Music-Hearted's Stories

Letting Go

2008-07-06T03:47:40Z

There are colors in my vision; colors which don’t exist, because I am drowning in clear water. I sort of notice that the last particles of air are being squeezed from my lungs, because there are bubbles floating upwards, up to the imaginary colors.

I don’t care.

Three words that mean the exact opposite of what is being said. I mean, when you say “I don’t care”, you normally do care. You feel some emotion about what happened; anger, disappointment,
confusion, whatever. Anything but disregard.

It occurs to me as I start seeing tunnel vision that I haven’t done anything in life worth caring about. That I am able to completely let go of my life because it meant nothing to anybody, including myself.

And the last thing I think as I fall deeper and deeper under is I don’t care.

Experimental Ficlet No. 18

2008-07-06T00:38:07Z

......it’s like she’s been permanently painted in my brain…....

Ineffective

2008-07-03T17:23:41Z

I think I’m ineffective.

Every punch that I throw winds up as a dagger in my heart.

Every word that I write is twisted into a club

And used to bash my pride in (again).

Easy Listening.

Elevators and offices, small talk and weak coffee.

But I have no interest for

Repetitive rhythms and meaningless lyrics.

Teach me how to accept: I know only of stereotypes and skepticism.

The Funeral Boy [Hauntingly Beautiful Challenge]

2008-06-27T19:18:54Z

Her lips looked lovely; this was because they had been sewn shut.

She had no deathly pallor, laying in the open coffin, surrounded by white roses. They painted her lips and gave her skin a lovely glow. She looked about my age.

I know all the coroner’s tricks. I’d grown up running around the Funeral Home, a young boy chasing balls and toys between clumps of the grieving.

I used to think that the constant atmosphere of death had made me immune to it. A funeral was a funeral; people died. Part of life.

A draft blew into the church, winding through the aisles, up to where she slept in peace, surrounded by candles. In one moment, they were all blown out.

It hit me all at once. This was a tragedy. A life lost, another flame snuffed out before it even had a chance to burn. Every funeral I’d attended, every corpse I had glimpsed, came rushing back to me in that split second.

I threw my head into my hands and sobbed, a lost little boy in a church. I didn’t stop until long after the congregation left.

When Is It Enough?

2008-06-12T04:24:33Z

It’s hard to separate the two “me’s” now. There’s “Before You” and “After You”, but the two have become like one. You’re never truly gone. My memories of you, your influence, your power over me, have fused these two together; one soul, one heart, one mind, instilled with your very being.

This is an outlet. If I spill these thoughts, if I bleed enough onto paper, can I get your essence out of my blood?

When will it be enough? When will I have suffered enough, written enough, cried enough, let go of enough that you will be gone, once and for all? I’m trying to find that breaking point, the place where I’ve had enough of you, and I can actually let you go. The place where you cease to exist within my words, my thoughts, my writing, my heart.

I’m still looking for it. When is it enough?

Fight or Flight [Horror Challenge/ Make Your Own Challenge]

2008-06-09T21:16:35Z

“It’s no use running, love!” He cackled madly. “You can’t escape!” She could make out the noise of his stumbling on the creaky floors over that of her own panicked breath. The door couldn’t hide her for long…

“Remember when I said…” Pause. Something cracked, and she stifled a sob of terror. He caught his breath and continued. “-That we would be together forever?” She looked around the room wildly; could the window function as an escape route? No, too high; could she blockade the door? Everything heavy was bolted down…

His drunk footsteps grew closer. ”...well, I meant it… we’ll never really be apart…” Weapons, weapons, weapons… she would not be a damsel in distress!

The door creaked open, and she nearly cried out. Now there were mere inches between she and him. Fight for flight.

She grabbed a lamp and stepped out from behind the door.

Right-Hand Man

2008-06-08T17:07:53Z

I guess it’s persistence that pays off in the end.

