Stand
It's over now. Breathing seems obsolete. Dying isn't painful.it's just sad. So very sad. I can see, from where I stand -blood staining the bodice of my once pristine white gown- the bodies of my friends and guardians. They died protecting me. Another reminder of how brutal life truly is. My friends, my wonderful, amazing friends died to save me..and now I have let them all down. My one and only love lies at my feet, his beautiful blue eyes forever closed. My mother..she will die, too. And with her will die our kingdom. Our happy, peaceful kingdom is no more. I see the ruin all around me. I feel as though I should cry..but it is useless. I sink to my knees. Blood is spilling over my hands now, but I am not afraid. I feel dizzy, faint. It is deathly quiet now; the battle is done..but there is a roaring in my ears, as if my blood is screaming to be released from my body, to be spilled upon the tainted soil. Still, I feel no pain. My time is coming to an end. Slowly, I lie down, my head upon the cold, unmoving shoulder of my beloved. I slide my arm beneath his neck, to curl my fingers in his thick, dark hair one last time. Now, finally, I cry. Three tears slip down my cheeks to drop off and be soaked into the tunic of my beloved. I close my eyes; my breath is expelled on a sigh.
Darkness.
* * *
I wake up, gasping, brushing my blonde hair from my face. My hands tremble as I brush my fingertips across my cheeks, feeling the grit; the salty remnants of the tears that I must have cried in my sleep. I have had this dream many times in the past. It torments me now; the sorrow of the dream haunts me in my waking hours. Shakily, I climb out of my bed, walking unsteadily to my bathroom, where I splash cold water on my pale face. The delicate skin around my eyes is red, as if I have been crying for hours. My eyelashes are clumped together, crusted with salt. Even my nose has a pink tint.
I turn on the shower, gingerly stepping inside and sliding the door closed. I sink to the cool, tile floor, pulling my knees up to my chest, locking my arms tightly around them. I rest my cheek on my knees, allowing the almost- too-hot water to beat mercilessly upon my back. It pounds away my pent-up frustration, the horror the dream leaves me with. The sorrow I felt in the dream is inescapable.too acute to be imagined or ignored. When I close my eyes, I am greeted with the grisly sight of the remains of a fierce battle. The bodies of men, women, and children litter the ground, horrible looking weapons lie uselessly beside the bodies of the dead. The stench of blood and death is overwhelming. Bile rises in my throat, and I force the shower door open, stumbling to the toilet just in time for last night's dinner to make its grand exit back the way it came.
I am weak and trembling, but I must pull myself together, I know. I fill a glass of water, gargle for a few minutes, and squeeze far too much toothpaste into my mouth, to remove the sour aftertaste. After scrubbing my teeth and spitting furiously for a few minutes, I am relieved to find I am no longer shaky. My stomach rebels at the thought of food, but I am steady and prepared enough to begin my day. My face is red and splotchy, but I carefully apply some foundation to my cheeks, nose, and red eyes. The purple tint beneath my eyes disappears, and my face is magically given a healthy glow, instead of that horrible pale, red-eyed complexion I have acquired over the past several weeks.
I pull my hair up into a haphazard pony-tail, too exhausted to take the time to style it as I usually do. I slip into a pair of jeans and a black turtleneck shirt, sliding on a pair of loafers. I return to the bathroom, to slick some pink lip gloss across my lips. Slinging my backpack over my right shoulder, I shove my hands in my pockets, and pull open my bedroom door. I head quietly down the stairs. The clock on the wall reads "7:25". I have another hour before I have to get to school. My mother looks up as I enter the kitchen. She still hasn't become accustomed to my being awake this early.
"Serena.sweetheart, would you like something to eat?" My mother smiles as she talks, setting plates out on the table. My stomach heaves at the thought; even the smell of the eggs and bacon she's made causes my stomach to roll. I force myself to smile brightly.
"No, thank you. I want to get an early start to school. I'm meeting Mina and Amy." It's a blatant lie, but my mother will never know. She smiles in response, hands me a paper bag, which surely contains my lunch, and kisses my cheek.
"Well, then. Give them my love. Have a good day at school, darling." My mother bustles back off into the kitchen, and I turn, making my way slowly out the door.
When I reach the corner store, I toss my lunch into the trash can. I won't be eating today.
* * *
Well, it's a little dark for a beginning, but I assure you it will get better. It may also be changed to third person narrative in later chapters. I will make it clear at the beginning of each chapter whose point of view it is, or if it is in the third person. Also, this fic has a tentative PG- 13 rating. It may increase, depending on what I decide to put into this story.
