Yet another Callian drabble, this time inspired by the famous quote from Anna Karenina, by Leo Tolstoy. Hope you enjoy, please leave me a review if you can spare the time.
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Unique
"We'll be lost together." -Callian, Tolstoy style.
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He reads people like books. He reads the whole world, but she's his book of choice.
He hears the words she thinks but doesn't say, sees the emotions she feels but doesn't show, finds everything she tries so desperately to keep hidden.
He reads her. And often enough that the pages of her have foxed and worn out under his touch.
(Tell me, do I have a happy ending?)
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Like all true booklovers and literati, he likes tragedies better than happy ever afters.
Because all happy families are alike, remember? (what a cliché) But all unhappy families are unhappy in their own unique way.
(Maybe its just all he knows.)
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"Why are you sad?" asks the boy.
"Because," says the girl, "I'm lost."
"Take my hand," says the boy. "We'll be lost together."
(this is how they meet)
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She draws a line around herself with chalk.
"Don't cross this," she says.
(and he doesn't)
He keeps circling around the line, keeps inching closer to it. Keeps pushing his limits till his toes are touching the line and the tip of his nose is less than half an inch away from hers.
(one of these days it's got to start raining, washing the chalk away, and erasing that line)
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He likes reading second-hand (used) books. He likes the pages to be wrinkled and ripped in some places and yellowed or blurred in others. He likes to read the smudged and faded handwriting scribbled in the marges. He likes to feel the old and fragile paper almost crumble between his fingertips.
(He reads books like people.)
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He can feel her hands, burning in his own.
(And he can already feel his skin starting to blister under her touch; he should let go now, or his flesh will begin to melt away.)
He holds them tight.
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"I've been cut loose many times, when the truth was inconvenient. But there's one person who always stayed by my side."
"That's a true friend."
She's the only person in the world who sees him for who he is, and still chooses to stick around.
She's his go-to-person, the one who won't judge him, won't leave him. The one who saves him, time and again.
She's his line between right or wrong, his concience, the angel on his shoulder.
She is his courage, she is his fear.
She is his strength, she is his weakness.
She is his love.
She is his smile.
She is his muse.
(She is, for lack of a better description, his friend.)
"She is."
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"Dr. Lightman."
"Dr. Foster."
"Nice to meet you."
"How do you do?"
(this is how they meet)
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He's always been so afraid, from the moment they met, that somedayhe'll break them (break her) for good.
That someday the tears he causes her won't dry. Someday the pain he sees flickering in her eyes won't fade. And someday, instead of merely breaking her heart, he'll shatter it to silver dust, unrepairable by tape or glue.
Someday, in a reckless, dreamless rage, he'll rip out all the frail pages of her, crumbling and tearing them apart, drop a burning match on her and watch her go black and ashen in the flames, destroying her forever.
(Someday he'll break her, and he won't be able to fix her anymore.)
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Holding her tight, her slim frame fitting perfectly into his embrace. Her body close up against his own, her perfume penetrating his nose. (Their arms around each other, their smiles hidden in each other's necks.)
Walking down the street, her arm linked loosely with his own. Listening to her talking excessevily, her eyes sparked with enthusiasm. (A smile that lights up her whole face, and his as well.)
Chasing her around the room, the sound of her laugh ringing in his ears. Being crazy and childish together, not giving a damn about what anybody thinks. (Catching her eventually and falling to the floor together, crying out laughing.)
(These are the good moments.)
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They're a unique (kind of) family.
Unhappy in their own (pulitzer-prize-worthy) way.
And other times, (disgustingly boring) happy.
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