SnootchyBootchykins
08-13-07, 09:26 PM
{conditionally open. Contact me if you're interested, or wait for me to contact you. ^_~}
Will you guide me now for I can't see
a reason for the suffering and this long misery
What if every living soul could be upright and strong?
Well then I do imagine...
There will be (sorrow)
Yeah there will be (sorrow)
And there will be sorrow no more
Bad Religion - Sorrow
When I was a child, my mother helped foster my love for fantasy. She decorated my room with unicorns, from my pillowcase and curtains to posters on the wall and tiny figurines along the top of my dresser. My ceiling fan blades were painted like a starry sky, the light bulb cover had a small sticker stuck to the middle of it of a castle nestled among clouds. The stuffed animals that littered my bed were dragons and pegasi, my first doll was given to me around Halloween time and dressed as a witch. My picture books were of fairies and mermaids, and she read to me from books that were full of imagination. She would tell me often that anything was possible, that mountains could be moved, seas traversed and stars plucked from the sky if only enough faith and effort were put into the deed. Loretta Jean was a woman of great imagination and determination and a pillar of strength and beauty.
My greatest regret is that I could not see that truth when she had lain dying and pleading my forgiveness.
Me. Who am I that anything I could ever have to say would have been enough to take away that pain? I wasn't nearly as amazing as she was and yet there she was, pleading for me to understand her heaviest burden when it came to me. Truths had been revealed, and I, the rebellious teenage idiot, had thrown them back in her face. The anger that was present then still burns now, and I trace my regrets in so many ways. On paper, on skin, on the world around me; this all is my canvas. It's these little arts that support me: the stories that no one will ever really read, the songs that go unheard and the paintings that never see the light of day. This world, Althanas, is my true home. Sure enough as I am merely a visitor to the places I have walked on earth, I did not create this place. It was waiting for me in a dark hour, an amusement turned addiction. Names and avatars on a page turned into family, my scars faded as I found things more poignant to pour my soul into.
Now I stood here, in the very place that I had so longed to walk on. The grasses of a Coronian field were cool and soft under my feet, bare of my worn and muddy work boots for the moment. A stream babbled nearby, speaking to the rocks it crashed it's way around, cutting deep into a ravine until it disappeared completely into some small cavern system. The water that had cleansed my body so recently that drops of moister beaded on it's mangled surface had places to go. It flowed much more easily than I, laying along the bank with my dark, dull eyes skyward. My hands were nearly crossed, one resting with it's fingertips tracing a small scar on my upper thigh, the other set solidly on the opposite forearm. Here, the scars were a map, some streets deeper, some older, some number. They didn't lead to any city, but a place where I had been so long ago, and wished never to return. They were a warning, so strongly in my head, of how easily it was to fall into a place where most emo-kids only wished they had the courage to traverse.
I had once needed blood as surely as I had shed it in the far reaches of Corone. My hand curled around the prize I'd gained for my valiant efforts. The thought still makes me sick. Valiant efforts? My motives had all been selfish, and yet, there had been praise for heroism afterwards. I was no Princess Charming, no White Knight come to save the world and live happily ever after. How could I have been so foolish to forget the most important thing about this entire ordeal? I was indeed in a place where anything was possible, but despite the place, I was still me. They say that Paris is the city of lovers, but were I ever to go, I know that I would leave as alone as I had arrived. What did Setting have to do with anything when such a sad Persona as I walked among it?
My thoughts were disturbing the beauty of the place I lay. They were a poison, and I had come to know poisons well lately. There had been a pool I crossed the day before that had seemed so clear and inviting. I drank from it, finding peace in the fact that no animal tracks were along the muddy banks. It meant, surely, that there was no threat of a predator near if a wolf or boar's feet had not come near this place. I have always thought myself a fool. It wasn't until the night's sleep interrupted by fits of cough and my hands pooled with dark spots that I realized that I should have found anything but peace from the stagnant waters. The worst of it was that I should have known better. Yet, after my ordeals and travel, thirst got the better of me. Foolish and weak. My thoughts turned darker by the moment as I stared at the darkening sky. Soon the stars would be out, the cicadas chirruping in songs that were little more than annoying to human ears. Sleep would come, and I knew as surely as my wheezing breath had caused me to stop the day's march towards the small port town of Kaer Kella, that with the dawn I would not wake.
