ll~The Woman With No Name~ll
To the world, she was just a woman. An amazing woman at that. But what hid behind the cheerful façade, was a sad past. She was what she was because of her past, and somewhere along the years, she had come to accept it. She was someone the world could never understand. Not because she was different, but because she was herself. She was just an ordinary woman, just like everybody else. If there was any difference, it was only of knowing. She knew herself. The world didn't. She was made of the same tissue; she had lived the same existence. But she had gone through a lot more. The world knew her on the outside, but no one ever saw the inside. They didn't bother looking and she didn't dare telling.
To the world, she was an old head on young shoulders. She looked at the world in a very different way. Her views in life were very unique. She was beautiful, amazing. She was like this hybrid, this mix of a woman. I always got the sense that she was torn between being who the world had made her and missing out on all the opportunities that society had to offer a woman as magnificent as her. But on the inside, she was a mess of shards and broken pieces. On the inside. She was scratched and scarred. On the inside, she was helpless, grieving, tormented, and vulnerable. On the inside, she was disbelieving and betrayed. On the inside, she was lifeless.
It was the coldest story ever told, but it was in bits and pieces. They were fragments of devastation, snippets of tragedy, but it was her life. Her past. A past that not many people knew about. But I was the only person she ever told. The only person, before she died in a blur of pinks and crimson. I was the only person she trusted enough to not tell anyone, and I plan to take it to my grave. This, along with the many more to come, is the one secret that will die with me. Because I promised, and I don't break promises.
Chocolate truffles. She loved chocolate truffles. They were her favorite food. She'd eat it all day if she could. But the only problem that I ever had with her was that she wasn't bothered about her weight. She didn't care. She was cool with calories. They were her best friends. She was everything a guy would want. But she didn't make friends easily. She took her time. She understood people before she trusted them. She wasn't judgmental. It was like seeing a mean girl be nice and simple. She was pretty and perfect, but she was a nerd. She was smart and she was nice. Before I met her, I thought they had stopped making people like her.
If you had known her, you would have never imagined that she was broken on the inside. But she was. She was wrecked. She was abused and she was tired. She was tired of life, of love, of her torments. She didn't want to live any more. But he helped her through it. He helped her find love.
She wasn't the kind of person to fall in love, she didn't do crushes. But somewhere between staring at him playing football and smiling shyly when their eyes met, she realized that she had problem. They say that if a crush lasts for more than four months then you are in love. This was much more than a crush and they both knew it. So what happened when she had been infatuated with someone for 36 months? Had she fallen in love with him 9 times, or had she just wasted 144 weeks craving him?
He was charismatic, magnetic, electric, and everyone knew it. When he walked into a room, every woman's head turned. When he walked by, they would stop and the truth was that she had fallen in love with him.
My friend was a simple girl. Her world started and ended with her books. All she wanted from life was a bookstore of her own. She couldn't talk. My friend was a mute. But emotions were her language and expressions, her words. But the fact that she couldn't talk always haunted her. It would scare her at nights and in the day, and it had made her life a living hell. She experienced Halloween every day of her life. Her tormentors wouldn't let her live. They were there day and night, and they would taunt behind her in the corridors. It was her past and her present, and it seemed that it would be the same in the future.
She was craving to break free, to find a world where she was accepted. She cried to god to let him know that it was enough and that she could bear no more. She was desperate to escape into that world, the distant dream, where she would be no longer ashamed of herself. Little did she know that to us she was the epitome of perfection. She didn't know that were waiting for her and that we were willing to give her the world she deserved. But more than us, it was him. It was him that saw her in a totally different light. It was him that loved her despite her condition. It was he that couldn't bear to see her hurt. Or that was what she thought.
Every person has two faces. One which he is on the outside, and the other is who he really is. He had two faces too, and they were nothing similar. As innocent and caring as he looked on the outside, he was vile and obnoxious on the inside. He was a foul loathsome, evil little cockroach, but that was exactly what we failed to notice. He was bloody and repulsive. He was disgusting and slimy, but his calm and considerate façade had blinded us.
