This is my last submission to fanfiction.
The tough material stuck to the tips of her fingers, the ridges in her finger pads anchoring into the aged couch. Her cheek was slightly moist, almost sore from resting so long on one spot. Her shoulder ached a bit, too. It wasn't the best position to be laying on, and hell, her muscles were screaming at her to move, get up, just stop weighing down on her stone-stiff joints, even if just for a minute.
But she was so comfortable, so at peace. Her scalp was being caressed so gently, goose bumps rising like waves in the lively ocean waters under a rowboat with every caring stroke. Her ribs were being pressed on by a secure set of digits, each promising unconditional love and dedication forever. That sweaty cheek was resting on a familiar thigh, one almost as creamy and white as one of her own. The dried fabric insulating the combined heat being produced above it was sharply cold elsewhere, threatening to ruin all feelings of peace if the slightest of movements, motions or intentions of departing were made.
He felt his back burn from sitting for so long against the leather. If he'd lean forward for just an instant, a fragment of time to let his skin breathe, relief would be his. But he couldn't disturb her, couldn't ask her to sacrifice this moment of serenity just so he could selfishly find his own comfort. He wouldn't. He never would.
The incomparably soft tickle of her hair splayed and clinged lightly with mixed perspiration to his pale flesh like a quiet, affectionate prayer to be left in peace as close to him as possible. Time was drifting on. It was getting hotter. They didn't dare to move.
T h e y w o u l d b e t h e r e soon. T h e i r t i m e t o g e t h e r w o u l d h a v e t o end. T h a t w a r w a s h a p p e n i n g a n d w a s g o i n g t o t a k e him.
They would be torn
a
p
a
r
t
.
.
.
.
Time was short. Those strangers, the recruiters. They were to be knocking. Not on Heaven's door, nor Hell's. Just those of the young and capable. Those informed and oblivious. Black, white, all in between and to the side, they'd all be called upon. Dragged forth to be constricted in the fabric that was to hide them from the enemy, the other strangers who weren't strangers at all… Just other people, oceans apart, who felt those same waves under their little boats from another close in their heart on their skin memories ago.
Now they were set against each other, pieces of the same puzzle, just because they weren't fitting perfectly in harmony with each other. It didn't occur to the hands, the damn politicians, that maybe the pieces were upside down, backwards, possibly in the wrong part of the puzzle. That the picture they were trying to create, to reveal, wasn't the one meant to be brought together. That the only outcome of such pressure and unrelenting stubbornness would the crumbling destruction of the pieces. The small, many, many pieces that were only doing what they were created to do, just in the wrong place. At the wrong t i m e.
The end would leave unrecognizable shreds of what once was a curious, hopeful mystery. Dirtied, used, lost, torn. Unable to be fixed.
Left____withering the sofa.
__under__
That sofa that once held their warmth, their last promises of love. Love that in reality, could never be given again. The unlucky leftovers or memories of those taken by the strangers we somehow manage to call our leaders with straight faces minus second thoughts, were left maybe on that sofa… Desperately trying to relive that almost
forgotten
Warmth and sense of completeness only given by that missing piece of their own puzzle. That piece that is haunting the underside of the sofa, lost… And no longer the piece once firm and reliable. Now pathetic, missing proper corners… It wasn't the same. It was unrecognizable.
DEAD.
The puzzle would be left unfinished, left to be guessed by new hands, filled by foreign pieces made by the original hands that foolishly ruined the first ones.
The new pieces would be imitations, altered to fit the needs of the hands to create the image they wanted, wiping away the true image. The reality that was meant to be.
We are in their reality.
We are in their world.
We are their pieces. An artificial cycle.
F
A
L
L
I
N
G
AP
AR
T…
Our end is unsure. Incomplete. Yearning proper conclusion.
Or maybe-darwinfriendspartylostconfusedunawaremanipulatedstringsholddesperatewatchingpullingbreakingshatteredflytogetherfallalone
silencescreamingmoremoremorelesslovestopdieclonefakerepeatdarwinfriendspartylosewinlosecheatwinlostconfusedunawaremanipulated
stringsholddesperatewatchingpullingtuggingrippedbibleanarchymonogamypolygamywarsidesliesfakersdrugsdrinkinghidingfreakoutbuyeat
spitontheshoeshateallnumberslearnreadplagerizebleedplayfixfitflexembarassrememberpersonalizefitinbrokencycleincomprehendableliveon
tuggingrippedbibleanarchymonogamypolygamywarsidesliesfakersdrugsdrinkinghidingfreakoutmoremorelesslovestopdieclonefakerepeatout
darwinfriendspartylosewinlosecheatdesperatewatchingpullingtuggingrippedbibleanarchymonogamypolygamyscreamingmoremoremoreless
loveconfusedunawaremanipulatedliesfakersdrugsdrinkinghidingfreakoutmoremorelesslovestopdiecloneshoeshateallnumberslearnreadwatch
plagerizedontbelikemefitinbrokencycleincomprehendablenumberslearnreadplagerizebleedplayfixfitscreamingmoremoremore-a new beginning.
I've gotten to a point where I think I need to focus more on me, my future, my dreams. I really do hope to be recognized in this world as a someone who has made a difference. Be it my art, politics, writing...whatever. But I need work on that, not so much this website or any other internet craze.
I must stress though, that this site has helped carve out my passion for the literary arts. I appreciate the support I've received here and will miss you all. Thanks so much and I hope you all do what you must to reach your dreams.
This piece was originally to be the beginning of the concluding chapter of Don't Plan Ahead..but look how it quickly developed into an AU of what was supposed to be my view on most wars, this a take on Vietnam when the recruiters were pulling anyone and everyone with a bit of youth at least and not flat feet. Anywhoooo...
PM me if you would like to adopt my story. Otherwise, it'll remain unfinished. Hope you enjoyed my work.
Peace.
happy unbirthday
--frumpyrox