Title: Solace, Part Two
Author: Neme
Blood Type: Feels like sedatives.
Fandom: Gravitation
Disclaimer: Gravitation is not owned by me in any way, shape or form. It'd be funnier, but I'm lazy.
Warnings: It is short. 228 words. More is not always more.
Author's Notes: Nunya.
My writing is – and probably always will be – my way to express emotions that I am incapable of feeling.
I like the sensation of the keys under my fingertips, the chance to create and destroy without being held accountable for any of the actions taken. It's the perfect balance.
The Brat says that what I do in here isn't healthy and I know that he's referring to the cigarettes and beer, but I don't think that he'd understand even if I wanted to explain it to him. It's my release, how I'm able to unleash my frustration and anger in a way that saves my ears from the ear-splitting cries of anguish that would follow taking it out on the Brat.
…Of course, I suppose it works that way with everything. The anger, the frustration…the joy. Not that I'd ever admit to such a ridiculous notion…at least out loud. I'm not entirely stupid. That's his job. I know that, in the end, there are no happy-ever-afters. Just like in my novels -- desperate housewives all but maim each other in order to secure a copy; I never understood it. In the end, there's always a bittersweet death, a losing of what my characters hold most dear.
I'm sure it will be the same with him, and still I write, attempting to find a happy medium.
…Whatever that is.