know why but I start to call out your name. You stare at me like the lunatic I am—you know that’s why I loved you. You always knew how stupid I was. I keep repeating your name, each time softer, more desperate than the last. You rush to me, then, I do what I always do when I don’t know what to do: wrap you in my arms.
2nd of September
Today, the amaranth bloomed. You drag me to the top of the hill, kiss me and whisper for me to stay, right here under our tree. With my heart still, you go down. You run against the wind, shifting through the sleepy, red plants, each step softer than the last. There is an illusion of a glow about you. Your white dress flows behind you as you dart through the field, hair streaking through the twilight air. Then, you start dancing. You waltz among the leaf blades. The moonlight around you flickers, swirling with you as you sift through the grass. I can see it in your eyes, or rather, how they are closed. You don’t want to stop. This is your paradise, and you don't want to leave. On stage, with a script, you dance with all you know. Here, you dance with all you are.
My chest feels heavy. It’s like you hypnotized yourself. This is something I’m not supposed to see. This show is intended for only the stars to watch. Then, why, I ask myself, who am I for you to choose to behold? You get to the cliff to the far end, and you keep moving, the moonlit sky at your back, my heart in the front. I feel like you’ll vanish. I don’t know why, but I feel like you’ll fade away with each dash and each twirl, slowly melting to the wind. It’s as if you’d grow wings, and fly off to the midnight. So I reach out my hand to grab you before those wings could rise up, before you leave me with nothing but a trail of feathers. I almost call to you, but I stop myself, or rather you did, you and your trance and your madness. So, trapped in this prison of inaction you locked me in, as I watch you dance alone, I drop to my knees. You start to laugh. At that point, I let my tears fall on the dying flower below me, wishing, ever so desperately, that someday, you’d dance with me, and take me to wherever you truly are right now.
3rd of September
I went to the kitchen to make you some eggs. Midway, I realize that we were out of salt, so maybe, just maybe, or maybe I’m just trying to convince myself, that this was the reason why I sprinkled my tears over the pan instead. What’s wrong? You ask behind my back. I turn off the stove them drop the ruined eggs into the trash bin. I turn around to meet your wide open eyes and answer your question. Me, I reply.
5th of September
You screamed for me from the living room. You waited for me so we could read the letter together. I almost slip on the way from the shower. Your fingers slide over the glossy wax and you touch it the way you hold my hand, like it’ll shatter into a million pieces if you do so too tightly. I could see your eyes reflected on the theatre company’s seal—they sparkle. You squeal before I could finish reading. Well, I didn’t need to. Your kiss already told me what it said.
8th of September
It was too big, it didn’t fit! B---- said. Everyone laughs, including you, as you gulp down your 5th bottle. I could tell you got some in your nose. You nudge me and smirk. That’s what I said the first time, you whisper then giggle, except it wasn’t a whisper because everyone in the table heard you.
12th of September
It is 4 in the morning. Wake up, you say, shaking me. You might as well splash my face with water. You’re in your attire. You’re even packing the costume already. The audition is not until afternoon, I reply. Doesn’t matter, you say. It does, I snap back. Fine, I’ll go alone. You don’t. I didn’t let you.
13th of September
It’s exactly 12:01 AM. We are still here in the parking lot. The theatre is closed and empty. You didn’t want to leave it, and I didn’t want to leave you, so here we are, after all the judges, all the other performers, all the better performers, you say, for the 31st time, have left long ago, the shards of your dreams with them. I’ve been counting. I never liked numbers too much, but when it comes to you, I count. You were about to say it for the 32nd time, but you don’t. I didn’t let you.
After a long quiet, you reach out your open palm. What? Money. For voice lessons. You laugh, tears still drowning your words. You don’t need voice lessons. You are joking, I know. But I actually wish I had enough to give you.
14th of September
I am stroking your hair. You are watching Zoella on your phone.
17th of September
You weren’t touching your plate. You were just fiddling with the spoon and fork, and this doesn’t make sense since I made curry for tonight, but what really bothered me was that you were dead quiet.
