Post by Dylaria on Oct 9, 2008 12:34:58 GMT -5
(Okay Mena, I said I would write something if you did. Here it is. Honestly I have no idea what the theme of this is or where the inspiration for it came from. I'll happily take all comments and constructive criticisms.)
The young woman sat in bed, once again feeling the ravages of her short lifetime. She thought of all she knew and questioned. Her parents, her so-called boyfriend, those that called her friend, her idol, all swirled through her mind as she slowly crept out of her sanctum. She spoke to herself as she walked across her room, the house empty of her parents’ cheery voices. Telling herself of how things have never changed, how the past and present are now and forever one and the same. She was nothing.
She walked into her parent’s room and took her mother’s wedding dress.
The girl gloomily changed into her mother’s most prized possession. Prized more than her car, her home, and her daughter. Mother was always busy, either with father or with her friends. The daughter had been left directionless, unguided in her fruitless quest for a full life. With her actions today she would show her mother her arrogance, her misplaced priorities. Through the desecration of the dress her mother would see that nothing is eternal. Nothing is worth anything unless given value.
She crept into her father’s study.
Father was even more distant than mother. It wasn’t entirely his fault, he had to work and support the family. Still, he never sought her out, never took a real interest in her decisions. He was always working, in his study, or out with his friends drinking. He kept his most prized booze in this room, under lock and key but visible behind the glass. He never took those bottles out, never drank from them. Only told the stories of how he got them and their great expense. She broke the glass with her bare hand, numb to the physical pain of the glass shattering. She took the most expensive bottle in the cabinet, pouring a small amount over her wounded hand, taking the rest for later. Father would now see that expense and rarity require more than money to value, that what is precious can vanish in a moment.
She returned to her room.
Once again she returned to the one place where she had once felt different from her usual emotions. The room was once brightly lit with posters of popular bands and typical things on the walls. Now heavy drapes covered the windows, the posters gone. In their stead were naught but the small holes where the thumbtacks had once been. This room no longer saw the sunlight, no longer found joy in decoration. Like her it was empty and forsaken by all but herself. From her own room she took her one necklace, a gift from her once boyfriend who even now forsook their relationship. She knew where he was but no longer even cared except that today he would understand that she had known. His betrayal was not unknown nor forgotten and that he would be hounded for many years by this realization. She put the jewelry upon her neck, a silent reminder of what once was.
She now stepped into the kitchen.
Here there was only one thing she wanted. The doctor had said that these would make her feel better. The doctor had lied; she felt nothing different with or without the pills. When he asked about her feelings, she had been so false that a fool should have figured it out, yet the doctor had claimed victory and took his money greedily. There was no thought about her, no real care beyond simply doing his job. Today she would teach him that greed would only lead to loss. His fortunes would burn in the hell of the legal system, his standing ruined by his arrogance. He was even less than she was, for at least today she would spread understanding rather than just misery. She took the whole vial of pills in her other hand, the useless things making small noises with each step.
Finally, she made her way into the living room.
Putting down the instruments of her justice momentarily, she took a pen and paper from the coffee table. She would not be able to speak or see her justice, yet her words would be known. She would show the strength of the one person she held respect for. She would show the strength to stand against what everyone wanted and take her own path. She put the pen to the paper, the black ink flowing from it akin to the blood from her own hand.
So close yet far you were, my life a mere play on the grander stage of your existence.
Today I show you that love is not eternal, value is not intrinsic, it must be nurtured.
I now lay the black rose upon you, the flower of love and death shall be my legacy.
Likely the meaning shall be lost on you but perhaps you shall understand.
Long have I been patient, now I am as the beginning of my pleas.
The young woman ingested the pills of her lying doctor, guzzled the priceless alcohol of her father, bled upon the ever precious dress of her mother, her traitorous boyfriend’s gift tarnished beyond all meaning. As her vision blurred she heard her parent’s car pull up to the house. Would they understand or would they try in vain to pull her back to her hell? As all feeling finally left her, she realized she didn’t care. They could not stop her anymore.
