on the hillside
-
You had had the pleasure of having a bland existence, and you supposed it had begun the second you were born. But you never ever let the thought cross your mind for more than a minute. Because you believe that life is full of surprises and you believe that one fine morning you are going to wake up and a surprise will happen. Because that's just the kind of person you are and you always hope to be. One who waits for surprises that you know deep (so deep down it hurts) will never come. So you close your eyes, your green, green eyes and pray that someday, somehow you will be rescued from your bland existence. Until then all you can do is close your eyes and wait patiently for your salvation.
- - - - -»
a is for alone. . .
«- - - - -
The choice had been yours—or so you fooled yourself into believing—to be this way. You had chosen to remain home on nights when parties were being thrown at every other house down the street. You had chosen to never be asked out on a date, and you most certainly had chosen to have good grades over a social life. You had chosen to sit alone at lunch every, single day. And when you were done with your brown paper bag lunch and would look around and see everyone else socializing, you thought: hey, I made the right decision. And then you walked yourself to the library so you can get started on your homework. Get ahead in your studies.
But as you make your way out of the cafeteria you pray someone would call out your name. Even if was to ask you what the time was, you wanted to be recognized by other people. But no one calls out your name and you just stand there and stare begging someone to need you.
You crush your brown paper bag in between your hands and grimace. You walk out of the cafeteria, raising a hand to your brown hair and thinking about how stringy it was. You toss the paper bag into the oversized garbage cans and walk out of the cafeteria and take a left. You know your way by heart; it's the path you take every day.
You drop your eyes to the ground and study your shoes, because your shoes are the most interesting thing in the world. They are also the only thing that needs you at the moment. But then (because of your amazing luck) you're hurtling toward the ground 'cause even though you're watching your feet, you aren't really watching your feet. So then you're on the ground and your hands and knees sting and you look and you see the most beautiful boy in the world and you realize that:
I don't want to be alone anymore.
- - - - -»
b is for below. . .
«- - - - -
You blink your eyes and all you can see is him—over and over and over. And you realize for the first time in your bland existence that you want more and that you might just deserve more. It's been a month and you sit at your desk thinking and remembering nothing more than those beautiful aquamarine eyes and that beautiful silver hair and you think: if only he needed me.
Girl, someone calls out and you turn around, slightly confused.
Are you talking to me? You ask.
Yep, a girl the exact same age as you are walks over, swinging her hips right and left. Her nails are painted this bright, neon pink color and she takes one hand and uses it to flip her auburn hair over her shoulder. She smiles at you and sits down at the desk across from yours. I see ya got your eyes on some pretty nice candy. She smirks at you with these well glossed lips. Might be setting your sights too high—for a girl like you. She says this with mild interest, staring at anything but you, because maybe your green, green eyes and brown hair are too ugly for her. Your voice is caught in your throat and you're afraid of this girl, but you swallow and say:
I don't understand.
Uh-hunh.
I don't.
Someone like you—I'm sure ya don't. Of course you wouldn't.
She places a hand on your knee and gives a smile. It's like she understands you but at the same time she doesn't. You wonder if she has some ulterior motive and then you want to laugh. She doesn't know you. Beautiful boys are the best, she says, there's something so interesting below all that beauty.
- - - - -»
c is for comic. . .
«- - - - -
You get a job at one of the locally owned grocery stores. You do it to get your mind off of the beautiful boy; the beautiful boy that you see everywhere, now, including your dreams. And in your dreams the two of you are together and he holds your hand and says he loves you and he needs you. And you bite your bottom lip and you say the same thing in response. But then you wake up and it's all over. Ruined by your mother's gentle rousing. You want to cry as you crawl out of bed and head to the bathroom to prepare for the day. You think of this as you swallow the lump in your throat.
Currently, you're standing in the middle of the aisle with a cart full of maxi pads and tampons.
You stand stock still, wondering what to do even though you know exactly what to do. You know exactly where the female sanitation items go, and you know exactly the way you are supposed to stack them.
"What are you doing here, princess?" You spin around, your brown hair hitting the sides of your face and you look. His voice clutches your heart and it makes you stop breathing and you feel excited on the inside and outside. "Are you bored princess? Because you sure look like it."
You stand there and you stare at him because there is nothing else you can do. You place one hand on the cart as if it is your crutch. You can't stand on your own anymore. Your breath catches in your throat as he walks toward you in a smooth glide.
"Can you talk princess, can you?"
You tremble and nod your head because you voice is lost.
"You mute?"
As he says this you wonder if your life is just some bad teen comic that someone came up with. One full of oxymoron and clichés.
- - - - -»
d is for daffodil. . .
«- - - - -
You tremble but it's nothing considering that your body seems to have taken to trembling all on its own. You have been trembling now since your encounter with the beautiful boy and you suppose he is the one who brought it on. You try really hard to suppress the trembles but no matter what you do it seems pointless. The trembles just keep coming back, stronger than ever.
A voice speaks to you, You...look at you girl...your hands are shaking so badly—I guess you saw your pretty boy, hunh? Am I right?
