I
wrote this story a couple of days the other day. I know it's no
good & makes hardly any sense but I got most my feelings out
while I was writing it.
He is watching me, but not actually seeing me. His eyes are hostile
and dangerous, but I invite them in all the more, his melancholy
expression klls me, I want to reach out and pull him in, whisper in
his hair that I swear on my whole soul that everything will be
okay. That would be lying, we have a hell of a lot of time to go
before everything will be ok again. His arms are tensed and his
veins bulge through his shirt, I can see him fighting the hunger.
But still, I stand there. And watch. And wait. I know I should run,
but it feels like a dream, I can't run, move, scream or
talk...I'm not sure if I'm even breathing. Would it be
weird if I told you we were stood fully clothed in a shower? Almost
touching, but so far apart. The water spills down, a deadly liquid,
slashing and tearing us further apart. His colourless eyes search
me and i bring a hand protectively over my stomach, like it could
stop him from kllng me, taking my flesh, my blood, my bones,
anything he pleased away from me. I feel his eyes watching me and I
look up at him. Then I am scared. They are milky grey, shadowed,
sad looking. I'm not sure if I can stand the silence that cakes
us. So I do the stupidest thing, that in a hundred years time I
will kick myself for. I step towards him, not delicately,
gracefully. I stumble, towards him. "Tr-" I cry out in
desperation. Yes, desperation. Desperation for his happiness, his
love, his passion, the taste of his lips on mine, and desperation
for him. Stupid, I agree. He's there, stood infront of me but
he's not, he's crumbling away, crumbling away like sand on
a beach on a windy day and I so desperately run after those pieces
like leaves, floating down from a tree. Before I can complete his
name a knock sounds from the door.
I
snap out of my daydream.
"Yes?"
I ask. "Hurry up" my brother gruffly replies. When I
turn back, he's all gone. Every piece, every fragment of him,
all gone. And instead, a teardrop lies in the palm of my hand. I
curl my fingers around it and slowly step out of the shower. Into
the grief of reality.