FALLiNG
One: To drop or descend under the force of gravity, as to a lower place through loss or lack of support.
"He should have let her fall," the girl said softly, large blue eyes staring at the flickering television screen, My Heart Will Go On emitting from the speakers, haunting. Riku, her video-viewing companion, turned to look at her quizzically, so she decided to elaborate on the matter: "Sometimes it's best to let things go quickly. Then you don't get too attached to them, and it doesn't hurt so much when you have to say goodbye."
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Two: To come or drop down suddenly to a lower position, whether voluntarily or not.
When she had first seen him, she had felt her legs turn into putty. Her spine had turned into putty, legs to jelly, and she'd fallen to her knees. Worshipping him. Wanting him. And now she has him, but nothing's changed. She's still falling to her knees, onto the floor, dress getting dirty, tears coursing down her cheeks. She wonders when the bruises will heal. If they heal at all.
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Three: To become less or lower; to become of a lower amount, quantity, value, etc.
As the night goes on numbers decline rapidly; the money in her purse, the drink in her glass, the size she herself feels. She sits there in the corner and drinks slowly, glass clinking against her teeth, little shrinking violet. Watching him dance with her best friend, whilst she scrunches herself up smaller and smaller until she feels she'll shrivel away and die completely. If only her love for her best friend's boyfriend would do the same.
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Four: To extend downwards; to hang down.
Her blonde hair falls about her pale face, head lowered as she sketches rapidly, nibbling at her lower lip. She feels bad about doing it, but it's not like she has any say in the matter; Marluxia would rip her down the middle into two bleeding stumps if she dared defy his orders. She doesn't want to create this false Riku because she loves the real one so much, but she can't love because she's a nobody, so there's no proper reason for her to stop drawing, is there? So she draws.
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Five: To become lowered or directed downward, as the eyes.
He looks her up and down critically, eyes gracing over every single curve of her body and curl of her hair. Up and down and up and down, until she feels dizzy and exposed. And she is exposed, red hair dyeing blonde, eyes lightening until there's no Kairi left. Because it's just like he said; she's not Kairi. Kairi has a different scent, and it's not dread and despair.
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Six: To lower in pitch or volume.
The music is about to come to a close, the timid blonde in the corner tugging at the hem of her simple prom dress and wondering why nobody will dance with her. But her lucky stars seem to swoop about in space and align to fit her wishes; as the old techno beat disappears to make room for a soft, slow song, he sidles up beside her and asks for a dance. Well, he told her, she did always seem like the girl who'd prefer the slow songs.
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Seven: To succumb to temptation or sin; to become unchaste or to lose one's innocence.
She gasps, eyes wide, arms wrapped around him tightly, pulling him closer. Deep within her minds eye she knows this mixture of exposed skin and unchaste kisses are wrong, wrong, wrong, but she can't help herself. She doesn't want to be innocent little Naminé anymore. She wants to feel strong, to be in control. But she certainly isn't now.
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Eight: To lose status, dignity, position, character, etc.
There is a collective gasp as she walks into the classroom five minutes late, the entrance dramatic what with the purply-bluey bruise forming on her elegant neck. Kairi and Selphie giggle something in the corner, Mr. Leonheart raises his eyebrows, Yuffie makes a rude comment. And Riku… Riku grins, winking at her because he knows where that mark came from. And pretty soon, so will everybody else.
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Nine: To succumb to attack.
He says he's doing it because he loves her, but what he's doing isn't love. He grabs hold of her wrist and slams it painfully into the wall, pinning her in place like a butterfly on a board. She wriggles but he's too strong for her. She arches her back but this only encourages him. She calls for help but it falls on deaf ears, Vexen walking past surveying the situation with mild interest, talking to himself the whole time. "Interesting… Very interesting… The Replica thinks it's in love…" But Naminé knows Vexen's wrong, because what he's doing isn't love.
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Ten: To drop down wounded or dead.
When he looks at her once he sees shoulder-length blonde hair and large blue eyes. But when he looks twice he sees red hair and violets, a Cheshire cat grin, uncouth and ungraceful. When she looks at him she sees best friend, and isn't it great (goodie goodie gumdrops great!) that they'll all together again. But when the real she looks at him through the veil sees somebody's who's broken and crumpled; given up hope. And she can't tell him otherwise. She can only watch as he picks at his old wounds and falls apart.
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Eleven: To pass into some physical, mental or emotional condition.
Selphie loved romance novels. She lived, breathed, ate and slept them. She talked about them all the time, so much so that it gave everybody else headaches on end. Naminé never seemed interested, even when she asked her if she'd ever fallen in love herself. She never noticed the fleeting glance she shot at Riku before shaking her head fiercely; no. Selphie may have adored fictional romance, but fictional romance is all pink love hearts and fluffy bunnies. Real life isn't.
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Twelve: To come by chance into a particular position.
Naminé didn't believe in destiny. It wasn't destiny that made Kairi lose her heart. It wasn't destiny that gave birth to Naminé. It wasn't destiny that found her on the dark shores of that anti-beach, skipping rocks aimlessly into the horizon. It wasn't destiny that brought her to the castle and made her fall in love with that boy. Everything fell into place in its own time, and she had fallen into her own place alright; she was merely a pawn in a complicated game of chess, designed to do the more important pieces dirty work and later be exterminated. And it wasn't like he'd ever help her – they were on opposing sides of the board. And there was nothing chance or destiny seemed able to do about it.