How do you know? You ask, suspicious of her.
I can tell. When you like someone, you're really obvious about it. She twirls a strand of auburn hair in her fingers. You should figure out a way to cover it up.
I don't have to. There's nothing wrong with being...open, you tell her. You wonder if she wants the beautiful boy all to herself.
That is half- true. She gives you this cool look and then looks somewhere behind you, at something other than you. He's here for you.
You turn around and you look and you see him, standing there with his aquamarine eyes and silver colored hair. Behind you, you hear the girl walking away and she's saying something about people being stupid sometimes. But you don't care because the beautiful boy is here for you (at least you think).
You walk towards him, trembling as you do so because you're scared that he might be there for some other girl, some other girl who is twice as pretty as you are. But as you get close enough to him, he reaches out and grabs your hand. He stares straight into your eyes and you start trembling like crazy now and you know he can feel it. But as your hands are trembling and your fingers are twitching he presses something into your hand. And it's soft and you look down and you see it's a bright yellow daffodil and it makes you smile.
- - - - -»
e is for enemy. . .
«- - - - -
So you find yourself waiting at a park; you're waiting for him because at some point in time he found you and whispered in your ear: "I wanna see you." And as he said that you realized that you had only seen him at school and work (both places had a tendency to put you into undignified situations). So at that moment you were bold (and trembling) and told him to meet you at the park that was three blocks away from your school. And it was also one block away from where you lived, so incase he rejected you the walk wouldn't be too long. But now you were waiting at the park and he was late and you had arrived twenty minutes early because you just did. You never had had a date before and you didn't want to be late because you wanted to show him that you actually had some feelings for him just by simply waiting for him.
But you also looked like a loser—a desperate loser.
You look down at your lap and then you feel some weight slide onto the bench. You take in a breath and turn your head and you see him sitting next to you. You open your mouth to say something but your voice is caught in your throat and you can't say anything. The passing moments are awkward and you feel like an idiot. You look away and then he touches your cheek and you turn again and you get caught in a kiss with the beautiful boy. And suddenly you could feel your heart jumping up into your throat. He pulls away and you blush. You're scared of what might happen next because you don't know what might happen next. You put your hand over your mouth as if to protect yourself from another kiss.
You want to kiss him again but then again you don't.
As you think this, you realize that you might just be your biggest enemy in this because you keep holding yourself back. You look away from him but then you hear him say something and you just barely catch it. "Olette."
- - - - -»
f is for family. . .
«- - - - -
You walk into the house that you share with your mother. At the time it was just you and your mother, and your father was away on a business trip and he would be back in a few weeks. It was quiet inside the house that you and your mother shared. And you hold your backpack tight on your shoulders and you take your things upstairs into your room. As you walk up the stairs you hear your footsteps echoing all round you and you realize that you are always alone.
You are alone not only at school but at home. Your mother works two shifts at a diner and she doesn't come until midnight. So you are forced to eat dinner alone and you are forced to do your homework alone and you are forced to watch television alone. Your life is full of loneliness and you just want it to go away. Go away and you leave you alone and allow you to make some friends. You toss your backpack on the floor and you walk to your bed and you collapse. And you start to cry; you shudder and you hold yourself and cry.
W-why? You choke out in between sobs. Why am I the only one? Why does this happen to me alone?
You bury your face into the bed covers and you cry some more. You can't have the family you want. Since the beginning of time, all you wanted is for your parents to be with you and all you wanted was to receive the loved that most children get when they're apart of a family. Breathing quietly you decide that if you can't have your family then you want something else. Some other kind of love that no one else can give you, not even your mother or your father. You shudder and you begin crying even more, because there is no one out there who would even consider loving you.
- - - - -»
g is for glow. . .
«- - - - -
You are becoming a different person. The girl with the auburn hair came up to you one day and said: You give off this kinda glow yanno? And she was right; you had noticed this change sometime ago. At first you had been afraid of it, but now you welcomed it because it made other people see you and you liked that.
You think of this as you laugh and run down an aisle and you feel him following you and you're the happiest that you have been in a long while. You stop at the end of the aisle and you look left and then right because you don't know which way you want to go. There are no customers here; there are never any customers and you tell yourself this as you peel off the tacky yellow vest that you are forced to wear. While you waste time doing this, he comes up behind you and grabs you. He wraps his arms around your middle and pulls you so close that you can feel his heart beat. And you like it.
"Princess, why are you running? Scared of something?"
You laugh and shake your head "No" as an image of one of those bad teen horror flicks flashes through your head. He kisses you on the back of the neck and you shiver and jump at the same time. You're excited and your blood is heating up and soon it's going to be boiling. You break away from him laughing and turn around and begin running somewhere off to the left. You want him to catch you again and you want him to kiss you again, but you don't want to show it. As you run you think that this is definitely the height of your life and you're going to make it last because this kind of thing only comes once. So you run harder and faster, making your heart beat harder and harder.
- - - - -»
h is for hamster. . .
