Welcome to my brand new AWESOME fanfic!
I'm kidding; this has to be one of my biggest challenges yet. I've only tried writing true angst, like, two or three times before and they came out terribly. This is my apology beforehand at how awful it will seem.
On an even sadder note, I found out recently that one amazing author is officially quitting writing in 2013 (too short a time period for me). So, this is dedicated to...fallenempires! I know that it's too early to say good-bye, but she really loves angst and this might be one of the only angst I write this recently. But, I guess it just depends on whether she even reads it or not.
So, I guess, continue on...
She can't quite explain it, but she's always had a peculiar love for storms.
As odd as it is, the loud, rumbling thunder, gigantic gray clouds, and angry force of the pelting raindrops just makes her feel much more content...a more peaceful state of mind.
Julie contemplates her hobby of watching storms as she looks out her window—at the big oak tree with spiraling limbs that shake in furious wind outside her window. The darkened bark has bits and pieces fly away, the harsh weather breaking into the tree's skin.
Julie suddenly laughs dryly, a cold humorless sound that rings throughout her bedroom, bouncing off the walls to scream back at her—something that helps fills the angry silence. Even with the hum of her computer joining in, the screams fade away; it stays in her mind, imprinting it deeply—another mantra partnering up with the last one.
With jerky movements, she struggles to open her window, immediately having to take a couple steps back. A bitter wind sweeps in from her window, jabbing at her skin like cold needles. Julie paces back and forth, goose bumps rising on her flesh—the sharp breeze slicing through her thin pajamas. Easily turning numb, her skin pales, moonlight turning her an unnatural sliver. Her bed taunts her mockingly, offering warmth that she'll never take.
With angered kicks, her slippers fly off, Julie's bare feet sinking into her carpet. She's up from her desk chair (conveniently parked in front of her window, front row seat to the raging thunder and crackling lightning). The light brunette starts a trail from her bed to her firmly locked door, never changing or staggering.
A shaky hand runs through her sloppy locks as Julie plays the fight over and over; it doesn't even qualify as a fight—reason battling denial if anything. The heartless, bitter words have to be the worst part of it all, every sentence so sharp and lacking of emotion; her hysterical defenses useless and weak against them.
The storm rages on harder now, like being fueled by her tangle of emotions.
Her hands continue to pull at her long locks, Julie flinching at memory after memory.
"It's over." So easy and emotionless—coming from the guy she gave two years of her life to.
"Why? Why throw away we put so much time into building up? Together?" Her cries sounding distraught and hysterical even to her own ears.
Julie stops in mid-step, cowling as she thinks about how cruel and harsh everything appears now.
Has it always been like this?
Was the world around always this harsh and cruel unbeknownst to her all this time?
Julie doesn't like that—she doesn't like that one bit.
A new sudden swell of odd determination fills her chest as Julie stomps out of her room, the brunette stalking in beat to her melody of the storm. The bathroom door slams against the walls as she rips it open; the pristine white tiles feel like a sheet of ice under Julie's feet.
She stops in front of the mirror.
Julie faces her reflection with a fierce scowl, eyes hard and careless as she burns holes into the image before her. She takes in her snarled hair from her hand's constants pulling on it; the major wrinkles dominating her pajamas; how pale and alien her skin looks in the moonlight coming in from the window.
With her hand gripping onto the sink tightly, Julie throws her head back and lets out a howling laugh. It carries, bouncing off the bathroom and slamming right back at her. It only takes a few, depression filled moments for her voice to become hoarse, throat raw with her laughter fading into hysterical dry heaves.
She's never been one for rejection.
And this kind has to be the worst.
For a while Julie just sits there, having lowered herself to the tile floor, clutching her knees to her chest and rocking back and forth in a hurtful haze of swirling thoughts. They burn in her mind as hot as fire—as dangerous as raging flames.
The brunette suddenly feels too hot—panting and looking around frantically for something to ease this bright burn that spreads, taking over her limbs and knocking around in her stomach.
Fumbling, Julie trips her way to the tub, her shaky hand gripping the knob tightly and twisting robotically. Something in her tweaks itself enough to let her calm at the sight of the rushing water, her eyes taking in the view of the tub filling quickly.
She turns to the mirror again.
Julie's never been one to worry about her body—academics didn't care what her body looked like, just what her mind can do. So she never had to worry like all the other hormonal teenage girls of her school. But something about this night (this night, the brunette repeats in her head, and can't help but grin sadistically) is different and she slips her clothes of slowly; taking in every curve and patch of skin and flesh, her eyes drinking in the occasional freckle and the bump of her knuckles and bony knees.
Maybe this was the reason Milton saw to guide his decision.
And she couldn't fix it now.
There was no time to heal.
Julie can't find it in herself to jump with the cold leak of the spreading water puddle reaches her feet, crawling under heals and seeping into her skin.
Instead she grins wider at her reflection one last time before taking camp in the tub over flowing.
Julie doesn't bother turning off the faucet—the cold water pricking at her limbs like frozen knives. There was a certain satisfaction that she loves about the feeling that makes her crave for more.
And that's what she'll get.
Slowly, Julie dunks her body even more into the water, her hair spreading around her head, face completely submerged. Her eyes stare up at the ceiling, taking it in through the watery haze.
The brunette smiles an open smile, the icy liquid rushing down her throat, filling her until Julie waits to burst.
Just like a balloon, Julie thinks as she's winded, no longer attempting to breathe—because everyone has to pop at some point.
Her last thought is still on the pop people go through; her glassy eyes still watching the ceiling in that same watery haze; her body still sinking in grief and the icy lake.
Julie never once thought about help—her parents and their ways to take everything.
Every expectation she worked so hard to reach.
Where she was going (the world of nothing but her way) there is no broken minds and hearts—no pains that she waits on end to endure.
Whoa. That was just sad and depressing, even to me.
But that's kind of how I've been seeing everything for a while. I've been wondering how people in this kind of pain would react to such pressures and try to write how Julie would react in this kind of pain.
Please review, the next chapter of this three-shot should be out soon.