That little voice in your head that talks you out of every dark hole. The one that acts as your right-hand man and picks you up from the dirt, dusts you off and sends you on your merry way.

But the right-hand man can always turn his back on you.

Rage [Out of Order Challenge]

2008-06-07T02:42:03Z

“So what are you gonna do?” Andrew asked. “I bet you could take him on. You’re strong and stuff.”

“I don’t know, okay? I don’t know.” Jake crossed his arms. Someone laughed, and he looked up quickly.

Brady and his friends loomed ahead of them, their grins almost as big as their necks. Jake swallowed and walked up to them, faking confidence. “What do you want?” he said. His voice was loud and angry- it surprised both of them.

Brady looked taken aback for a split second. “I want us to settle this like men,” he said. ”’Course, I don’t know if you can do that-”

“Good,” Jake said, cutting him off. “Let’s get this over with. But tell them to back off. This is between you and me.” He was running on pure adrenaline now, the words spilling out of his mouth foreign but familiar.

“Fine,” Brady said. “You heard him, guys. I’ll find you later.” Knowing glances. “So, would you rather I just punched you, or-”

Jake threw the first punch, and five years of rage spilled out through his fist.

Watch Out [Out-of-Order Challenge]

2008-06-07T02:19:19Z

Jake could feel their eyes following him in the hall, like they always did. Only a week left, he told himself. Next year he would be a senior, and everything would change…

He looked pointedly at his shoes as he shuffled to his locker, trying to exchange his books quickly. “Hey, Jack,” somebody called loudly. He winced. Not fast enough.

Brady crashed against his locker, blocking Jake’s way. “It’s Jake,” he mumbled. Brady’s beady eyes widened.

“Okay, then, Jake,” he sneered. His cronies snickered. “Well, I heard that you was flirting with Katie the other day. And you know what? I really don’t like guys who hit on my girl.”

Jake sidestepped in an attempt to get away from him. Brady blocked his way again. “Nothing happened,” Jake murmured. His voice was strange in comparison to Brady’s loud one. “I didn’t do anything. She hit on me-”

Brady laughed loudly. “Oh, right, man. I’m really going to believe your word over my girl’s.” He grinned. “We’ll see, man. Watch out.”

Didn't Mean It [Out-of-Order Challenge]

2008-06-07T02:02:19Z

“I didn’t mean it,” Jake mumbled. “I-I didn’t-”

“Fine, man! It doesn’t matter, let’s just get the hell out of here!” Andrew pulled on his friend’s arm in vain- Jake didn’t move.

“We should… get him to a hospital,” Jake stuttered, staring blindly at the body in front of him. There was blood on his hands… there was blood on his hands.

“No hospitals,” Andrew said quickly. “Hospitals ask questions. Look, soon the cops are gonna show up, and-” He stopped abruptly, his face draining of color. “Sirens,” he hissed. “Look, man, I’m going!” He hesitated briefly before turning and running out into the streets.

Jake stayed frozen to the spot. “I’m sorry,” he whispered.” Red and blue lights lit up the walls around him. Lit up the corpse.

He stood still as two officers ran out of the car and grabbed him. He mumbled incoherently as they shackled him, reading off words that had never applied to him until today.

“I didn’t mean it.” His breath fogged up the window of the police car.

Futures

2008-05-18T17:17:15Z

My career councilor, Ms. Brunne, leans back against her chair and fixes her beady brown eyes on mine.

“So, dear,” she starts. “It’s about time we started talking about career options. What are you good at?”

What am I good at? Well, let me think, Ms. Brunne. According to my mother, I’m good at styling hair. According to my father, I’m good at screwing things up. I guess that means I can either be a hairstylist or a screw up.

“I don’t know,” I mumble, instead. “I’m on the track team…”

Ms. Brunne’s face takes on a motherly quality. “Well, dear, I hardly think that being a professional athlete is something you should aspire to be. Weren’t you in Business Club, freshman year? Before it went under?”