The young woman sat in bed, once again feeling the ravages of her short lifetime. She thought of all she knew and questioned. Her parents, her so-called boyfriend, those that called her friend, her idol, all swirled through her mind as she slowly crept out of her sanctum. She spoke to herself as she walked across her room, the house empty of her parents’ cheery voices. Telling herself of how things have never changed, how the past and present are now and forever one and the same. She was nothing.
She walked into her parent’s room and took her mother’s wedding dress.
The girl gloomily changed into her mother’s most prized possession. Prized more than her car, her home, and her daughter. Mother was always busy, either with father or with her friends. The daughter had been left directionless, unguided in her fruitless quest for a full life. With her actions today she would show her mother her arrogance, her misplaced priorities. Through the desecration of the dress her mother would see that nothing is eternal. Nothing is worth anything unless given value.
She crept into her father’s study.
Father was even more distant than mother. It wasn’t entirely his fault, he had to work and support the family. Still, he never sought her out, never took a real interest in her decisions. He was always working, in his study, or out with his friends drinking. He kept his most prized booze in this room, under lock and key but visible behind the glass. He never took those bottles out, never drank from them. Only told the stories of how he got them and their great expense. She broke the glass with her bare hand, numb to the physical pain of the glass shattering. She took the most expensive bottle in the cabinet, pouring a small amount over her wounded hand, taking the rest for later. Father would now see that expense and rarity require more than money to value, that what is precious can vanish in a moment.
She returned to her room.
Once again she returned to the one place where she had once felt different from her usual emotions. The room was once brightly lit with posters of popular bands and typical things on the walls. Now heavy drapes covered the windows, the posters gone. In their stead were naught but the small holes where the thumbtacks had once been. This room no longer saw the sunlight, no longer found joy in decoration. Like her it was empty and forsaken by all but herself. From her own room she took her one necklace, a gift from her once boyfriend who even now forsook their relationship. She knew where he was but no longer even cared except that today he would understand that she had known. His betrayal was not unknown nor forgotten and that he would be hounded for many years by this realization. She put the jewelry upon her neck, a silent reminder of what once was.
She now stepped into the kitchen.
Here there was only one thing she wanted. The doctor had said that these would make her feel better. The doctor had lied; she felt nothing different with or without the pills. When he asked about her feelings, she had been so false that a fool should have figured it out, yet the doctor had claimed victory and took his money greedily. There was no thought about her, no real care beyond simply doing his job. Today she would teach him that greed would only lead to loss. His fortunes would burn in the hell of the legal system, his standing ruined by his arrogance. He was even less than she was, for at least today she would spread understanding rather than just misery. She took the whole vial of pills in her other hand, the useless things making small noises with each step.
Finally, she made her way into the living room.
Putting down the instruments of her justice momentarily, she took a pen and paper from the coffee table. She would not be able to speak or see her justice, yet her words would be known. She would show the strength of the one person she held respect for. She would show the strength to stand against what everyone wanted and take her own path. She put the pen to the paper, the black ink flowing from it akin to the blood from her own hand.
So close yet far you were, my life a mere play on the grander stage of your existence.
Today I show you that love is not eternal, value is not intrinsic, it must be nurtured.
I now lay the black rose upon you, the flower of love and death shall be my legacy.
Likely the meaning shall be lost on you but perhaps you shall understand.
Long have I been patient, now I am as the beginning of my pleas.
The young woman ingested the pills of her lying doctor, guzzled the priceless alcohol of her father, bled upon the ever precious dress of her mother, her traitorous boyfriend’s gift tarnished beyond all meaning. As her vision blurred she heard her parent’s car pull up to the house. Would they understand or would they try in vain to pull her back to her hell? As all feeling finally left her, she realized she didn’t care. They could not stop her anymore.