My best friend got so attached to him, that she was devastated when he went away. He tore her and scratches her heart, and we didn't even realize. It was like he held the key to her heart. She was so blinded by his exterior, that she didn't bother noticing the real him. It was like he ripped her heart out of her chest and cut it into a million pieces. They were repairable. And so was my friend.
To say it on her words, "cloaked in darkness, hair wet with stars. With the ecstasy of an irrepressible rhythm, he tells me to forget what he meant to me. Bearing a secret burden, how can I?"
She was broken with the news of his departure. He not only left my best friend, but also a cheerful soul. He not only abandoned the girl who loved him, but also the only living proof of their existence. He left her three months pregnant.
After him she lost all her patience. She had lost him to someone else, bad she didn't want to lose her baby to destiny. Life was being mean to her. It was funny how the only person she really loved in life had left her to burn and blacken in the fire of desperation and devastation. Such a shame that he was the one who pushed her when she had expected him to catch her. It was the biggest mistake of her life, loving him. But to people like us,love was an unwanted guest. We didn't want it, but couldn't push it away either.
The biggest secret of her life was Samara. Her seven month old daughter. She had left her at my doorstep 27 years ago. Twenty-seven long years ago, during which no one heard of her. In those 27 years, I raised Samara as my own daughter, never letting her know that her mother had left her with me. I never told her that I wasn't her real mother. I treated her with all the love and care I could muster. But along with Samara, came the shocking letter. My dear friend had left a letter to my name.
"He left. Samara is my daughter." Those few words told me all I needed to know.
Until this day, her letter is one of my only priced possessions. Even today as I lie on my death bead, I bleed the salt of my soul and as it pours from my eyes where my clenched fists press blocking all of the light, I see the darkness that I know will soon swallow me and I fear it, long for it.. My veins are tangled and winding throughout my body, my blood refuses to pump, the light at the end of the tunnel is growing further, and further, and oh-so further away from me, the pavement is endless, it flows in effortless motion, the wind swirls around my hair, and now it's a mess, in these moments I feel as if I'm something less, however I am only suffering for my own failures, stuck here with memories that I only wish I could shed, and that is something less, I do not let it show, forever hidden and locked away, as I continue to regress. But with the boulder on my heart finally pushed away, death feels somewhat peaceful...
All my life, Samara has been my world. And for her, I thank my friend, The woman with no name.
A/n: So I'm sorry that I put you through that, I just felt like writing this. This story has no point what so ever, and it's not in one direction (see what I did there?) and it's all over the place etc. etc., but even I don't understand it, so I guess it's OK! There are refrences from Harry Potter, a few songs and I got the inspiration from Crime Patrol, or something along the lines of that.
I know this is not my best, not even good, but anyway, you are my allies, and there is an understanding between us. If I write something bad, then you write something even worse and then we can feel stupid about it together.
This story is specially written for my three pals here on FF. net, (PR, ORI, TS), so I hope you won't throw eggs and tomatoes on me ( if you do, don't throw eggs, because my clothes will get damaged, and if you throw tomatoes, make sure you squish them, so that they don't hurt my innocent face.)
Now, the most important part: I have a challenge!
For the challenge, your prompt will be 'salt' (you have to use the word at least once in your story). Now the main thing is, that you can't write your own forte, or with your favorite characters. For an example; if you always write romance on abhirika, your story can be any genre but romance, and your ships can be anything but abhirika (they can be minor characters. If you don't usually do ships, then do something apart from your usual characters.) This was my entry. I will post more information on my profile tomorrow, and if you have any questions, regarding the challenge or this story, you can PM me. I will answer your questions there and not in the review sections. Anyone can write. : ) the DOs and DON'Ts will be on my profile page tomorrow, so make sure you check that out before you write anything. This will be called the 'salt challenge'. I hope to read your amazing stories soon!
Cheers,
-Metallic Mist