I wince. I only joined Business Club because I had a crush on one of the captains. “Um, yeah, I was, but-”

She cuts me off. “Great. We’re making some progress. Next time we’ll talk about business-related careers for you.”

I smile and nod. Thus, somebody else’s future begins to become my own.

Finale [This is Just to Say- Apology Challenge]

2008-04-27T00:50:04Z

I throw my last possession into my bag, and my last picture of you into the trash can.

My breathing is staggered; Perhaps this is a regular occurrence for one who is about to padlock another’s heart. The key itself is soon to be lodged deep within, painfully jagged and icy. You won’t understand, but it’s for the best.

Yes, I realize I’m throwing this all away. I am running away from you, from the past, from the future, from myself. I’m a coward, you were right all along.

But what does one do when their love for another vanishes? When the care is still alive, but the love... very much dead?

I could say that you would want me to leave, that the truth is better than a lie of a love. But I can’t. You would want me to stay with you, to pretend. To live life like an actress. I can’t do this anymore. I can’t go on pretending, making excuses, playing someone else’s life out.

I’ve reached my conclusion. I am an actress, and life is but a show. I think, then, that this is our finale.

I’m sorry.

Getting There [OTOC's Diary Challenge]

2008-04-22T00:46:48Z

Dear Diary,

It’s getting better.

I just have this voice in my head now. That makes me sound a little insane, but I mean it. Whenever I have those thoughts, the bad ones, it goes You owe it to yourself! You owe it to your friends! You owe it to your family! An inner- guilt alarm-clock that chimes whenever it thinks I’m a danger to myself.

I’m still on the journey. I’m not there quite yet, but happiness- or maybe just peace with myself- is there in my future. It’s so vivid that I swear on my good days, I can taste it, feel it. But I can’t yet see it clearly. It’s there, waiting for me. Waiting for me to get better.

And while I’m not happy with where I’ve been emotionally, mentally; I know that everything I’ve experienced makes me who I am. Someday, in that beautiful, faraway future, I’ll look back and be glad. Glad that I was so sad for so long, so I could finally appreciate happiness when I got it.

Happy. I’m getting there.

Truly,
Me.

We're Okay

2008-04-16T00:29:11Z

“Karly, honey, I’m sorry about your brother, but he’ll come round. Now, where did you say you were, dear? I’m sorry, I was distracted… work, and all…”

Not here, I want to say. Not here. My mind is far, far away; buried in the coffin that we put Dad in today, and with Marcus as he is walking away. Marcus, my angry, expressive brother, who doesn’t understand that I’m trying so hard just to keep up the image that We’re Okay.

“I’m at the reception, Mom. It was today, remember?” I sigh. “Look, I have to go. People are staring. Bye.” I hang up and glance around my living room; the guests are only slightly ruffled by Marcus’s departure.

Mrs. Kyle walks over to me. “Oh, you poor dear. It must be so difficult to be the woman of the household at such a young age. Don’t worry about your brother, he’ll be fine.”

I smooth my hair. Smile. Flash those pearly whites, Karly! Your dad paid thousands for them! “Oh, yes,” I say. “I’ll just give him some time. He’ll be fine.”

Right.

Fading

2008-04-08T00:52:35Z

Eight months since this mirror had become her enemy. Eight months since the usual things had ceased to exist, and she had begun to live in a mirror-world.

The tank top she had once filed out hung limply from her bones. If she pulled it tight, her ribs were visible through the clinging fabric. Skinny, yes. You might say gaunt.

Not skinny enough.

Food was bad. Food meant weak, food meant guilt. She’d quit the dance studio months ago, but it didn’t matter. She had to prove it to herself. Screw the other ballerinas- they’d all be jealous when she got where she needed to be.

She’d start eating again, of course. As soon as the goal was reached. But mirrors didn’t lie, and she was nowhere near beautiful. Soon, she told herself. Soon.

But Anorexia doesn’t wait. She was withering in front of that mirror, day in and day out. Slipping away. Fading.