One Hundred

Well, this is my first attempt at Twilight fanfiction--I know, I want to kill me, too. I thought I was better than this, but I really love Alice and Jasper's relationship, and I wanted to try writing about it in a way that would express their love—unconventional. I'm writing a series of drabbles, each exactly one hundred words long. Each chapter has 23 words, one for each letter of the alphabet (I skipped J, X, and Z because they're hard!), and each word is the inspiration for a drabble. I've got four more chapters planned so far, but I'll probably do more as I plan them. These are pretty abstract, capturing brief moments or emotions of their relationship, but I hope you like them. This chapter is entirely from Jasper's point of view, because I think his struggle and his world views are fascinating, but I'll try my hand at Alice's mind for the next chapter. Be forewarned--these take a while, and I've got a lot of other stories, so updates on this may be slow. Also, bear in mind that I've never read the books (I'm going off of my friends' knowledge) so forgive and point out any mistakes.

Please read and review—it'll make me write more!

Alabaster

Even in its unnatural whiteness, my skin has been dull for as long as I can remember. Shining in moonlight, glittering in sunlight, stained scarlet when I let my thirst consume me, yet always lackluster. But even in the dim light filtering through my window to the ground below, her skin is flawless. She is a tiny star fallen from the heavens to bring me light. The alabaster perfection that leaps through the trees to alight on the balcony seems to bear no resemblance to my own pallor. She shines with a light that radiates from beneath that unspoiled skin.

Blaze

She is all stealth and silence. The only way I can sense her beside me is the hunger emanating from her body. The only emotions I feel are thirst and need. I can barely make out her dark topaz eyes, smoldering in the blackness. They blaze only when she hunts, when she balances on the edge of giving in to sin. The fire in her eyes tells me that she is vulnerable, she is primal, and she is mine. We're never closer than when her eyes burn in the night, because then she is almost as weak as I am.

Cremation

Being separated from her is unbearable. It's as if half of my soul has been ripped from its place and flung to the farthest corners of the earth. When I am without her, the anxiety is beyond even my control. Existence is mindless; death is attractive. The very idea of cremation, being torn to pieces and reduced to ashes, seems numb and forgiving. I lose all sense of direction, all sense of myself, and I burn. I burn like the thirst of a thousand years searing down my throat. When she is gone, I want to shatter, flame, and die.

Diamond

She never needs gilt or shine to prove our love, but I want her to be proud of me. I go to the store, intending to buy her a bracelet, and change my mind at the last second. I race home, holding a death grip on the little velvet box, praying that she won't foresee my intention. I drop to one knee before her, take her tiny hand in mine, and ask her to be with me forever. The rush of emotions flooding her body catches me by surprise. She nods silently, grinning. I slide the diamond onto her finger.

Ebony

Her hair has always captivated me. Every movement she makes as she dances around me catches the light in satin waves. When she stands in the sunlight, hidden from the world and visible only to me, it glitters with the rest of her. Strands of ebony pull me closer, tendrils that reach out and envelope me, shielding me. She catches me staring, wide-eyed, and laughs at my enchantment. The sunlight dapples her hair, freezing my gaze on the tiny sparkles in a sea of black. She confides in me that sometimes her hair makes her feel taller. My little angel.

Fidelity

Our relationship has never been founded on lust or convenience. It's founded on need, the need to complete each other and be there for each other. I need her in ways I thought I would never feel again. I need her because of her fidelity, because no matter what I do, she loves me. Somehow, despite all my flaws, she believes that I belong with her as much as I believe that she belongs with me. She trusts me. When I come home shamed, eyes scarlet, she takes me in her arms and tells me she still believes in me.

Grace

She is always moving, even when she stands still. Her entire being is movement barely contained; she flows from one place to the next without disturbing the air. Her fingers brush over my skin without seeming to touch it, and she smiles as she takes light, quick steps around me. The elegance of her body as she twists and dances through the air is angelic. She is all grace next to my clumsy, awkward shape. Every moment spent with her is a waltz through water. She melts into me, and I am suddenly, briefly, a part of her fluid motion.

Heal

The first time she sees me in the sun, shimmering and silent, I worry that she will realize just how scarred I am. I try to calm her, anticipating the horror that anyone else would feel, but she shakes her head when she senses the invasion of emotion. She takes my hand, lifts it to her lips, and kisses the first scar on my palm. Each glimmering crescent is healed under her touch as she takes away the pain I couldn't even feel. She looks up at me, her pale face sparkling, and whispers to me that I am beautiful.

Incense

She is perfection in every sense. Her beauty, her soft skin, her lilting voice, her taste when we kiss… But most of all, I am transfixed by her scent. The sweetest blood is rank and vile beside her. I bury my face in her body and breathe, breathe like I never breathed as a human. It is as though incense smolders in her empty veins, filtering through the air and hovering around me. I can never get enough, even when she lies in my arms for hours. Her smoky, intoxicating scent overwhelms me, and I am lost in the haze.

Kaleidoscope

No one perplexes me as much as she does. At any given moment there are a thousand ideas, a thousand sensations fluttering through her mind. She is passionate about everything she feels, from the greatest excitement to the slightest sorrow. I find it harder to affect her mood than anyone else's, because her mood is so impulsive. She is a kaleidoscope of emotion, shifting colours every second to form new patterns, new mysteries for me to unravel. The only emotion that is constant is her love for me, and it is the only emotion that I never want to manipulate.

Lifeless

When I ceased to be human, I ceased to exist. I could have continued to feel, to want, to hope, but I had no will. I lived only because others told me I needed to. Even when I escaped the monotony of violence and deceitful survival, I felt nothing. I was lifeless, drifting through a world that I had no part in, a world that existed only to quench my thirst. But the moment my eyes locked with hers, crimson and gold under the dim fluorescence of the night, I felt fire. I felt her bring me back to life.

