Ollo! Please enjoy- or try to enjoy- this really uberly short song fic! :)
She stood at the edge.
Of sanity or consciousness or maybe physically, she didn't know. She stared at a point in the darkness, unfocused. She bit the inside of her trembling lip, drawing blood and swallowing the tang of salt and rust.
I don't mind it, I don't mind if you're overrated.
She stared until the back of her eyes had stabbing pains, and then kept staring. She sucked her tongue to the roof of her mouth and sniffled.
Or if you're staring at the edge of the world.
She placed her hand on the bridge of her nose and let the salt drips run down her palm. She sniffled again and wiped her nose on her sleeve.
Keep in mind that I'm sore of blurry vision.
She could feel the wheeze that her chest gave freely as she exhaled, and the pain it brought when she inhaled. She was getting sick. No, sick is for the weak. She was getting physically annoyed.
But I can see it has to be you, love, that I've been dreaming of.
She couldn't feel her cheekbones anymore. Whether it was from the cold or lack of care, she didn't know. But she suspected the latter. She couldn't open her eyes, not that she wanted to. They could be sewn shut and she wouldn't care.
And if we climb this high, I swear we'll never die.
She didn't want to see anything, anyone. She didn't care anymore. If she couldn't see what she wanted to see, she would rather not see at all.
I don't mind it, I don't mind if you're overrated.
But what did she want to see? Was it darkness? Or, maybe the sunlight?
No, it was him. Definitely him.
Or if you're staring at the edge of the world.
She remembered the euphoric highs that she got. The quick flutters and heart palpitations. She despised them. Reviled them. Loathed them. But, they were addicting.
Keep in mind that I'm sore of blurry vision.
She wouldn't miss him. Most people would, they would miss their 'Love'. But, she wouldn't. It was a love/hate relationship, as corny and ridiculous as that sounds. One moment they were coiled in a solid embrace. The next, a knife sliding against a throat, anticipated from either, even more expected. The murder attempts end up in not being separated from each other for an immeasurable amount of time before the cycle begins again. Melancholy joy.
But I can see it has to be you, love, that I've been dreaming of.
But she succeeded. She had no regrets but she didn't adore the feeling of wet bones in her hands. She twisted her hands and picked up a glass cylinder no bigger than her thumb. She held the small cold vial and smiled. It was nice to know that she could. Nice, but brutal. Oh, sweet, sweet irony. She uncorked it and pressed it to her closed, pale lips.
And if we climb this high, I swear we'll never die.
She became the flesh parting from flesh and felt the cold slither down her throat. 'Too late' she thought, listening to the music ring through the stale air. It was her last coherent one.
My Understandings by Of Mice & Men.
I rather liked the idea of this one. Don't know why.
Also I have no idea who this is about.
~The amazing S'K!