Hey, you start to speak, much to my relief, but the tone of your voice instantly cancels that out. There’s a walk-in at St. Maergery’s next week, you continue, and I try to smile at you, urging you to go on because I didn’t understand why you were down. You finally return my look. There’s pain in your eyes. Audition’s cost---, you stop, just as I put down the spoonful I was about to shove in my mouth. Cost what? It took a few moments before you replied, but when you did, you started crying. I went to you then embraced you then kissed the top of your head. Okay, I said. Okay. You try to suppress a whimper. You don’t have to, you never had to, you cry. I want to, I reply, my face still buried into the scent of your hair.
21st of September
I could hear you from the shower. You’re reciting your lines to me in an accent you’re not supposed to be using. Do you not see, bravest queen? The winds are unrest, and the skies cry for your vengeance. Shut up, I scream back. It’s Jamaican, you say. No, it’s not. Violet isn’t Jamaican, anyway. I’m the actress, you pout. I do what I do with the role. Then you laugh with that laugh you have that pierces with such softness.
26th of September
The moment you heard those words, you looked at me with that firm face you always have when I say something that tears down your shields, when I break you apart because I know I need to. I lock down your gaze. I won’t take back what I said. Then, your face softens, and you smile at me. My chest sinks. That moment, that split-second when your face transforms from strength to weakness and back—I want to capture it. I want to freeze it then hang it in the walls of my mind, in a frame, together with all the other empty frames that were meant for the eternities I failed to keep. You kiss me. Thank you, you said. For reminding me. I don’t reply. My head is still reeling.
1st of October
You enter the room wearing your shirt and nothing more. You close the door then go to me. You stare at me. Your eyes are dreamy—just the way I like them. I stare back. You put your hands on my shoulders, and rub them. You push me down to my knees, and I don’t resist.
3rd of October
You’re not letting me finish my sentences. You keep trying to force all these words and blame down my throat. Your eyes are different when you’re angry at me. It’s like someone splattered paint over them and they change into this weird hue.
I don’t want to scream at you, but I do. You don’t want to hit me, but you do.
I hit you back. I don’t know what happens next, but, like always, we go our ways—you to our dead garden outside and me to my room, as if we split the house into two and drew borders by writing all our curses to each other in crooked handwriting.
I cover myself up in blankets, trying to breathe as heavily as possible. It’s the only way I can stop the rage from pounding my head.
4th of October
It was 3 in the morning when I felt you lie down beside me. We were waiting for each other to make the first move. But no one did, because we looked at each other at the exact same time. I could tell your eyes are tired and still moist. We put our heads together. Sorry, we tell each other.
9th of October
I wake up with your hair sprawled over my face. However, I don’t move, and I don’t want you to move. Your hair smells deeply of wilted flowers drenched in rainwater, and I stay there, feeding my obsession, my addiction to you. I get lost in the scent and I’m startled when you begin to move. You inhale for a long while and you tense up your body as if to stretch it without actually getting your arms out. After, you let all the air out in a paced, soft breath—the same way when you blew a bunch of lavender petals from your palms to my face. You face me, then, slowly, you open up your eyes. I stare into the infinite shades of the blacks, the blues, the greens, the violets that pool them.
You stifle a laugh. You apologize about where your hair is, but I tell you that it’s all right, that I like it there. You raise a questioning eyebrow, but this time you fail to hold in the giggle. You call me a weirdo. I tell you you’re right.
No words follow. We just stay there, your eyes locked to mine, our breath mixed with the first rays of sunlight, your hair still scattered across my face. I move a few strands—just a bit for me to see you more clearly, but not enough to weaken the smell. At one point, you hold my face, and I rub your waist.
You whisper that you can’t hold it in anymore. It was my turn to laugh. You laugh back, peck my lips, sit-up, hesitate for a moment, kiss me again—this time, fuller—then rush for the door at the back of the room
.
I watch you as you almost trip. I watch you as you shut the bathroom door close.
