Cool blues and reds pooled around the soprano's waist. His feet squirmed and flopped around between the sheets, like fish swimming in the middle of a storm.

His own bed was little comfort.

Kurt flipped around so he was looking up at the ceiling. He squinted his eyes, which were sore and growing scarlet. The white paint danced and made foolish faces. In them Kurt could see a smiling face complemented with wild looking eyes, so bright they could light a fire with a mere glance.

Growling angrily he threw his pillow up into the air. It seemed to float there for a moment, right bellow the grinning face, contemplating whether or not to collide with it. Finally it fell back to the ground, hitting Kurt in the face. A burst of rage blew from his ears and out his mouth, filling the room. He jumped from his bed and kicked scattered clothing across the room.

He plopped himself down on his bathroom chair, where he often would spend hours on end trying to perfect his looks. Kurt eyed the person in the mirror hoping to find something better then what he was feeling.

His looked like he had just rolled out of bed from a long slumber, his hair flying in all different directions and his eyes swelling. The beautiful pale skin he so prized was blotchy and red lines from scratching his face with his nails were imprinted in them like tattoos. But the most alarming thing was just bellow his face, down his neck, and placed right in the left cavity of his chest.

There was a hole in the shape of a heart.

Kurt tilted his head to the side and looked more closely at the phenomenon. He could see right through it back to the imprint of birds on his shower curtains behind him.

The soprano's body began to shake. He suddenly felt cold, like someone had turned down his thermostat a few fifty degrees. He let his face find its way into his nimble fingers.

His eyes hid behind a curtain of eyelashes as he let his mind wonder into deep space.

Warms hands filled his mind, holding his between their own. They were slightly bigger and held on to his as if the two of them were sinking into the depths of the sea.

The sweet smell of coffee tickled Kurt's noise. For some odd reason it reminded him of fast heart beats and idle words falling from soft lips. Words he thought for so long would never be spoken to him.

Lackadaisical dancing and stupid love songs. Kisses in his car under the stars.

Bottles and loud music. Sickly smelling perfume.

The taste of alcohol on his lips.

Kurt's eyes snapped open. All of the sudden he was on his feet and his tabletop was on floor. Bottles were being pushed into the air, bursting as they hit the ground, setting off a display of fireworks. Hairpins flew everywhere and the silvery sound of glass greeting the marble flooring filled his ears.

The boy punched the mirror in rage, which sent a spark of pain running up his arm. The glass cracked slightly under his pressure.

Tears spilled from Kurt's eyes and they burned. But it didn't stop his emotions from blowing the dam and allowing the waterfall to flow.

Not so far away behind the safety of locks and secret codes a boy blinked sluggishly at the object in his hand.

The thing pulsed and shuttered as if its owner had been running a marathon. He placed his other hand over it, trying to subdue its pain.

When its beats became more even, the boy smiled quietly to himself and placed the object back into its box. He then slid the box in the cupboard next to his bed before grabbing the bottle next to it, taking a swig.


The idea for the story came from White Blank Page {Mumford & Sons}.

That's also where the title comes from. I hope you enjoyed my little story because it was fun to write.