Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters in the story; they all
belong to the rich and talented people who own Gundam Wing. I do own the
plot and have no other claims on the characters. I am merely borrowing them
for this nonprofit form of entertainment.
And please ignore the bad grammar and spelling. I know I suck, but I am improving! This is just my view, when Zechs left after the war. I kinda got some insane inspiriting so write this. And how could a girl at 13 years old, say they love someone to death and beyond. It kinda sounds crazy so this is my view. Flame if you wish, I can't change your opinion! Read and Review is all I gotta say!
Enjoy!
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Twisted Memories
Preventer Agency, United States of America, Earth, AC 196.
Throwing my purse across the lime green crouch, I jog across the pale room while yanking off my scarf and high heels in a no so lady like manner. My feet hit the deep velvet carpeted floor while my dress continues to rustle around my legs like silk and it is annoying me. It reminds me of memories that I would be better off not remembering.
Reaching into my secret wine cabinet in my Preventer's office in Boston, I search in vain for a decent bottle of wine. My fingers gently glide across the top of a few of the best alcoholic beverages on the earth. And finally I gently pull out a bottle of, 'XO Supreme Cognac,' made in France and by Martell in 1715 with my right hand as the encrusted diamonds on my bracelet glisters gently in the soft moonlight. I shrug at the vulgarity of wasting such good cognac on one of my drinking sprees.
Lowering my self carefully onto another over stuffed couch, I pour out a glass of the aging cognac and gently swirl the liquor around with the tips of my gloved fingers. The cognac's smell is powerful, captivating and ensnaring my senses as I take a small sip. I see that the cognac is a deep scarlet.just like blood drying after a bloody battle...
Immersed with the swirling cognac, my memories continue to drift while I continuously keep refilling my glass for more.
I remember he was beautiful. Not only that but gorgeous. That's what I think drew me to him with time. I never actually felt anything for him before 191AC. Before that was all like a dream. I detested him them and I wish I still do.
He left me.
He left me to follow his dream that soon came to a nightmare that would end all. He left me after taking my heart. I knew he would not through it away, but preserve it for a later use and it would be to his advantage.
In some twisted way I loved him, but in saying that, I was denying the truth. I was too tried at being the best. In being the best I had no one. I was alone to the end. It meant that I could not rely on anyone and that I was only known for my marks. My marks earned me a place at the best military academy in the Earth's Sphere Alliance and that was when everything I knew went for a dramatic turn, for the better or worse, only time would tell.
When I first saw him, it was not hilarious, but utterly pathetic. I remember seeing him on my first day at Lake Victoria Academy. He wore the crappy standard cadet uniform, but in addition wore a pair of distinctively unusually large sunglasses and blonde hair long enough to pass the mid back! He could even pass as a girl if he actually tried to! Well we were doing basic hand to hand combat moves and I was his opponent since both of us had already kicked every others cadets' butt to the next century. I remember it clearly; he looked at me with a death glare through his overlarge sunglasses that nearly chilled my heart had it not already been frozen solid. I knew he was a ticked off eleven-year-old cadet, because he was totally creamed by a girl younger than himself. The next day he called me for a rematch in the mess hall at lunch, everyone watched us as we fought; they were amazed at our skill, agility and determination. We fought, I creamed him and again I helped him to the base infantry. Sometime I can still remember the icy blue eyes staring at me. Wondering why I was helping him. I don't know why though, but my emotional feminine side was my main weakness and it would probably always be.
As time passed I began to relise that we were the top two cadets in the whole history in the academy. We were study, breaking records and scoring higher that anyone else and in a style that screamed: easy. I knew that I was cold but he was even colder. His style and grace nearly scared me, but from the lack of my emotions, I came to the conclusion that I do not fear anything.yet.
