oneword entries 2011

[prismaticbleed]

route

“Man, you really took the scenic route there,” Laurie laughed aloud.
It was 3 in the morning, the first day of the new year. I had ventured out into this forest around 11PM the night before, and… well, let’s just say I thought we would have been out sooner. I embarrassedly smiled at this as my superego continued loudly, gesturing incredulously at the icy landscape around us. “We’re, what, four hours out of the way?”
“It was worth it, though,” I replied simply. “Four hours doesn’t seem like a lot in the grand scheme of things, but… well, those were a pretty awesome four hours.”
“You said it,” the violet shade grinned, as we kept walking. “Just… let’s be a little more direct next time, all right? You do need sleep.”
I couldn’t help but smile back as the snow fell, and turned back onto the main road.

----------------------------------------------

notice

Dear God, he's my best friend. I can't do this.
No one heard my thoughts over the suffocating silence. I was terrified, more aware of my fragile mortality than I had ever been.
The moments were ticking away like a time bomb, each unforgiving second dragging me a step closer to death; but it was either mine or his, and if I had to die to keep him alive, then so be it.
No one noticed me hesitate. No one noticed the pain in my eyes.
I turned around and my fate was sealed.

----------------------------------------------

discover

Mankind was not born for this. We were not meant to laze away our lives in two-story houses, with a dog and a spouse and a 9-to-5 job. We delude ourselves into thinking that this false ideal born from society is all there is. We grow old and we are too busy mourning the ephemerality of life to appreciate the beauty of it. We put on a different mask every morning, but repeat the same actions, day in and day out. Yet in the end, we all stare up at the stars at night, our souls aching for that final frontier, seeking the only true magic in this world… discovery. There is so much more to life than this.

----------------------------------------------

perfectly

I don’t like using the word ‘perfect.’ Personal reasons. Yet, it seems that the world’s perception of perfection is quite flawed. My life is far from the ideal most expect it to be, and frankly, it’s far from what I’d like it to be as well… but then I stop and think. Would it truly be better that way? I have suffered, yes. I have seen and felt and known things that I would give almost anything not to have experienced. Yet despite all of the blood and bones and broken hearts, everything seems to be working out… perfectly. Life’s a funny thing.

----------------------------------------------

perfectly, take two

“This is FAR from perfect,” she spat, violet eyes lingering on my scars. “You don’t deserve this. No one deserves to suffer through this sort of living nightmare every day of their lives. Yeah, I know you believe in justice and all of that but come on! You haven’t done a damn thing to deserve what she does to you!”
“Yes I have.”
“Don’t give me that; I know you better than you know yourself, kid. Bottom line, this is far from perfect, and I refuse to put up with it any longer. You shouldn’t either.”
I looked up at her then.
“Maybe that really is the better perspective…”

----------------------------------------------

ragged

His shadow was as ragged as the edges of his thoughts, and he moved with the grace of a falling star. I must admit I was fascinated by his paradoxical beauty, by the dark gold hum of his eyes, by the way his voice caught like a wave breaking in the night.
There were secrets hidden in the spaces between his fingers and I spent far too many aching moments wishing I could feel them, that I might know even the smallest fragment of the days he had lived as an ephemeral specter upon the earth.
But the years are cruel to us all, and I knew we both still bled the same.

----------------------------------------------

truth

I just realized that everything I’ve written here is taken directly from my life or from those of people very close to me.

I’ve never been able to write about ’whatever comes to mind’ without simply elaborating on what is, without simply giving gilded glory to existing experiences. Every word I type has a deeper meaning, and a purpose far beyond the fleeting gazes of restless eyes.

When I write, I write in truth.

----------------------------------------------

blotches

The city was an insomniac, its streets roaring in razorbright hysteria.
A lone shadow turned his tricolor eyes to the miasmatic sky, burned an infectious orange from years of abuse. I haven't seen the moon in years, he thought disjointedly, his lungs heavy with smog.
Thick lines of neon blood poured down from the man's hairline, leaving unearthly blotches that glowed against his chest. He shuddered slightly, the unforgiving masses paying no heed, as a roll of static crashed beneath his collarbone.

----------------------------------------------

drain

“I’ve become voiceless,” I confessed. “Every day, I try to communicate, but nothing comes out right. I feel as if I were mute, for what it’s worth. I’ve been drained of all the words I used to have.”
The creature beside me said nothing at first, and I felt a sudden terror that he had lost his speech as well before he took my hands in his.
“Then find a new way to speak.”

----------------------------------------------

chocolate

It was a cold Valentine’s day evening, and although I wasn’t as alone as I looked, the dim silence of my footsteps still caused my head to ache. All I wanted was for someone here to accept me, for the 21st year in a row. That can’t be too much to ask. How much love had I given so far? To how many individuals had I offered my heart? Yet as the second week of February lilted in on pink-edged wings, once again it could only shake its head at me, as if in apology. I suppose that in todays world, when having to choose between superficiality or sincerity, too many people pick the chocolates.

----------------------------------------------

flare

The woman drew the cigarette away from her lips, its tiny red flare burning a distress signal into the darkening twilight, and exhaled a thick curtain of smog. Her left hand was locked around a bottle of beer, fingers anxiously tapping against the cold glass. He was late, just as the others had been, and she had given up. Maybe its better this way, she thought bitterly, taking another vengeful gulp of alcohol. I’m not ready for love. But even as the numbing fire crawled up through her ribs, she knew it was a lie.

----------------------------------------------