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Thirteen: To lose animation; appear disappointed, as in the face.
If ignorance is bliss then Kairi is the happiest girl in the world. She laughs and giggles and grins, eyes light up and lips twist into over-large smiles. She's content with life; happy and peaceful. All her friends are together again, she's back at the home she loves and she's going out with Riku. She never notices the looks of disappointment Riku keeps shooting her merely because Riku isn't content with her. Because, to Riku, he's not actually going out with Kairi. He's going out with Naminé. And she's none the wiser.
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Fourteen: To be directed as light, sight, etc, on something.
He shouldn't have read her diary, he really shouldn't have. But it wasn't his fault – he still stuck by this theory when she returned upstairs with the glass of cherryade he'd wanted. It was her own stupid fault for leaving the thing in the middle of her bed, glowing under a ray of sun seeping through the window. And so that was how she'd found Riku when she came back upstairs with the drink – sat on her Hello Kitty printed bed, head bent, rifling through pages in her diary. She'd had a fit, throwing his drink all over him and marching him out of the house. It wasn't like there was anything interesting in there anyway, she'd over-reacted. Bloody woman. She was his best friend; how many secrets could she have that he didn't know already?
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Fifteen: To collapse, as through weakness, damage or the like.
It's hard to stand when you've been crushed. It's even harder to stand when you've just been pushed to the floor by somebody who claims to love you and then raped you brutally, tearing at your white dress and smothering your lips with his own. You cry, pulling your clothes over your head, attempting to stand again. Pain shoots through your body and you fall back to the floor, sobbing. Sometimes when you've been crushed you're too scared to stand back up, because you know it'll happen again. Why bother?
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Sixteen: An act or instance of falling from a higher to lower place or position.
Riku used to be a teacher; one of those really 'cool' ones all the kids obsess over, what with his silver hair and informal clothes and offhand way of teaching English like it didn't really matter. And it didn't. Not to him, anyway. All that mattered to him was Naminé, the quiet girl in the back of the class who spent her time reading To Kill a Mockingbird or writing her essay on Shakespeare diligently. Maybe that was what the appeal was; her dark, brooding nature was refreshing when compared to the other female's attitudes towards him ('OMG! RIKU! U RULEZ! I LUV U! LOL!') And he didn't mean to kiss her that one time she stayed over after class, looking worried and waif-like, whispering about her home-life and her crazy brother, Marluxia, and how she couldn't take it and nobody else understood. He'd only been making her feel better. But he sure as hell didn't feel better when he'd lost his money, job and position all in one fell swoop. All because of Naminé. Just because of Naminé. But he didn't mind, because it had been Naminé and he loved her.
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Seventeen: That which falls or drops.
She stood in the sudden downpour, umbrella up, smile spread out across her pale pink lips. Water sloshed about her ankles, into her socks, running in streams along the sidewalks down into the gutters. She paid it no heed. Riku trailed along behind her, wet and dripping, absolutely sodden. She giggled at this strange, new, alien situation; she had the umbrella and he did not. She was in control for once in their relationship. And she liked it.
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Eighteen: A season of year, in-between summer and winter; fall.
White was the only colour she knew, but oh how she hated it so. Riku could tell from the vast collection of pieces that hung on the walls of the room, bright explosions of reds and yellows and pinks and golds. "Hey…" he said after a while, pointing at one of her wax crayon doodles. "This looks like fall!" Naminé hung back in the corner next to Sora's pod, a sudden ghost of a feeling washing over her. A ghost of a feeling called envy. It wasn't like she could comment about her picture, because she didn't even know what fall looked like.
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Nineteen: Fall out; to quarrel or disagree.
"Why are you taking Kairi to the dance? Kairi, of all people," muttered Naminé sourly, lips stuck in a permenant pout, arms folded across her chest definiantly. Riku snorted, looking his moody best friend up and down. "It's simple. She's hot," he replied crassly. "Oh, what now?" he asked, noticing the evil, drop-down-dead look on the girl's face. "Surely you can't be jealous?" "I'm not jealous," she relpied a little too quickly, cheeks a little too pink. Riku raised his eyebrows in amusement, doing his trademark smirk. "You're jealous." "No I'm not; I hate you and I hate Kairi!" "Yeah, well, that's a shame, considering I might be toying with the notion of dumping Kairi and taking you out instead." "…" "Do you still hate me now?" Her sudden, impulsive hug was answer enough.
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Twenty: Usually falls. A cataract or waterfall.
She sat by on the bank of the river, mint green grass studded with delicate flowers, hands immersed in vegetation. The sky was a clear blue, a lovely contrast to the sharp aquamarine of the water as it smashed against the rocks, white foam dribbling down into the gently curving body of water that snaked by the couple. "It's pretty, isn't it…" she remarked in a distant, voice, turning to look at her companion. He grinned at her comment, eyes finding her's, hand reaching down to take her own. "Very pretty," he agreed, "but not as pretty as you."
a/n: yay! this is for jaded-raindrop, using the prompt 'falling'. I hopes jhoo like eet ;D I be pretty proud of these little drabble-ettes mahself. I think my favourite ones are eight, nine and fourteen. What are your favourites? And please, feed me cookies for my troubles
xx skitts