Taking a large sip from the glass I continue to attempt to stop this inflow of outrageous memories by drowning them. I have denied them and I wish to continue so. Stubborn as hell I may be, but old habits die hard. As a futile attempt to drown these memories, even just to forget them even for a moment or even a span of time, I continue to drink the thick bloody liquor and it runs slowly down my throat as I savor the bitter sweet taste.
In seeing him, I saw an escape route. I later let him take some of the credit, break the records and become the best. In doing so I became second, but in the end I was glad. I knew that many knew that I could surpass him if I tried, but the weariness was getting to me. I saw the pitiful smiles on my instructors' faces. I knew they were disappointed in me; I could do so much, so why should I hold back?
Many thought I was in love with Zechs Marquise. How could I be in love with a stranger when I was just 13! Yes, maybe a school girl crush, but aren't they only temporarily.right? I didn't even have a crush on him, or so I believed; he was cute but darn annoying as hell and a jerk. He also held an air of arrogance and superiority, and even acted as a royalty of some sort. Well he was a Prince without a kingdom. I thought as the liquor continues to burn my raspy throat.
I knew that many other cadets looked at us with bitter envy. I also knew that many were also sweet on me; I was after all the only female cadet and later the only female instructor on the base. But I was also too young.
I remember after graduation, where I became the second best cadet in the history of LVA and of course Zechs Marquise became the valedictory. We were immediately transferred for combat and I was neither pleased nor surprised. Then a homosexual male under my command for a battle later practically spat in my face. Before he could, I had him on the ground and maybe ready for court-martial for insulting his superior officer. Yet, through all the conflicting emotions, I still remember his words clearly, they cut through me like no one had in years; "The only reason you're a Lieutenant at 15 is because you opened your legs to Commander Treize and all the high-ranking officers. You probably went down on the females too, Lucrezia?" He said them in a mocking tone, taunting me because I was a female with a rank.
I practically had to clench my fist, close my eyes and repeat that if I kill him it would mar my pristine record. I repeated this until I was calm enough and sure that this was not going to be bloody messy. I was not angry at the words as much as the way he said my first name. No one had said my first name since my entire family's demise.
I was tried and worn, I felt like I was beaten inside out and everything was whacked out of control. Then he came and held me while some other low random officers hauled him out. He then looked me straight in the eye with his icy gaze and said everything was fine and that I got where I am thanks to my determination and strength. I thought they were hollow words of comfort. He continued on in a soft warm tone, while my face continued to look like it was carved out of plain cold stone.
When I spoke again, it was in breathless, strained tones.
"Say something.anything."
"Noin."
"Say something else!" I lashed out, hating the sound of my surname on his lips.
"Lucrezia."
My shoulders slackened and I leaned on him, exhausted from my internal bout.
"I hate you." it came out as a monotone, unintentionally; while my fingers were caught in his lengthy platinum blond hair.
I still remember that event clearly. It keeps replaying in my mind like the childhood tapes, haunting and taunting me at times when weakness is not required nor wanted. I felt myself shake slightly, exerting my will and it stops. My eyebrows knit together in confusion and my eyes glare across the room in a corner next to my paper filled desk where I threw my sapphire necklace at the injustice of those man's words in my memory.
Everyone thought of us as a perfect couple. Well the harsh truth was we weren't. I didn't not like him, at least not then; but then I was too scared to get close to anyone in fear of losing them. There was so much at stake; we were soldiers, prepared to die at any moment in the line of duty, let it be tomorrow, today, even this very second. Even His Excellency Treize Khrushenada said so, "Duty is the sublimest word in our dictionary. Do your duty and leave the rest to God, because you can never wish to do less and never wish to do more." My duty was to protect, but what I was protecting, was it even justified? In some way the fate of all the Élite Specials was theoretically a hero's death on a bloody battlefield. Either to die a quick death or die a slow and painful one. We were all prepared to die, at least I thought so.
Swirling the glass gentle, I look sinisterly at the aging cognac's colour tones as the liquid dances elegantly in the moonlight; just like the dance of death.
