memoirs painted on the night sky
behind those mischievous grins and sly smiles are sinful souls.
for Earl Tom Bin's Baa Baa Black Sheep Competition on the HPFC forum.
It starts off small, really, like most of these chronological events do – a simple, little relationship of hers shattered into broken fragments of a distant memory as she vents her anger and sorrow into the nearest possible being at the time; coincidentally enough, her own brother.
He's just a little dazed – perplexed, really – and the only thing he could do is console his sister and let the rage and fury turn slowly into distress and pure and upmost anguish to the point of both of their selves almost collapse in exhaustion as the night turns into the early hours of day, finding themselves both heavy-lidded eyes and morose expressions worn on their faces.
Their hands are interlaced, but she doesn't notice a thing – with no attempts to sleep in her own bed tonight – jumping into the messy heap of tangled blankets and old, rugged sweaters; fatigue taking over her. He just stands there awkwardly, not knowing what he should be doing, what was right, or wrong, just the space next to her seems inviting to his rough and weary body. He climbs in anyways, never the less the consequences – it's harmless, really – letting sleep wash over as the sun rises in the distance.
He dreams of stars and soft kisses and the touch of her skin underneath his fingers, but he doesn't remember any of it as the pure and upmost façade of the entire event before hits him like a shot of fire-whiskey; the shocking realization is almost inevitable by then.
She just turns over to her side; sleep still a dominant element in her universe, and snores a bit to the side, the corner of her mouth turning into a small smile as his eyes are pointed directly at her.
He could dream all the stars and kisses, and the feel of her skin against his, if he chooses so, but everything's just memory, painted on the night sky above.
/
fin
a/n: please do not favourite without reviewing, and thank you.