A Note From Me: Hey all, my second short story, yay^^ And, of course, it is after midnight.... I always seem to get any inspiration for drawing or writing around this time. I love the concept of inspiration at strange hours.... but it does cut down on my already low amount of sleeping hours. Ah well, this took about 5 hours total to write, I would guess? And it also turned out much differently than I thought it would, but I'll explain that at the end so I don't ruin your minds' first thoughts when reading. Ok, I'll leave you to it.

Oh! One last thing. I have a photo I took that I believed fit this perfectly, but I could not get it onto here, so if you have a moment, please go to my profile and check out my picture(icon) in the larger form so you can get full impact and a little visual, if you like^^

Rated M so I don't get yelled at...more so a T.

This is not based on a story. This was placed in the Misc. Books. Category because this isn't about any certain literary piece, show, movie, etc. It is purely from my mind.

Disclaimer: Any and all books or authors mentioned in this story belong fully to their respective writers and publishers.

Bright and Fantastic Hues

OR

The Girl's Smile

With the bright and fantastic hues of the falling sun reflecting off of her red-brown hair, making it seem more alive by pulling out the hint of reddish tones and enhancing them with the rays own vibrancy, she proverbially rejected the sun with the simple, delicate frown lingering on her lips; the one that just could not seem to leave. That wasn't surprising, though, as anything that is in place for such a long period of time is bound to be difficult to get rid of.

She sighed and turned so she wouldn't have to face the parting sun and leaned back on the thin, black metal bar outlining the small balcony. A sharp cold, it gave on contact, but she didn't mind; A bit of cold was much better than too much heat. That's why she loved autumn; no bit of warmth in sight - minus cozy sweaters and fires, the only sources of warmth she liked - and the crisp, new cold renewed every day, especially around this time - dusk.

By now, the sun that had lit up her crown of hair was long past the horizon. It must have sunk down while she daydreamed.... Though she wasn't daydreaming of anything the average person might. She was daydreaming about some things that, if she told anyone else about them, she would most likely be sent to a nice, white, sterilized, and thickly padded room. In short, she liked to dream of different, strange, gruesome, and just plain interesting ways to die. This girl was not suicidal.... she just liked the idea of being able to pick out exactly how you wanted to die, and in what way you liked. Why, just the idea was almost enough to rid her lips of the frown.... almost.

Now the sun was down, the stars came out to play, and she finally realised that she couldn't feel the palms of her hands. She pushed off from the railing and rubbed her hands together as she walked back in the sliding door she had left open, using her heel to shut it now behind her. Rubbing hands together to create some feeling in her nerves she crouched down in front of the fire place to place a few logs in with a sprinkling of paper for kindling – what good is having a fire place that didn't use real wood or give off real flames? Especially when said flames resembled the few leaves left clinging to the meagre branches that just straight-out refused to let go, no matter how much frost threatened and cold winds nipped and pulled. A matchbook was fished out of jean pockets and caught spark easily, and was held out next to the kindling to get them to work together and do their jobs. Once aflame, a flick of the wrist put out the match and the hands attached to those joints pushing onto the floor for leverage to stand, now that they had feeling returned and blood was circulating.

The girl walked over to the kitchen, allowing the fireplace time to catch and grow. She opened the fridge and pulled out a can of pop before returning to the fireplace, curling up in the small couch. She opened up a large, worn-out, duct-tape-spined volume of 'The Complete Collection of Poems and Short Stories of Edgar Allen Poe' and continued reading though it for the nth time. Both Poe and Robert Frost were her favourite authors.... not surprising, considering the style and implications most of the works they wrote carried. She sipped at her drink as she read over the words she had practically memorised, but still read anyway, as they were a sort of comfort. Tonight was a Poe night, tomorrow would likely be a Frost.

Eventually, mid-memorized-sentence, she drifted off, book open in lap, and fire crackling to her side. The flames slowly diminished and lost their intensity and colour, until there was only a couple feeble sparks and charred ashes left. The lone sparks gave off just enough light to glint off of the shine of liquid left on the girl's lower lip from her drink. It reflected strangely, and if the spark had a mind it would most likely have thought it immensely strange, as her mouth was not in its usual state, but was formed in a sort of half smile - maybe even a full one! - the corner turned up just enough to be considered as such. How strange it must be for that little spark to see such a sight, when something so dark as tales of murder and strange creatures and death were enough to put a smile on the girl's face in place of the frown that wouldn't leave, when the bright and fantastic hues of dawn or dusk couldn't even do the difficult.

A Note From Me: Hey again, Im just gonna explain what I was talking about up there, if you read the first note. I origionally wanted this to be much darker, involved with much more death and suicidal implications, but it kind of turned out more sweet....in a sick mindframe^^

Anyway, tell me what you think^^