The blood of thousands of other soldiers like mine rest on my hands. My hands are too stained with blood; I have lost that feeling of innocence and purity that I once felt. I have fought mercilessly on the battlefield in my faithful mobile suit; bring down my beam saber and slashing just like I was taught at LVA. I kill even thought they are begging to live, their faces twisted with mercy and pain. They are the enemy. It is my duty to eliminate them. But after the aftermath, the scent of death lingers heavily in the air, mixed with gunpowder and burning flesh and metal. Some of my former comrades lie demented and twisted in the eerie wreckage while I just watch with my monotone face as their blood runs into the soil and flows like a stream into the sea and into the ocean. It is those times I remember that I have chosen to become the one I always hated most. I chose to become the enemy. I became a solider, another solider on the battlefield, one who draws blood and stains their hands with an eternal ocean of blood. At those times I become cold and isolated, acting like a dead human being corpse, no emotions registering on my smooth pale face whilst my heart is locked tightly away, while death continues to linger around me looking, lurking and waiting for its next victory.
A coward I may be, but there is so little I can take. I looked at everything in the eye, ready to accept the consequences, but to love? Hell no! I never dwelled on feelings and I never got attached too much. I am too weak to handle the pain. I grieved in my own dark corrupted way. But then, without fear there is no courage. I always pitied the men and women who died in battles. Over life versus war the chasm that separates them cannot even be compared. I used to believe that battles that risk men's lives are miscalculations.
Later I learned the hard way that lives need to be scarified so others will not follow that path of war and destruction. And again I was proved wrong, the beat of war, peace and revolution are like an endless waltz, they cannot exist alone. The three are like one, but then the one are like three. Am I making any sense? The diplomats and people of nobility only see this world through rose coloured glasses. They see mankind as a game to be played and toyed with. They don't understand the hardships and cruel reality of others. They simplify the problems too much. Anyway they believe you need to be born with power and control to rule, so down to hell with fair play. I leant that politics can be a dirty job long, long ago.
Am I blinded by so many things that I do not see the reality in it all?
I feel tears that are threatening to fall, they burn the back of my usually vibrant violet eyes but I refuse to let them fall. I am a high ranking officer formally and currently under the alias of, Lieutenant, Commander, Captain, Head Instructor, even Baronet and Lady, and last, my beloved codename Agent Fire. I refuse to be weak, even for a moment. Anyway soldiers do not cry and I am a true soldier so I refuse to cry. After all, it is a sign of weakness. It is proving to your enemies that you are losing it. But then who are my enemies? My enemies are those toying with my life or are after me. And as a former soldier and current peace worker I knew and know deep down that many are a hazard to my health. Somehow along the journey of life I am losing my sanity. After all it is just a matter of time before my past catches up with me. I have denied it for so long, shutting down any path that will lead me back to it. I have so far turned my back on all those people, but then they are all gone, dead. They have all left me alone. Alone. Alone to the end? Yes I am. I have brought this all on myself.
"No one's perfect, it's okay."
He said those words, in his soothing tone and authoritive voice. He always expected every female to fall at his feet. I didn't, but most of the general public fell for it. His charade and his dramatic acting skills always seemed to amaze me and piss me off on the wrong days.
It is *not* okay. After all those years of chasing after me, I still end as one of his trophies on his wall; just another ornament. He told me that I was his only one and, that 'I love you,' but I don't believe him. Hollow words and sweet white lies caked with sugar. Well, all I am going to say is the sugar bowl is empty now and no one is there to fill it up. After he won my fragile heart, he accomplished his goal of getting revenge and finally dies a hero's death. How ironic, just like the samurai fairy tales I read as a child.
I know he isn't dead.
He's too smart, too strong, and too stubborn. I won't wait for him, because I am too tried. I will do as my heart desires and follow my path. Even Heero Yuy, the perfect soldier said, "The only way to live a good life is to act on your emotions." I don't think I love him and I prefer it that way. With lust there is freedom, with love there is pain.