I stare at the ceiling, trying to catch the last trails of your scent.
12th of October
I’m at the sidelines of the gym, munching on one of those cheap, tasteless energy bars as I watch you practice. It’s the only lunch I can afford, but I’ll get you something more. You need the food.
You nod profusely to the director—like a little girl trying to minimize the consequences her father would give her after she did some wrong. He tells you for the 8th time today to be at the very edge when you do the twirl. There’s something in his face that tells me he won’t have enough patience to tell you for the 9th time.
15th of October
I look up to you as you move, stray hair strands glued to your face with sweat, chest heaving, voice producing ragged breaths and sweet moans. I’m almost there, I struggle to tell you. You bend down to kiss me. You whisper, it’s okay, I’m on the pill.
17th of October
It was dusk when I woke up to you knocking on the door. You had this smug look on your face when let you in. You head straight inside after giving me something. It was a ticket for your show next week’s. I can’t help but have this big dumb smile on my face. You actually got me front row tickets.
20th of October
I sit there on our bed, watching you go back and forth from the dresser to the mirror, trying out all these sets of clothes then asking me if you look good. I’m not sure if you’ve noticed, but I keep spouting out the same answer every single time: you look beautiful. And every single time, you reply with a laugh and a “oh… how about this one?”
At one point, I start feeling bad. There’s this odd weight of guilt in my chest as you keep repeating the process. Do you not feel good enough? Do I need to say something different?
I call out your name. You stop, abruptly—almost as if on cue—then turn to me and smile. Yes? You ask.
The smile catches me off guard. Maybe you’re not distressed after all, and I’m just over thinking.
23rd of October
It’s 2: 51 AM. I’m sitting up on the bed, watching you sleep, my back to the wall. Your body heaves, slowly, in sync with the soft breaths you make. Then it stops. I gasp and try to lie down, but panic holds me there. R----? You say, still half dreaming. I shut my eyes and pretend to be asleep. I know you’re awake, annoyance in your voice. I just went to the bathroom, I excuse, poorly. You tumble over so that your face is right above mine, your eyes gazing with a focus I only see on stage. Then it softens. Can’t sleep again? You whisper. I don’t know how to react, but you already knew the answer. Slowly, you lower your lips, then press it to mine. Your hair cages our two faces, and its scent is addicting. Thank you, I whisper back. I guess that was all I needed to fall asleep.
24th of October
It’s time for you do the finale twirl. You go the edge—the very edge. You fall.
I catch you.
I can’t feel my legs.
25th of October
You’re still in your dress as you hold my hand. I try to speak despite this sharp lump I feel in my throat. You’re pinching the serum in my hand, I tell you, forcing out a smile. You apologize and try to laugh, but you’re still crying. I tell you a joke. Now you actually laugh.
27th of October
The doctor calls you out, and after a few minutes, you come back in. You’re rubbing your arms and your eyes are cast downward.
The doctor said--, you stop. Your eyes close as if something sharp went in them.
You go back out and get the doctor to tell me instead.
29th of October
The lights on the ceiling are too bright. It’s almost blinding, I want to tell the doctor, but I can’t. The pain is too much as the metal cuts in, so I have to gnash my teeth. My top teeth slide off and I bite the side of my tongue. Blood bursts out and it hits the doctor, causing him to make an error with the blade.
I scream.
I want it to be done. Not because of the pain. I just want to see you again.
21st of November
We were walking down the street, alone among the bustling city. I stop. Something in me just made me stop. It wasn’t the crutches, or the reality of the amputation, but I just had to stop. I try to walk again, but my feet won’t move. You keep walking a bit, but then you stop as well once you realized what happened and look back at me. I look you in the eye, irises as full as ever. I don’t know why but I start to call out your name. You stare at me like the lunatic I am—you know that’s why I loved you. You always knew how stupid I was. I keep repeating your name, each time softer, more desperate than the last. You rush to me, then, I do what I always do when I don’t know what to do: wrap you in my arms.
