This sorta came to my mind whilst watching the 1st season of house for the upteenth time, just revie and tell me what you think...
Disclaimer: i honestly do not own anything
He was on the beach, not a place he is particularly fond of but soothing nonetheless. Solemn, delicate, an abandoned, crestfallen beach; covered in snow. He was never very eloquent and romanticism was not his strong point, but an oddly poetic selflessness entranced him as he watched the surely lethal torrents of rushing water crashing upon the snowy sand. The painted surrealist drawing on a pale grey backdrop, enhanced by the blindingly violent blasts of wind; holding the call of the devil, the signing of the witches' book. Some kind of prophesy that only the zephyr understood, silently foretelling the future that mortal kind was inattentive to. Only few he had allowed in his life were ever conscientious of the impending future.
Few he knew understood how powerful the future was, nor how quickly life could change, after all it took a mere three days for the infarction to destroy his leg and thus his past athleticism. A past to present shift, holding the knowledge of the world; only to be forgotten moments later as reality takes roots in the brain. Emotions destroy the core understanding between people.
Stacy loved him too much; or perhaps too little, to just let him alone in his pain because the minute his back was turned…
BAM
…she'd betrayed him, or at least his wishes. They'd been engaged, she should have walked in knowing that arrogance and stubbornness came along for the ride. That his personality was an enigma and she shouldn't thrust her traits with his lest they explode with the intensity of an atomic bomb tenfold.
But he wasn't being fair to her, she had cared; but he was unsociable and cruel and everything that would poison a relationship from the start because of the toxicity. Enough to kill, after all if something was toxic to the organs, it would surely kill the owner, same for a engine, or anything that is in existence.
Then again, here he goes into his usual medical spiel; something that irritated most everyone he knew, save for a select few who, God forbid, enjoyed it. One who did barely understood the world around her, assaulted by the paranoid voices telling her to do 'bad things'. Or sometimes, telling her things that meant nothing to anyone but her. He remembered sitting next to her on a chipped green wooden bench, listening to the sounds of nature; he remembered her in so many ways. Sometimes it was when she lay in the hospital bed erupting in powerful laughter that rung through the grave doorways of the psychiatric ward, and sometimes it was holding her hands to her very large belly and whispering to the child that she believed could hear her through the blood, mucus, and skin.
He mustn't be thinking about her though, he was here to forget her, to leave her behind and move on. So few knew about her, the enticing lass he'd met, married, and watched die at a painfully slow rate. Looking back, he wasn't sure he even told Stacy, thinking that perhaps Stacy would think him incapable to have held any strong relationships with anyone but her.
Again his emotions clouded his judgment, Wilson was waiting for him in the car to drive him to rehab, he should leave and abandon the past but he couldn't. He was here to leave those strings that controlled him, a puppeteer if you will.
Deciding that the end has come, he casts one more look at the sky that begins to show signs of the sun poking through. As if to show that no storm lasts long, but taking another look at the ocean, he witnesses the still brutal waves breaking along the shore. Showing him that the happiness only covers the pain, as it had done his whole life.
Unable to take any more he drops the piece of paper he had been fiddling with in his overly restless hands, and stomps off the beach; determined to not look back and run to pick up the paper that was currently floating to the ground with the delicacy of a feather and the rare divinity of a mythological phoenix.
He made his way to the Corvette where his one friend was loitering for him, ready to drive him to the hopefully enlightening sermon in the rehabilitation clinic.
The lone paper on the deserted shoreline, floated along on the wind gusts before falling precisely beneath a crashing wave. And on the paper, were written three women's names…
Veronica Collete Walker, Stacy Yvonne Warner, Allison Emma Cameron
…all of which were important to the maverick fleeing from them…
Good, Bad, Atrocious?? Tell me what you think...