«- - - - -
One time when you were a little kid, you had this hamster. You had loved this hamster with all your heart and had named it Dexter even though the guy at the pet store told you it was a girl. You and Dexter had gone everywhere together and you and Dexter had some good times together. You loved feeding her and giving her water and watching her run around in her little wheel. One day you had taken Dexter to the park after begging your mother to do so. You held onto her cage tightly as you sat the oversized, black cage into the sandbox. You played in the sandbox for a while until you thought it would be more fun to play with Dexter in the sand. As soon as you opened the cage Dexter scampered out and (to make a sad, long story short) she got away.
You remember Dexter as you and your beautiful boy keep each other company in your room. You had brought him over since you were tired of being home alone all the time. Though at the moment he wasn't keep you much company.
You pick up some of your clothes off the floor and fold them. You take a look over at him, where he's lying on your bed sleeping and still managing to look beautiful. You think about your past few weeks together because even though you hadn't been with him for that long, you liked him a whole lot. As you walk over to your dresser, you wonder if you're going to let this all get away from you just like Dexter. But then you shake your head and promise yourself that you aren't going to do anything like that. You're going to enjoy every moment with your beautiful boy to the fullest.
"Hey, princess, watcha doin'?" Your beautiful boy is awake.
- - - - -»
i is for imbecile. . .
«- - - - -
Hey girl, how ya doing? The girl with auburn comes right up next to you. Enjoying life with your boy? Cause it sure seems like it.
You hold a box of frosted cereal in your hands. You wonder how she found you and how she knows that this is where you work. You ignore her because she seems bent on your destruction. You keep your lips closed and you search for the proper place for the box of cereal; you just had it and she made you lose it.
Not gonna answer me, hunh? She says this casually. She has a purse on her shoulder and she opens it up and pulls out a cigarette and a lighter. But you shouldn't 'cause you don't even know what I'm going to say. She slips the cigarette into her mouth and lights it. You want to tell her that she should not be smoking but you don't have the guts to. I'm Kairi by the way. I already know who you are—Olette. She lets out a breath.
Please don't do that. You tell her.
She takes the cigarette out of her mouth and holds it in between her index and middle finger. She laughs this mature laugh and looks at you with this dirty look. She shakes her head and sighs as if she understands something that you don't. You're a real imbecile, yanno know that. A dumb lil' kid. As she says that she brings the cigarette back to her mouth but someone takes it from her and you realize that it's the beautiful boy. And he looks at her and then he looks at you. You swallow because there's a lump in your throat and you think you might just be an imbecile.
"I think she told you to stop." He says.
Hunh. She says.
"So you might want to—imbecile." He says.
He puts her cigarette in his mouth and takes a deep breath and blows out smoke into her face.
- - - - -»
j is for join. . .
«- - - - -
You stand in front of the mirror and sigh.
This is outside of the norm for you, because before you met him you never cared about how you looked. But now you're standing in front of the mirror and you don't even recognize your reflection because it's someone completely different from who you are (or were). Your hair is down and it's all curly and it's all big and stylish because that was the way you wanted it to be. And you're this dress, this beautiful autumn dress that's this gorgeous shade of orange but you aren't too sure that it looks all that great on you. You look down at your feet and you know that they're taking the hardest hit because they're crammed into these adorable flats that your father purchased for you while he was in Paris. And you had even woken your mother up just so she could do your make up. The end result was surprising and you looked like a whole new woman—or girl, whichever.
You run your fingers through your hair and hope that by the time you get to school it still looks this fantastic. You pucker your well glossed lips in the same fashion that you had seen other girls in your class do. It doesn't look the same to you but hopefully it does to someone who isn't you. You spin around once in the mirror, and then grab the clutch, that you had so delicately picked out, up from off your bed. You take one last look in the mirror and let out a shaky breath. You hope that you get to see him today and you hope that he likes the way you look.
But then you wonder when'd you decided to join the club? The one for girls who are hopelessly in love with some guy.
I just hope this all works out, you think before you leave your room.
- - - - -»
k is for karaoke. . .
«- - - - -
In the beginning, you were nervous as God knows what. But you had lightened up after you had a few beers, just like in the movies. You had been apprehensive about coming to the party and even more apprehensive about singing karaoke. But then with a few beers and a few more kisses and some sweet words from your beautiful boy, you were ready to sing your heart out. As you stood up in front of everyone with the microphone in your hand and the music playing all around you, you wondered what you had been thinking.
Words begin to show up on the television screen and you chicken out.
You hear a few people behind you saying words that expressed their displeasure at the fact that you weren't singing. But you weren't going to let their words force you into doing something that you didn't want to. You legs start shaking and the words keep on flashing on the TV screen and the music keeps on thumping behind you. There is no chance in hell that you're going to sing because you just realized that your stomach feels are weird and your head kind of hurts and all you want to do is sit down. The shaking moves up your body and you want to vomit.