I stand up, a bit tipsy and gently lower the empty glass cognac bottle down on the over polished wooden table. My flowing dress continues to flap aimlessly around me, all sights and sound forgotten by my unfathomable train of thoughts. I lean against the slightly rough pale cream walls and gently push myself up and walk slowly and carefully across the spacious room to the window. In truth the window consists of a grade nine bulletproof glass that is tinted for privacy. My lavender purse and silk scarf remains on the couch, my heels from last night's ball on the soft pale floor and the sound of my soft foot steps can be heard is blended with the light clink of my silver anklet shifting around while I walk shakily to the window, returning to reality is a real rollercoaster ride.
As I approach the glass wall I call my window, the cool soothing breeze of the air condition rests on me, swirling my shoulder length hair and twirling my long platinum black bangs in front of my left amethyst eye; obscuring part of my view. In truth, black is not even a true colour; it is symbolic for death yet in truth does this colour dictate anything? The scent of expensive cognac mixed with lavender, lilacs and cinnamon still lingers in the early morning air and I breathe it in deeply. My dark midnight dress continues to flow aimlessly around me as one of my silk gloved hands rest on the cold frosty windows as I take in the sight before me that graces a smile to my lips.
The sun is rising.
The sun is rising with heat and intensity like every other day, overcoming all darkness in its path. But for once I am drinking in its beauty, instead of destroying it or too busy to take a care to look at it. It colours the early morning sky in a mix of a vast variety of many colours and a distinctive red. A crimson red.just like drying blood after a cruel battle. No matter which way I turn and struggle in this twisted maze of mine, I always halt at the same end and my past continues to find me, just like haunting memories.
. . . just like my twisted memories . . .
. . .how ironic. . .
Hey! I finally got around to posting this, after it has been floating around my computer for like months! Opps. Click the button below to review!
Please! Pretty please with a big fat red cherry on top!
~ chibi noin ^.^
And please ignore the bad grammar and spelling. I know I suck, but I am improving! This is just my view, when Zechs left after the war. I kinda got some insane inspiriting so write this. And how could a girl at 13 years old, say they love someone to death and beyond. It kinda sounds crazy so this is my view. Flame if you wish, I can't change your opinion! Read and Review is all I gotta say!
Enjoy!
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Twisted Memories
Preventer Agency, United States of America, Earth, AC 196.
Throwing my purse across the lime green crouch, I jog across the pale room while yanking off my scarf and high heels in a no so lady like manner. My feet hit the deep velvet carpeted floor while my dress continues to rustle around my legs like silk and it is annoying me. It reminds me of memories that I would be better off not remembering.
Reaching into my secret wine cabinet in my Preventer's office in Boston, I search in vain for a decent bottle of wine. My fingers gently glide across the top of a few of the best alcoholic beverages on the earth. And finally I gently pull out a bottle of, 'XO Supreme Cognac,' made in France and by Martell in 1715 with my right hand as the encrusted diamonds on my bracelet glisters gently in the soft moonlight. I shrug at the vulgarity of wasting such good cognac on one of my drinking sprees.
Lowering my self carefully onto another over stuffed couch, I pour out a glass of the aging cognac and gently swirl the liquor around with the tips of my gloved fingers. The cognac's smell is powerful, captivating and ensnaring my senses as I take a small sip. I see that the cognac is a deep scarlet.just like blood drying after a bloody battle...
Immersed with the swirling cognac, my memories continue to drift while I continuously keep refilling my glass for more.
I remember he was beautiful. Not only that but gorgeous. That's what I think drew me to him with time. I never actually felt anything for him before 191AC. Before that was all like a dream. I detested him them and I wish I still do.
He left me.