Maelstrom

She finds me standing in the forest, shaking, all pretense of breathing forgotten. The ground is soaked. She traces a finger across my cheek, staining her finger, and shudders with desire that she can barely restrain. I don't know who he is, but his body lies fragmented in the darkness. She pulls me away, holding her breath, and shields me from this maelstrom of thirst and broken promises. I can almost feel her through the fog surrounding my senses. I cannot see her. I can barely see myself. I can only smell the harsh, sweet blood that marks my betrayal.

Nearsighted

She holds out her hand to me, her eyes wide and staring, and I scramble to find her a piece of paper. Her hands move without direction, and lines of ink come to life on the page before her. They are vague and sprawling; no clear picture emerges. She glances at me, her brow furrowing over honey-coloured eyes, and I feel the frustration radiating off of her body like a fever. These moments when she feels so nearsighted are the moments when she feels the most human, and she cannot stand them. The loss of sense makes her too vulnerable.

Oak

She moves through the trees like the nymph she was born to be. She clings to twigs and flickers through the leaves until she reaches the top. She grins down at me, beckoning me upwards, and I follow her with less agility to the highest branch. This is her favourite spot, the tallest oak in the forest. She can see everything, and I can share it with her. She slips her hand into mine and leans her head against my shoulder. Her fingers trace across the scratches of the tree and up my arm, across the scratches of my skin.

Poetry

We sit on the balcony together, her tiny body curled up in my lap, and she looks up at me and grins. She reaches up and kisses the tip of my nose. Her hands find their way into my hair, twisting through curls with the gentlest touch. She whispers poetry in my ear, phrases and sentences that have meaning only to us. She twists words the way I twist emotions and lays them before me, waiting to see if she can make me smile. She alone can make me smile. I let her speak; I close my eyes, and smile.

Quaint

She calls me upstairs, her voice alive with suppressed glee. I open the door and she is twirling in the middle of the room, a blur of pink. She prances into my arms, and I have to smile. It's the dress she was wearing the night we met. Her hair was longer then, but she is otherwise unchanged: the same white skin, the same eager eyes, the same quaint dress wrapped around her. It is as though I have gone back in time, letting my gaze fall on the girl who took my empty life and filled it with hope.

Rhapsody

There's something about me that changes when I'm with her. My fingers itch to pour epic poems onto paper with nothing but her name, over and over. Something swells inside my chest and threatens to tear through me like shattering marble. Ecstasy, bliss, rhapsody... there are a thousand words man has created, but none of them come close. She makes me want to breathe again, makes me want to pull her against me and feel my heart pounding next to her ear. When she runs beside me, the world is veiled by a strange scent of music, and everything stops.

Sacred

She seems too beautiful to touch sometimes. I can't imagine what I did to deserve such an exquisite love. She is a goddess, moving with light, airy footsteps, and it almost feels wrong for me to even look at her. My eyes are unworthy, but somehow, she doesn't mind. She lets me gaze on sweet, sacred beauty in secret and marvel at how she can walk this earth. Every day with her is a glimpse at divinity personified. I can hardly believe that she wants me to be with her. It is a miracle that she lets me love her.

Tainted

She sees me the moment I enter. She looks up, cheeks icy white, a cold cup of untouched coffee on the counter before her. I can instantly smell her, every intoxicating aroma that defines her. In this room that threatens to overwhelm me with the scent of humans, she suddenly stands out. She captures my eyes with hers, strange golden lights like I've never seen before, and I can't understand why I feel tainted. My eyes burn scarlet with shame. I move towards her, and something in her smile tells me that she will wait for my eyes to change.

Unblinking

I treasure most the moments when she and I are finally free. When we don't have to hide, when I have no desires to control, we can let ourselves be real. She curls into my chair, folding herself into my arms, and looks up at me without saying a word. We are unblinking and unchanging, frozen in time. She reaches up and places her finger gently on my lips. Her touch is like her gaze, soft and unceasing. She traces it along my hard skin to my cheeks, across my motionless eyelids, and then draws me closer and kisses me.

Vindicated

I hadn't felt compassion in decades. I was steel, cold and unyielding. I was emotionless, a walking irony. Eternal existence had stolen my life; I, in turn, stole lives. I took chaos and tried to create justice, but only more chaos was ever born of it. But when she found me, she vindicated me. She took my frozen heart in her tiny hands and told me that I was worth saving. Undeserving as I was, she lifted the weight of my unfeeling indifference and found me blameless. With her, my bleak, eternal existence became life, and I lived for her.

Wedding

She spends weeks planning and preparing. Her marble face glows, and her eyes glitter with anticipation. She laughs whenever I try to peek at her dress, protesting that I can't see her yet. She's traditional but independent, just how I love her. The day of the wedding finally arrives. It's only a few minutes, but it feels like hours that I spend twisting my fingers and glancing nervously over my shoulder. I try to calm myself down, but it's not until the moment she enters the room that I can maintain some semblance of breathing. She is radiant. "I do."

Yearning

Whenever she's in the room with me, I can't help but be near her. I need to have her beside me, to touch her. Even a hand brushed across mine is heaven. When I let her go, the separation sears my soul, and fire burns my throat in ways that have nothing to do with thirst. I can't explain the connection between us that inspires this desire, this intense, persistent yearning; I only know that it exists and that it is inescapable. Life before her was only half of a life, incomplete and inadequate. I cannot imagine being without her.

I hope you enjoyed. Remember: R&R!

(All characters, etc. are the property of Stephenie Meyer. I make no profit from borrowing them, and I claim no ownership.)

-Mydnyte Houre