The people behind you are shouting things at you and some of them are mean and you don't know exactly why they are shouting these things at you. You take a deep breath and you're ready to put the microphone down, when your beautiful boy comes up behind. "Whass wrong withya, princess?" Your beautiful boy manages to slur perfectly and you realize that he's just as out of it as you. You want to tell him that you can't sing but then you find that you don't mind singing as much with him up there with you. So you look at the screen and take a deep breath and belt it out.
- - - - -»
l is for lesson. . .
«- - - - -
Your head's pounding and it feels like your brain's trying to jump out of your skull.
"Princess," You clutch your head and you look up at your beautiful boy and in your mind you're blaming him because in a way it's his entire fault.
He hands you something and you pray to whoever is above that what he's giving to you isn't what you think it is. Because you know your stomach can't handle another homemade remedy. And you take note as you vomit for the millionth time to never have another alcoholic beverage in your life.
You lean your head back and let out a breath. You look down at whatever potent concoction and meekly shrug your shoulders, because whatever it does to you will hopefully be better than what your hangover is doing. You bring the cup to your lips and sniff it. It smelt like crap and you wondered what had been going through the mind of your beautiful boy when he made the drink. You look up at him and gives you this sort of half smile and then you drink it in one gulp. As it goes down your throat, you gag and almost choke but somehow it manages to get down.
What is this? You ask him, motioning toward the cup that was still in your hand. You place your hand on your stomach and you feel it start to reject whatever you had just put into it. Obviously it looked like it wasn't going to work at all.
"A drink—made from tonic water, orange juice, honey, tomato juice, buttermilk, and Pepto-Bismol...why?" And you just shake your head as you sit there with the mix in your hand and the vomit rising up your throat. Then you toss the cup out of your hand and lean over the toilet. You guessed you had learned your lesson for the day.
- - - - -»
m is for mystery. . .
«- - - - -
Great...
The thought runs through your mind quick and easy. It sounded real nice and sarcastic and you know that if you had said it out loud, then it would not have sounded nice or sarcastic. This was kind of an oxymoron when you thought about it because sarcasm wasn't supposed to sound nice. But anyway, you were a little excited and a little scared because you had found a note taped to your desk in homeroom. At first you thought that maybe that girl with the auburn hair had left it for you but when you looked at her she just shrugged and turned away.
This meant that someone else knew where you sat (in the front row) and in order to know that kind of information they would have had to be watching you.
You look at the note again and it's all you can do to stop from freaking out. All it has is a time and a word—library—written on it. You look at the time again and you notice that it's during your lunch period, which means that whoever this is also knows where you like to spend your time.
...Oh...what's...that?
You look up and the auburn haired girl is standing right there behind you, looking over your shoulder and reading the note. She placed a perfectly polished finger on her chin and gives a slight nod. Maybe she knew who it was and maybe her and this person are in cahoots. Maybe at the library she and this person are going to jump you and beat the living daylights out of you.
I-It's a note from someone. You tell her in a reluctant voice for a reason you don't know. You swallow and pray that she doesn't ask anything else.
Ooh, a mystery
- - - - -»
n is for nine. . .
«- - - - -
No.
You say this to yourself in your head because you don't want him to hear it. Because you're afraid of what he might say to you if he hears it but right now that doesn't matter. What matters right now is that you're scared and you don't know what to do. So you sit there with your hands over your ears and try to drown out the sound of his voice and all the mean things that he's saying to you.
No.
You say this to yourself again because you don't know what's going on, and you most definitely don't know why or how it all started. You just want everything to be like it was the other day at your job. You running down the aisle laughing with him trying to catch up with you. But you know that that day may never come back and this might be the reality that you are forced to live in.
Tears are in your green, green eyes and you hands are still covering your ears and you're still lost on what to do. And then all of a sudden he's jerking you toward him and his aquamarine eyes look like they're in a rage and his voice is hard and cold. And you hope that nothing bad is going to happen even though you know something bad is going to happen. So you try to brace yourself for when the bad thing happens and then the bad thing does happen. And you're not ready for it at all. But who could ever be ready for the moment that they get hit? But when he hits you (right smack, dead in the eye), you stand there for a minute not quite believing that he actually just hit you.
You are certain that nine times out of ten when you get hit you're going to cry. And when you don't cry and that moment you surprise him and yourself and so you guess that's what prompts him to hit you again and say, "I'm not sorry."
And then he hits you a third time and you cry not because of the hit but because of what he said.
But no matter, you'll let this be one of the nine times out of ten that you cry.
- - - - -»
o is for obstacle. . .
«- - - - -
You never made a promise.
There was never any kind of pact or anything to the church or even to yourself. You had just kind of stayed away from it because the opportunity had never presented itself until now. And now that the opportunity had presented itself you were kind of eager and yet you were really hesitant about the whole idea. What idea? Well, the idea that had been plaguing human beings since almost the beginning of time: sex. You remembered one time when you had talked to your mother about it and she had said that you should do after you're married (typical) but if you did it before then, then use protection.
But that wasn't too much guidance now was it? So you just kind of ponder the whole idea as you pick at your tacky yellow vest and stand at the check-out counter. As usual there were no customers in the store and you wondered how exactly More Mart had managed to stay open.