He left me to follow his dream that soon came to a nightmare that would end all. He left me after taking my heart. I knew he would not through it away, but preserve it for a later use and it would be to his advantage.
In some twisted way I loved him, but in saying that, I was denying the truth. I was too tried at being the best. In being the best I had no one. I was alone to the end. It meant that I could not rely on anyone and that I was only known for my marks. My marks earned me a place at the best military academy in the Earth's Sphere Alliance and that was when everything I knew went for a dramatic turn, for the better or worse, only time would tell.
When I first saw him, it was not hilarious, but utterly pathetic. I remember seeing him on my first day at Lake Victoria Academy. He wore the crappy standard cadet uniform, but in addition wore a pair of distinctively unusually large sunglasses and blonde hair long enough to pass the mid back! He could even pass as a girl if he actually tried to! Well we were doing basic hand to hand combat moves and I was his opponent since both of us had already kicked every others cadets' butt to the next century. I remember it clearly; he looked at me with a death glare through his overlarge sunglasses that nearly chilled my heart had it not already been frozen solid. I knew he was a ticked off eleven-year-old cadet, because he was totally creamed by a girl younger than himself. The next day he called me for a rematch in the mess hall at lunch, everyone watched us as we fought; they were amazed at our skill, agility and determination. We fought, I creamed him and again I helped him to the base infantry. Sometime I can still remember the icy blue eyes staring at me. Wondering why I was helping him. I don't know why though, but my emotional feminine side was my main weakness and it would probably always be.
As time passed I began to relise that we were the top two cadets in the whole history in the academy. We were study, breaking records and scoring higher that anyone else and in a style that screamed: easy. I knew that I was cold but he was even colder. His style and grace nearly scared me, but from the lack of my emotions, I came to the conclusion that I do not fear anything.yet.
Taking a large sip from the glass I continue to attempt to stop this inflow of outrageous memories by drowning them. I have denied them and I wish to continue so. Stubborn as hell I may be, but old habits die hard. As a futile attempt to drown these memories, even just to forget them even for a moment or even a span of time, I continue to drink the thick bloody liquor and it runs slowly down my throat as I savor the bitter sweet taste.
In seeing him, I saw an escape route. I later let him take some of the credit, break the records and become the best. In doing so I became second, but in the end I was glad. I knew that many knew that I could surpass him if I tried, but the weariness was getting to me. I saw the pitiful smiles on my instructors' faces. I knew they were disappointed in me; I could do so much, so why should I hold back?
Many thought I was in love with Zechs Marquise. How could I be in love with a stranger when I was just 13! Yes, maybe a school girl crush, but aren't they only temporarily.right? I didn't even have a crush on him, or so I believed; he was cute but darn annoying as hell and a jerk. He also held an air of arrogance and superiority, and even acted as a royalty of some sort. Well he was a Prince without a kingdom. I thought as the liquor continues to burn my raspy throat.
I knew that many other cadets looked at us with bitter envy. I also knew that many were also sweet on me; I was after all the only female cadet and later the only female instructor on the base. But I was also too young.
I remember after graduation, where I became the second best cadet in the history of LVA and of course Zechs Marquise became the valedictory. We were immediately transferred for combat and I was neither pleased nor surprised. Then a homosexual male under my command for a battle later practically spat in my face. Before he could, I had him on the ground and maybe ready for court-martial for insulting his superior officer. Yet, through all the conflicting emotions, I still remember his words clearly, they cut through me like no one had in years; "The only reason you're a Lieutenant at 15 is because you opened your legs to Commander Treize and all the high-ranking officers. You probably went down on the females too, Lucrezia?" He said them in a mocking tone, taunting me because I was a female with a rank.
I practically had to clench my fist, close my eyes and repeat that if I kill him it would mar my pristine record. I repeated this until I was calm enough and sure that this was not going to be bloody messy. I was not angry at the words as much as the way he said my first name. No one had said my first name since my entire family's demise.
