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quiet
20 March 2012 @ 05:28 pm
24  
without awakening

Jackie died again and again, but nothing hurt more than seeing her on the floor with her brains blown out, his name on her lips. Since he was a boy the darkness had been waiting for him. Waiting to take his hope, his light, his love. Jenny. It was the boogeyman under his bed. It was real and it wanted him and it won. Jackie collapsed to the ground, shaking and sobbing and put the gun in his mouth. It was a miracle, really, that he was able to shoot straight and end it--he had one wish, it was what he wished for every birthday after her funeral, after everyone told him again and again that she was gone, that he prayed to fucking God for. He wanted to be with her. To be with her in death, but nothing was ever that easy. He chased her through World War I, the carnival where the ghosts of their younger selves still played, and Hell--all to tell her goodbye and that he loved her.
 
 
quiet
13 March 2012 @ 11:18 am
23  
great expectations

This was her home -- if home was where you were born and not who held your heart -- and it was in ashes. She hoped, like Liara had for her despite her budding cynicism that earth would be okay and in a fucked up sense of the word it was (we did it.) that they would live together -- that she could be happy together. That one day the world would be awash with beauty again and the cold touch of seashells in the sand would be like treasure to her and remind her of old friends. Hope was all she had.
 
 
quiet
28 February 2012 @ 12:29 pm
22  
your hand in mine

In the dream she was walking again. Autumn leaves crinkled beneath her tiny feet.

Vivid colours of the world she had forgotten.

The bright blues and crisp greens.

The running and the sinking when it rained too hard and all the flowers withered and died so fast like they never had been real or beautiful to begin with.

Nunnally woke alone to a house too big for her and a broken body.

She could live without seeing, without walking—she barely remembered what they felt like anyway—but she couldn’t live without her brother. He had left her so suddenly, so selfishly. All of this had been for her and yet she had never felt pain like this before.

She needed his touch to chase away the nightmares that prickled behind her forever shut eyes; barbwire and the last breath of everyone she had ever loved. She felt like a caged bird, confided to the injustices of the black and white world, never to take to sky again.
 
 
quiet
28 February 2012 @ 12:25 pm
21  
the darkest nights

The darkest nights are when Sam awakes alone. The other bed is empty and the keys to the Impala are gone. Without Dean there to chase away his juvenile fears the scratchy motel blankets lose their warmth and a pervasive longing creeps in; it is a strange bedfellow.

The darkest nights are when Dean stumbles through the door and crawls between the sheets; his eyes lingering on Sam, beautiful with his eyes squeezed shut and lips slightly twitching. Always beautiful.

Disgusted, not with Sammy but with himself, he swears to quit drinking. The drink has been his excuse for years.
 
 
quiet
28 February 2012 @ 10:04 am
20  
hereafter

Buzzing; insects crawled in and out of her ears. Sharp (drops of morning dew did not soften their offense) blades of grass grazed her cheek. She looked at him, lying beside her, staring up at that gorgeous sky. It was for them, it was all for them. The sun shining, the breeze wiping away her sweat with chilly fingers, the world was holding them to sleep.

Kurosaki-kun.

Save us, save me. He had saved her before, from the start, again and again; he lay spent and stared at her with chatoyant eyes that made her feel safe and unsafe at the very same time. Contradictory thoughts, love was like that.

Save me until you can’t.

The death of Ichigo reached in (impaled by Aizen’s arm, ruthlessly fast, he moved through everything now) and squeezed her heart just like Aizen was squeezing Ichigo’s. She wanted to scream, but she couldn’t. She wanted to cry, but she couldn’t. It was just gone; Ichigo had taken everything with him; her smile, her strength.

Aizen was a tumor, he lived inside of them, growing and growing; bruising and festering. On their backs he weighed them down, but he never got into their hearts. That was a special place.

Having no more use for her Aizen’s gaze of nothing found her and pulling his arm out of Ichigo (a line of blood dripping from Ichigo’s mouth drying on his cold skin, his eyes no longer burning with hate for Aizen and love for Orihime) his darkness swallowed her up.

Buzzing; (she hated the sound, it was depressing and she just wanted to shine), insects, medical machines -- dying they sounded the same.

They were too late. Human healers couldn’t do anything, she couldn’t do anything. At least Orihime didn’t have to see Tatsuki cry. That was something.