But back to the whole sex idea.
It hadn't even crossed your mind until that day when Kairi had been talking about it with some other girl.
Apparently the other girl had had sex with some guy and she had said it was the worst sex that she had ever had in her life. To which Kairi responded, It's the only sex you've ever had. The other girl had been peeved but you had laughed silently to yourself, and Kairi probably sensed this because she dragged you into the conversation. Olette, have you and your beautiful boy done it yet? And your mouth hangs open and you just stared at her like she was crazy and then frantically shook your head.
But now the thought of sex with your beautifully boy was stuck inside your head. To have sex or to not have sex? Yes, it was most definitely a real obstacle that you would have to overcome but not right now. You would force it out of your head until it was brought up again, most likely by your beautiful boy.
But until then, you'd enjoy working at More Mart.
Yes, most definitely.
- - - - -»
p is for puppet. . .
«- - - - -
You lace your fingers with his and you smile because you're holding his hand. Sure, holding his hand is not that important because you've held his hand thousands of times before but this time seems extra special just because. You're in your tacky yellow vest and you're walking down an aisle at More Mart for what seems like the millionth time. You're leading the way as you hold his hand; you're taking him to the storage closet, which isn't really that special with all the food and junk in their but today you figure it's going to be extra special.
And as you lead him to the storage closet, you wonder exactly how many other teens had done this before you. Because you just knew that someone had to have come up with the idea way before you did. You stop at the door and you read the sign on it just to buy yourself time, because you're so scared and you don't know what's going to happen once you get into the closet with your beautiful boy. You dig into you back pocket where the key to the storage closet is waiting for you to come and get it.
You look up at your beautiful boy and give him a quick smile and you take the key out of your pocket and open the storage closet door. And before you know what hits you, you the door is closed and you're up against the wall and his lips are pressed up against yours. And your back is all rigid but as his hands slide up your shirt, you kind of relax and melt into his hands and it's kind of nice.
And then he pulls away from you.
"Hey, princess, you like me?" He asks and you wonder why.
Like you? You ask back.
"I need an answer, yanno."
An answer...? You say quietly.
"Yeah, princess, an answer."
You were about to repeat what he said for the third time, just like the puppet you were. Repeating everything that your master basically said until he smashed his lips right back up against yours. But you didn't mind so much because you probably wouldn't have an intelligent answer to give, because like a puppet you didn't have that much intelligence inside of your head. So you kissed him right back.
And while you made out with your beautiful boy in the storage closet you prayed that no one would come inside looking for something.
Not for a long time.
- - - - -»
q is for question. . .
«- - - - -
You run up your walkway and then you dig in your pocket, looking for you keys. You manage to fish your keys from your pocket but somehow as you try shoving the key into the lock, your hand fumbles. You close your eyes and hope that with your next try that the key will fit right into the lock and it does. As you open the door you hear footsteps behind you, and you hurry yourself up and go into the house and lock the door behind you. Olette, is that you?
Your mother calls out to you but you don't feel up to answering her. So she walks into the foyer and she gives you this worried look. Honey, are you okay? Is something going on? But you just look at her and your stare is blank because you don't want to feel too much emotion. Too much emotion and you just might start crying.
You shake your head and you hear the door and your mother looks at you and places a hand on your cheek. You take her hand off your cheek and let out a deep breath. You run upstairs and you hear your mother open the front door. You hope she doesn't call you downstairs because the door is for you (and you know it). You slam the door to your bedroom and fall onto the ground. The emotion was rushing toward you.
Olette, the door's for you. Olette! Olette is something wrong?
You want to go into fetal position but you're a big girl and big girls don't go into fetal position. Plus, you don't feel like answering all the questions that you'll be badgered with once you get downstairs or even outside your bedroom door. All you want to do is sit in your room in the quiet and think about everything that was going on. But eventually you'd be forced to come out of your room and you'd have to face everyone and everything.
- - - - -»
r is for roof. . .
«- - - - -
"It won't be that bad, princess. I swear, it's only a couple of feet off of the ground—and I promise I won't let you fall."
But...
"Come on, I just want you to see this. I swear it's the greatest thing you'll ever see on this island. It'll just be about a few minutes."
I don't—I don't like heights. You tell him.
"I know. But just this once—for me. Please, will you do it for me?"
...You won't let me fall?
Your beautiful boy looks at you and shakes his head and holds his hand out for you to take. It's early in the morning and it's so early in the morning that the sun isn't even up but that's why you're awake so early. Your beautiful boy came to your house early in the morning and somehow persuaded your mother into letting the two of you climb up on the roof and watch the sunrise. And of course you had to say "yes" to him because he had seemed so excited about it. And after you had gotten over the fact that he had seen you with bed hair, you couldn't refuse—not for the world.
You held on tightly to his hand as you climbed up the ladder. You're scared out of your mind because you hate heights and you'd done your best to avoid having to be more than two inches up off of the ground. Your beautiful boy was the only one who could convince you to do something as crazy and daring as climbing on the roof to watch the sunrise. As you step onto the solid, brown, shingled surfaced he kisses you on the lips and you can't help but to shiver and you don't know why. It's either because it's a little too cold outside or because you're still a loser and get butterflies every time he kisses you. After a half hour he whispers to you: "Hey look."