I was tried and worn, I felt like I was beaten inside out and everything was whacked out of control. Then he came and held me while some other low random officers hauled him out. He then looked me straight in the eye with his icy gaze and said everything was fine and that I got where I am thanks to my determination and strength. I thought they were hollow words of comfort. He continued on in a soft warm tone, while my face continued to look like it was carved out of plain cold stone.
When I spoke again, it was in breathless, strained tones.
"Say something.anything."
"Noin."
"Say something else!" I lashed out, hating the sound of my surname on his lips.
"Lucrezia."
My shoulders slackened and I leaned on him, exhausted from my internal bout.
"I hate you." it came out as a monotone, unintentionally; while my fingers were caught in his lengthy platinum blond hair.
I still remember that event clearly. It keeps replaying in my mind like the childhood tapes, haunting and taunting me at times when weakness is not required nor wanted. I felt myself shake slightly, exerting my will and it stops. My eyebrows knit together in confusion and my eyes glare across the room in a corner next to my paper filled desk where I threw my sapphire necklace at the injustice of those man's words in my memory.
Everyone thought of us as a perfect couple. Well the harsh truth was we weren't. I didn't not like him, at least not then; but then I was too scared to get close to anyone in fear of losing them. There was so much at stake; we were soldiers, prepared to die at any moment in the line of duty, let it be tomorrow, today, even this very second. Even His Excellency Treize Khrushenada said so, "Duty is the sublimest word in our dictionary. Do your duty and leave the rest to God, because you can never wish to do less and never wish to do more." My duty was to protect, but what I was protecting, was it even justified? In some way the fate of all the Élite Specials was theoretically a hero's death on a bloody battlefield. Either to die a quick death or die a slow and painful one. We were all prepared to die, at least I thought so.
Swirling the glass gentle, I look sinisterly at the aging cognac's colour tones as the liquid dances elegantly in the moonlight; just like the dance of death.
The blood of thousands of other soldiers like mine rest on my hands. My hands are too stained with blood; I have lost that feeling of innocence and purity that I once felt. I have fought mercilessly on the battlefield in my faithful mobile suit; bring down my beam saber and slashing just like I was taught at LVA. I kill even thought they are begging to live, their faces twisted with mercy and pain. They are the enemy. It is my duty to eliminate them. But after the aftermath, the scent of death lingers heavily in the air, mixed with gunpowder and burning flesh and metal. Some of my former comrades lie demented and twisted in the eerie wreckage while I just watch with my monotone face as their blood runs into the soil and flows like a stream into the sea and into the ocean. It is those times I remember that I have chosen to become the one I always hated most. I chose to become the enemy. I became a solider, another solider on the battlefield, one who draws blood and stains their hands with an eternal ocean of blood. At those times I become cold and isolated, acting like a dead human being corpse, no emotions registering on my smooth pale face whilst my heart is locked tightly away, while death continues to linger around me looking, lurking and waiting for its next victory.
A coward I may be, but there is so little I can take. I looked at everything in the eye, ready to accept the consequences, but to love? Hell no! I never dwelled on feelings and I never got attached too much. I am too weak to handle the pain. I grieved in my own dark corrupted way. But then, without fear there is no courage. I always pitied the men and women who died in battles. Over life versus war the chasm that separates them cannot even be compared. I used to believe that battles that risk men's lives are miscalculations.
Later I learned the hard way that lives need to be scarified so others will not follow that path of war and destruction. And again I was proved wrong, the beat of war, peace and revolution are like an endless waltz, they cannot exist alone. The three are like one, but then the one are like three. Am I making any sense? The diplomats and people of nobility only see this world through rose coloured glasses. They see mankind as a game to be played and toyed with. They don't understand the hardships and cruel reality of others. They simplify the problems too much. Anyway they believe you need to be born with power and control to rule, so down to hell with fair play. I leant that politics can be a dirty job long, long ago.