Ichigo looked at Orihime looking at him. He would rather look at her than the clearest sky, the stars and the moon, explosions bursting into colour; it would always be her soft form his eyes were drawn to. He squeezed her hand. It would be alright.
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quiet
15 February 2012 @ 06:28 pm
19  
black against the orange light

Wind with violence, rain with absence.

The sheets held no such emotion.

The caffeine in her bloodstream, the ambient vibrations from the stereo offered no solace from the colorless cataract of sleep.

Skeletons would have been better.

Empty sockets where there should have been lovely eyes staring back at her and gnawed ankle bones. Anything would have been better than what she had seen, stitched up and stuffed. Like dolls upon a shelf collecting dust, awaiting his next move. Posed and desecrated.

Men with no faces came at her, dragged her down so her bones cracked on the hardwood floor. Felt her last breath when their hands crowded her, felt her blood bubble and overflow when their knives cut her.

She bolted upright.

Everything’s going to be alright. Everything’s—

It was just a dream. One she had had many times before and yet it still felt real to her. She fought every time, harder than before as if it were a game and if she won it would be over, it would all be over and she would be safe.
 
 
quiet
14 February 2012 @ 07:46 pm
18  
chaos

The wet sand clung to his skin and he grasped for the warmth, for the comfort, of another, but there was no one. The chaos within him departed and all he was left with was regret and the words, my friend. They had been once. They had been okay once. Never anything more than that--never happy, even if they oftentimes hated each other, because they were the same, Noel was everything he used to be and he was what Noel feared he would become. He would take okay over this nothing if he could. He really wished he could.
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quiet
12 February 2012 @ 04:55 am
17  
duality

Caius Ballad was a selfish man. He had seen the stars and the moon, counted them endlessly with her and pretended they walked a surface as pale and pure, the crumbling of cities, the death of thousands, the birth of few, but it was her small form that undid him--that he bowed down to. He would miss this Yeul more than the one who told him stories or stuck flowers in his hair. She knew him better than the rest. She held his hand tighter, smiled brighter. Everything he did was to stop the aching of his own heart.
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quiet
01 February 2012 @ 12:49 pm
16  
Before I Sleep

She was from a world of sand and a painted sky, the only light came from her imagination. She could make him smile on his darkest day. He was from a city made of deceit -- it trembled with wail after wail of drunken, dirty, sad people. His home was haunted by a girl with violet eyes and on the walk to school he was reminded that he should be happy -- he was -- that he should move on -- he had -- he was not clinging to a shadow.

“Are you alright?” The answer was the same. Eventually she learned to let it go. If only he could.

“Today is a nice day.” Somehow they always ended up talking about the weather. Orihime deserved better than that -- she deserved a friend: but right now that friend had to be someone other than him -- he was sorry.

With her it was quiet -- with her the thought of who he was or used to be was far away. She never asked questions. Not serious ones, anyway. They smiled, but it was not fake, there was laughter, but it did not hurt -- “There are no lines to end you--” He whispered.

Her hair cascaded down her back and was the color of the sea when the sun beamed upon it if only to admire its own blinding beauty. He had been laughed at for his. She said she liked it -- ruffling it like Karin used to -- or was she trying to appease him? No. She had no idea how to lie. Not even the sweet ones. Ichigo was thankful because once you started telling those you never stopped. He never wanted her to pick up his habits: all of them bad.

Ichigo enjoyed their time together. Maybe a little too much. He was -- laughing to himself -- getting sick off her. Off her innocence. He walked the shores of an ocean to get to her. Miles and miles. His legs were shaking like leaves on the last day of summer.

There was a silence not dreaded or awkward. The most beautiful the most perfect silence -- only heard right after or before death. “You’re my friend?” He asked. Yes. “And you are mine?” She asked. Yes.
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quiet
28 January 2012 @ 02:20 am
15  
true love's first kiss

There was no light in his eyes and he tasted different. She would have thought that would have at least stayed the same when she offered a cigarette and he took it -- muttering “thanks”. He wouldn’t look at her, afraid he was going to break as if that would break him any more than hearing her voice, any more than feeling her hand brush ever so slightly against his -- not for longer than a second anyway, but that was enough. She knew he was the same man she had fallen in love with. She just didn’t know if she was the same woman.