You turn around except you do it a little too fast and you're afraid that you might fall off and hit the ground and break your neck. And then your breath catches in your throat and you look and you see the sunrise. It's so gorgeous that you don't even know exactly how to describe it. You look up at him and you smile and you want to tell him thank you but before you can do so he kisses you square on the mouth.
You look back at the sunrise and mark this as an unforgettable moment.
- - - - -»
s is for simple. . .
«- - - - -
You're staring off at the girl at the make-up counter who's talking animatedly to some elderly woman, trying to convince her to get her make-up done. You clasp your hands together because you have nothing better to do than watch other people do stuff. You adjust your tacky yellow vest and wonder exactly what time it is because you're about ready to get off work and do better things. And you hoped that these other things can include your beautiful boy.
And then you see your beautiful boy walking through the sliding doors and you heart begins to skip beats. You unclasp your hands and look away and pretend not to notice him because you don't want to look like you were just waiting for him to come and see you. And you hope you're not making an idiot of yourself and you hope that he doesn't notice that you're trying a little too hard not to notice him. Then at the last minute you try and look busy but the whole entire thing backfires on you because...
"What're ya doing, princess? Looking for something that's not there or what?" You immediately get up off the ground and stand up and dust yourself off. So you had indeed been looking for something that wasn't there but who didn't do it sometimes? You look at him and smile because it's all you can do sometimes when the two of you are together. He looks at you for a few minutes longer and then he leans over the counter and kisses you on the cheek and you blush like crazy. Your heart jumps up into your throat and you're nervous.
I-I have to get back to work. You manage to tell him.
"All you do is stand there and look pretty. Princess, you wanna play a game? Just a quick, little game."
You look at him and he uses his aquamarine eyes to pull you in. You plan on declining but you can't refuse your beautiful boy a single thing. Besides you already know the answer and the answer is simple: "yes." And so you look back at the girl who's still trying to convince the same elderly woman to get her make-up done. You nod your head and hope that this doesn't get you in a bunch of trouble. He holds his hand out and you take it and climb over the side of the check-out counter. "Alright, let's play."
- - - - -»
t is for titanic. . .
«- - - - -
"Olette..."
You hear your name on the edge of your beautiful boy's lips and it makes you shiver, just like everything else. Because everything your beautiful boy does sends shivers down your spine, but right now he's not trying to purposefully send shivers down your spine—you're just sitting there beside him reading a story, this strange story.
Oh, you say because you just read a particularly gruesome part.
"Olette."
He says your name again and he sounds a little irritated because when he reads, he likes silence. "Noise kills the effect" were his exact words just before the two of you started reading the book together. But you couldn't help it because you just always seemed to make noise, when noise wasn't allowed. So you blush and your face gets all hot and you bury your face in his shoulder and he doesn't seem to mind one bit. Burying your face in the fabric of his shirt was so much better then reading that book with all its violence and imagery.
(You had never been a fan of Greek mythology, but now...but now you just absolutely despise it with a passion).
You and your beautiful boy had been reading some story in which some titanic creature was kidnapping these coincidentally beautiful women and eating them and ripping off their arms and legs and other horrible things. But that wasn't the worst part. The worst part was when the author began to describe the crunching noises that were made when the creature ate the women. It just made you want to puke, because you couldn't stand all the gore. So you were perfectly alright with ruining the mood because you liked it best that this stuff was fiction.
Next time, you whisper to him, can we read something that I like? You suggest this because next you want to pick out a book with a happier plotline. Maybe it will be a nice romantic comedy that's easy on the imagination and has little to no gore.
"...If you want," He says in this absentminded sort of voice and you can tell that he likes this book.
You pull your knees close to your chest and let out a breath.
You smile at him and close your eyes and say, Yes I want to. And then you look back over his shoulder and begin to read the book again He's on a different page now and you have no idea what's going on. But whatever is happening seems to be a lot happier than what was happening earlier. It seemed like a hero had stepped into the picture. The woman he loved had been kidnapped by the creature and was going to be mutilated and eaten...unless he could stop it.
- - - - -»
u is for underneath. . .
«- - - - -
Your whole entire world is beginning to crumble and you're beginning to realize that life isn't going the way you want it to. You know that life never goes the way that anyone wants it to but...but you just can't help it. You're thinking this as you sit in the living room and eat one of those nifty TV dinners and watch television. You've got a box of tissues by your side because you can't help but cry in the safety of your own home. Your life is a lot harder than you let on and it's starting to get to you and affect you in more way than one.
But you can't help but tell yourself, That's just too damn bad for you, girl—you chose to live your life this way.
You sniff and cannot help but agree because no one forced you to put on that façade. The one that hid all the nasty, disgusting mess that was underneath your skin. All the hatred you had for everyone because they did nothing but left you alone. All the resentment you had for you mother because she was just some stupid waitress at some stupid restaurant. All the anger for your father because he spends a majority of his time hiding in his work because he's afraid to come home and you don't know why. And then you grab a tissue and start crying into it.