Am I blinded by so many things that I do not see the reality in it all?
I feel tears that are threatening to fall, they burn the back of my usually vibrant violet eyes but I refuse to let them fall. I am a high ranking officer formally and currently under the alias of, Lieutenant, Commander, Captain, Head Instructor, even Baronet and Lady, and last, my beloved codename Agent Fire. I refuse to be weak, even for a moment. Anyway soldiers do not cry and I am a true soldier so I refuse to cry. After all, it is a sign of weakness. It is proving to your enemies that you are losing it. But then who are my enemies? My enemies are those toying with my life or are after me. And as a former soldier and current peace worker I knew and know deep down that many are a hazard to my health. Somehow along the journey of life I am losing my sanity. After all it is just a matter of time before my past catches up with me. I have denied it for so long, shutting down any path that will lead me back to it. I have so far turned my back on all those people, but then they are all gone, dead. They have all left me alone. Alone. Alone to the end? Yes I am. I have brought this all on myself.
"No one's perfect, it's okay."
He said those words, in his soothing tone and authoritive voice. He always expected every female to fall at his feet. I didn't, but most of the general public fell for it. His charade and his dramatic acting skills always seemed to amaze me and piss me off on the wrong days.
It is *not* okay. After all those years of chasing after me, I still end as one of his trophies on his wall; just another ornament. He told me that I was his only one and, that 'I love you,' but I don't believe him. Hollow words and sweet white lies caked with sugar. Well, all I am going to say is the sugar bowl is empty now and no one is there to fill it up. After he won my fragile heart, he accomplished his goal of getting revenge and finally dies a hero's death. How ironic, just like the samurai fairy tales I read as a child.
I know he isn't dead.
He's too smart, too strong, and too stubborn. I won't wait for him, because I am too tried. I will do as my heart desires and follow my path. Even Heero Yuy, the perfect soldier said, "The only way to live a good life is to act on your emotions." I don't think I love him and I prefer it that way. With lust there is freedom, with love there is pain.
I stand up, a bit tipsy and gently lower the empty glass cognac bottle down on the over polished wooden table. My flowing dress continues to flap aimlessly around me, all sights and sound forgotten by my unfathomable train of thoughts. I lean against the slightly rough pale cream walls and gently push myself up and walk slowly and carefully across the spacious room to the window. In truth the window consists of a grade nine bulletproof glass that is tinted for privacy. My lavender purse and silk scarf remains on the couch, my heels from last night's ball on the soft pale floor and the sound of my soft foot steps can be heard is blended with the light clink of my silver anklet shifting around while I walk shakily to the window, returning to reality is a real rollercoaster ride.
As I approach the glass wall I call my window, the cool soothing breeze of the air condition rests on me, swirling my shoulder length hair and twirling my long platinum black bangs in front of my left amethyst eye; obscuring part of my view. In truth, black is not even a true colour; it is symbolic for death yet in truth does this colour dictate anything? The scent of expensive cognac mixed with lavender, lilacs and cinnamon still lingers in the early morning air and I breathe it in deeply. My dark midnight dress continues to flow aimlessly around me as one of my silk gloved hands rest on the cold frosty windows as I take in the sight before me that graces a smile to my lips.
The sun is rising.
The sun is rising with heat and intensity like every other day, overcoming all darkness in its path. But for once I am drinking in its beauty, instead of destroying it or too busy to take a care to look at it. It colours the early morning sky in a mix of a vast variety of many colours and a distinctive red. A crimson red.just like drying blood after a cruel battle. No matter which way I turn and struggle in this twisted maze of mine, I always halt at the same end and my past continues to find me, just like haunting memories.
. . . just like my twisted memories . . .
. . .how ironic. . .
Hey! I finally got around to posting this, after it has been floating around my computer for like months! Opps. Click the button below to review!
Please! Pretty please with a big fat red cherry on top!
~ chibi noin ^.^