With love,
Michelle
It's over now. Breathing seems obsolete. Dying isn't painful.it's just sad. So very sad. I can see, from where I stand -blood staining the bodice of my once pristine white gown- the bodies of my friends and guardians. They died protecting me. Another reminder of how brutal life truly is. My friends, my wonderful, amazing friends died to save me..and now I have let them all down. My one and only love lies at my feet, his beautiful blue eyes forever closed. My mother..she will die, too. And with her will die our kingdom. Our happy, peaceful kingdom is no more. I see the ruin all around me. I feel as though I should cry..but it is useless. I sink to my knees. Blood is spilling over my hands now, but I am not afraid. I feel dizzy, faint. It is deathly quiet now; the battle is done..but there is a roaring in my ears, as if my blood is screaming to be released from my body, to be spilled upon the tainted soil. Still, I feel no pain. My time is coming to an end. Slowly, I lie down, my head upon the cold, unmoving shoulder of my beloved. I slide my arm beneath his neck, to curl my fingers in his thick, dark hair one last time. Now, finally, I cry. Three tears slip down my cheeks to drop off and be soaked into the tunic of my beloved. I close my eyes; my breath is expelled on a sigh.
Darkness.
* * *
I wake up, gasping, brushing my blonde hair from my face. My hands tremble as I brush my fingertips across my cheeks, feeling the grit; the salty remnants of the tears that I must have cried in my sleep. I have had this dream many times in the past. It torments me now; the sorrow of the dream haunts me in my waking hours. Shakily, I climb out of my bed, walking unsteadily to my bathroom, where I splash cold water on my pale face. The delicate skin around my eyes is red, as if I have been crying for hours. My eyelashes are clumped together, crusted with salt. Even my nose has a pink tint.
I turn on the shower, gingerly stepping inside and sliding the door closed. I sink to the cool, tile floor, pulling my knees up to my chest, locking my arms tightly around them. I rest my cheek on my knees, allowing the almost- too-hot water to beat mercilessly upon my back. It pounds away my pent-up frustration, the horror the dream leaves me with. The sorrow I felt in the dream is inescapable.too acute to be imagined or ignored. When I close my eyes, I am greeted with the grisly sight of the remains of a fierce battle. The bodies of men, women, and children litter the ground, horrible looking weapons lie uselessly beside the bodies of the dead. The stench of blood and death is overwhelming. Bile rises in my throat, and I force the shower door open, stumbling to the toilet just in time for last night's dinner to make its grand exit back the way it came.
I am weak and trembling, but I must pull myself together, I know. I fill a glass of water, gargle for a few minutes, and squeeze far too much toothpaste into my mouth, to remove the sour aftertaste. After scrubbing my teeth and spitting furiously for a few minutes, I am relieved to find I am no longer shaky. My stomach rebels at the thought of food, but I am steady and prepared enough to begin my day. My face is red and splotchy, but I carefully apply some foundation to my cheeks, nose, and red eyes. The purple tint beneath my eyes disappears, and my face is magically given a healthy glow, instead of that horrible pale, red-eyed complexion I have acquired over the past several weeks.
I pull my hair up into a haphazard pony-tail, too exhausted to take the time to style it as I usually do. I slip into a pair of jeans and a black turtleneck shirt, sliding on a pair of loafers. I return to the bathroom, to slick some pink lip gloss across my lips. Slinging my backpack over my right shoulder, I shove my hands in my pockets, and pull open my bedroom door. I head quietly down the stairs. The clock on the wall reads "7:25". I have another hour before I have to get to school. My mother looks up as I enter the kitchen. She still hasn't become accustomed to my being awake this early.
"Serena.sweetheart, would you like something to eat?" My mother smiles as she talks, setting plates out on the table. My stomach heaves at the thought; even the smell of the eggs and bacon she's made causes my stomach to roll. I force myself to smile brightly.
"No, thank you. I want to get an early start to school. I'm meeting Mina and Amy." It's a blatant lie, but my mother will never know. She smiles in response, hands me a paper bag, which surely contains my lunch, and kisses my cheek.
"Well, then. Give them my love. Have a good day at school, darling." My mother bustles back off into the kitchen, and I turn, making my way slowly out the door.
When I reach the corner store, I toss my lunch into the trash can. I won't be eating today.
* * *
Well, it's a little dark for a beginning, but I assure you it will get better. It may also be changed to third person narrative in later chapters. I will make it clear at the beginning of each chapter whose point of view it is, or if it is in the third person. Also, this fic has a tentative PG- 13 rating. It may increase, depending on what I decide to put into this story.
With love,
Michelle