As you're sitting there and sobbing like the big baby that you are, you hear noise and then a voice: "Hey, princess, why's your face all blotchy red?" And then all of a sudden, you're covering up your face and you can feel the heat rising because you realize two things. One, your beautiful boy just caught you crying and two; he just broke into your house for a reason unbeknownst to you. You close you eyes and swallow because you can't believe he's there.
- - - - -»
v is for vice-president. . .
«- - - - -
You've never done anything like this before—abandoning your duties.
But it's your beautiful boy and for your beautiful boy you'd do anything. And when he had slipped you that note just before you walked into your homeroom, well that had been great. Your heart skipped one too many beats. You ere excited and thrilled and you just didn't have any clue of what to say. That girl with auburn hair had sauntered over and looked at the note and hmphed (she seemed to think it was bull).
You would have said something to her, if you hadn't realized something at that exact moment. Your beautiful boy wanted to meet you immediately after school at thirty-five past three.
Normally, it wouldn't be that big a deal (because you had no life) but today was today, and today you had a special meeting to attend. For today was the day that you had French Club. And you were the vice-president and the president just so happened to be absent that day, so you were officially in charge.
So now you're sitting there with a dumb expression on your face and you have no idea what to do. Because you aren't the type of person to abandon certain responsibilities but you also can't refuse your beautiful boy, especially when he takes the time to write you such a lovely note. You look at the girl with the auburn hair and she just shrugs her shoulders because, I don't know whatcha should do—he isn't asking to see me.
You ponder her words for a few minutes and then you crumble the note in your hands and toss it into the trash. You look to the front of the classroom and see that the clock is slowly counting down until the moment you have to make your decision. You take in a breath and you're scared because you love your beautiful boy and you don't want him to hate you, but then you don't want to let down your acquaintances at the French Club. Oh, what to do? What to do?
When you get there you're holding your breath and you're trembling and you're staring at your feet. But you look up and you see that beautiful boy is waiting ever so patiently for you. And he sees you and he smiles at you and it makes it all worth it. And he takes your hand in his and kisses you on the forehead.
He looks at you with his aquamarine eyes and it makes you shudder and tremble all at once. And then he brings his lips close to your ear and whispers: "I figured you wouldn't come."
You're a little surprised by what he says and then you shake your head.
Of course I came, you say, only for you.
- - - - -»
w is for whirlwind. . .
«- - - - -
"Princess, aren't you..."
But he doesn't finish his sentence because he trails off and is distracted by something else. You wonder what it is but it's probably just the ocean (because you figured out that he liked water and the ocean a long time ago). You sit up and watch him walk off in the direction of the water where the waves are crashing down onto the sand.
You smile at the sight.
You watch him as he stands in the wet, wet sand, letting the water touch his skin. You never thought you would come to the beach in the middle of October but somehow he had managed to convince you to come. You told him that you had to work and he told you that you needed to take a vacation. You told him that you couldn't swim and he told you that he could teach you or you just didn't have to go into the water. "Princess," he calls out to you with hands cupped around his mouth. "Princess, come get into the water with me!" And as soon as he finishes speaking, you shake your head—not a chance.
He makes a face and starts taking large strides in your direction and you have no idea what's going on but you hope it doesn't have anything to do with you getting into the water. You try to stand up but the sand is not your friend and so you find yourself still sitting in the sand with your beautiful boy standing above you. He looks like he's about to say something but he doesn't.
And then (before you know what's even going on), he's in the sand with you and he's pressing his forehead hard up against yours. You have no idea what's going on but somehow if it stopped you'd feel lonely like you used to. And as soon as you think of loneliness other emotions start popping up. They start filling you up on the inside and you feel like your chest is swelling. And then your beautiful boy adds to the mix because he starts kissing you all along your jaw and the sides of your mouth.
Your chest is tightening and when he presses his lips against yours...
...you feel this whirlwind of happiness that only he can bring.
- - - - -»
x is for x-mas. . .
«- - - - -
You've got this embarrassed expression on your face because no one was supposed to see that but you. But somehow you got caught and on the inside you feel real happy and yet you know you're not supposed to be this happy. You stand there in your long-sleeved pajamas and you don't want to be in long-sleeved pajamas because you feel awfully hot right now. But you're not supposed to be thinking about any of that because you were just asked a question and you're supposed to be coming up with a decent answer that will satisfy and keep you out of trouble. But somehow your brain wasn't allowing you to come up with something decent because all your brain could say was: Oh my god. Oh my god. Oh my god.
Olette what's the meaning of this? Your mother asks in this irritated tone (and it's the second time she's asked this question, boy, she's going to be so pissed off when you finally do answer). She's looking somewhere past you and you know exactly where she's looking because you were just looking there a few seconds ago. And you can't help but feel your self-confidence boost because what she's looking at is for you—a special present.
And you turn your head and feign innocence as you turn to look at what she's looking at. You see the malformed heart and you think that that's the most amazingly drawn heart you've seen in your entire life. And then you read the entire message (for the millionth time):
I (malformed heart) you, Olette
Merry x-mas
-Riku
You turn back around and shrug your shoulders because you don't know what to say. And you're cracking up laughing because you're just so surprised that someone would do that. But you're happy that it was done for you and you suppose that that makes this the number one Christmas in the history of your life. Of course, you hope that there might just be another one like it.
- - - - -»
y is for yell. . .
«- - - - -
You're grinding your teeth (and you don't know exactly why you're doing because it just happens—sometimes you just grind your teeth to grind them). But you're angry and you have no idea what to do. You keep all your anger on the inside and you can't help it, you just bottle it up and save it for a rainy day.
So you're sitting their grinding your teeth and your brain feels like it's about to explode or implode. You're clenching and unclenching your fist wondering what you should do because you're starting to feel these aches and pains. And you take in a deep breath and it doesn't help because the anger just starts to swell up inside of you. You're just feeling the stress of having to live your day to day life. And you wonder if other people have to go through the same pain as you do, but then you realize that they probably don't. So you're sitting there and dealing with you pain and then out of nowhere these two stray tears run down your cheeks and you just want to rip them off.
"It's alright," you hear your favorite voice in the world.
You want to shake your head and tell him it's not alright.
"Olette, it's gonna be alright—all you have to do is let it go." You hear your beautiful boy say in this soft, sweet voice. He knows you're in pain and maybe he feels it too. You feel arms wrap around you but the stress is still there and it won't go away. And you wonder how you're supposed to let it go...how are you supposed to let it go when you barely have an idea of what it is?
You want to let it go but letting go seems hard, too hard.
You inhale a shuddery breath and then you're mumbling words. You don't even know what you're saying but all you know is that you're saying something and repeating it over and over. You feel your voice get louder and louder. And then suddenly you can hear your voice everywhere and it's echoing all around you. You take a huge gulp of air and start to yell again and it feels so good. You feel all the tension running out of you and it makes you want to cry but you can't cry right now. All the tears are being suppressed by all the noise that's coming out from the inside.
- - - - -»
z is for zoo. . .
«- - - - -
All the bodies moving around—so many people you're beginning to feel claustrophobic—pressed together in this small space and you're wondering how thy hell they managed to cram all themselves inside. There's so much going on: all the drinking and the drugs and the sex, it scares the living crap out of you. You swallow hard and wonder if you made the right decision because all you can hear is talking, screaming, and loud thumping music. It's like a freaking zoo and you wonder what you're supposed to do here. You turn your head one way and see the nastiest dancing that you've ever seen in your life and something inside of you is repulsed.
You turn around and look for your beautiful boy, because when you entered into this place he was right behind you and you figured he would still be right behind you. But he's not and it scares you because you don't want to be alone in a place like this. And then you start panicking (because he ditchedyou). You don't know where he is and you're alone and you don't want to be alone in a place like this, with all the touching and the feeling and the groping. You wrap your arms around yourself—you hope this will protect from whatever danger might possibly lay ahead. You take a step forward and then not only does someone step on your foot but then vomit comes hurtling toward you and nearly misses landing on you by and a centimeter. You put your hands over your ears and you want to scream.
And then you crumble onto the floor (which is smells like you don't know what) and you begin to feel sorry for yourself. People are stepping all over you and shouting at you to get the fuck out of the way. You apologize and stand up and start walking backwards and you wonder where your beautiful boy is and how come he won't come to rescue you. He was supposed to be right behind you and now he wasn't there and you want to know where—
"—were you?" You feel a hand grab your wrist and you flinch but when you turn around you see it's just your beautiful boy and you feel a lot better.
- - - - -»
It's night time and it's so dark and cold you don't know exactly why you're doing this until you turn your head to the side and you see your beautiful lying right next to you. You smile this soft and gentle smile as he puts an arm around you and pulls you close. You don't feel so cold anymore even though the only blanket that you have, you're lying on. You feel kind of nice on the inside and you feel the way you should have felt since you were born. As if you weren't always alone. You watch in silence as he closes his eyes and goes where only he knows and at that moment you lean over and kiss him and say in this barely audible voice,
Riku...
(x) (x) (x)
- end -
notes:
...alright, so, this one's for angelofsweetnes' ABC challenge.
The most depressing thing about this fiction is the fact that none of it is even in chronological order. In the beginning, it was an accident but the more I wrote, the more intentional it became. However some of the letter seem like the could possibly have to do with each other, like, "k" and "l" and it just depends on how you interpret it as. But as the author of this fiction I say, "k" and "l" are so related it's not even funny. "C" and "s" also might be related in some sense but even I have yet to figure that out.
I loved writing in second person for this fic (in fact I think I might write more second person). In the beginning I thought writing second person was going to be a major pain in the ass and it would turn out, like, really crappy but I am surprised that it turned out at least half-decent.
Reviews would be nice.
disclaimer: I do not own Kingdom Hearts.