Always wear clean underwear in case you're hit by a bus....
The thought assaulted me at once, though I couldn't remember where I'd read the line from. Somewhere in high school, where I'd groaned and laughed with the rest of my friends about it. I could barely remember it now, looking over to see Nicole caught somewhere between embarrassment at the idea of underwear and amusement at the idea of someone dead caring about skidmarks. I let my head roll to the side, where my clothes were laid out on large boulders, still wet and heavy with the water I'd washed them in. I was dying, and I stretched my fingers out to where my panties were just out of reach. Did I have the strength to get up and go get them? No. Did I really want wet, freezing cotton on my fat ass right now? No. Instead of obeying that creed of honor I had remembered from years ago, I closed my eyes, and smiled. I was in Corone. I was in Althanas. At least I would die where I belonged, instead of some corner of America where my death would only be met with indifference. Here, at least, my body would feed the vultures that might one day be written into a friend's quest.
As another coughing fit came, this time my lungs too weak to really oblige it, I felt regret that I had never found the best of my friends in my time here. I had been looking forward to tormenting Godhand, pinching Victor's ass, having a Screaming Orgasm or a Redheaded Slut with Natalya and maybe, just maybe, finding some way back to Elena or Laurea where I could be by Jennifer's side in some small way. The thoughts of these characters, and especially the people who wrote them, made me smile. Sleep came peacefully, and as always, a little by surprise. From awake, to the dreaming, without ever really knowing what happened. I can honestly say that I died in my sleep, without pain.
It was a more generous end than had been given to my mother.
Will you guide me now for I can't see
a reason for the suffering and this long misery
What if every living soul could be upright and strong?
Well then I do imagine...
There will be (sorrow)
Yeah there will be (sorrow)
And there will be sorrow no more
Bad Religion - Sorrow
When I was a child, my mother helped foster my love for fantasy. She decorated my room with unicorns, from my pillowcase and curtains to posters on the wall and tiny figurines along the top of my dresser. My ceiling fan blades were painted like a starry sky, the light bulb cover had a small sticker stuck to the middle of it of a castle nestled among clouds. The stuffed animals that littered my bed were dragons and pegasi, my first doll was given to me around Halloween time and dressed as a witch. My picture books were of fairies and mermaids, and she read to me from books that were full of imagination. She would tell me often that anything was possible, that mountains could be moved, seas traversed and stars plucked from the sky if only enough faith and effort were put into the deed. Loretta Jean was a woman of great imagination and determination and a pillar of strength and beauty.
My greatest regret is that I could not see that truth when she had lain dying and pleading my forgiveness.
Me. Who am I that anything I could ever have to say would have been enough to take away that pain? I wasn't nearly as amazing as she was and yet there she was, pleading for me to understand her heaviest burden when it came to me. Truths had been revealed, and I, the rebellious teenage idiot, had thrown them back in her face. The anger that was present then still burns now, and I trace my regrets in so many ways. On paper, on skin, on the world around me; this all is my canvas. It's these little arts that support me: the stories that no one will ever really read, the songs that go unheard and the paintings that never see the light of day. This world, Althanas, is my true home. Sure enough as I am merely a visitor to the places I have walked on earth, I did not create this place. It was waiting for me in a dark hour, an amusement turned addiction. Names and avatars on a page turned into family, my scars faded as I found things more poignant to pour my soul into.
Now I stood here, in the very place that I had so longed to walk on. The grasses of a Coronian field were cool and soft under my feet, bare of my worn and muddy work boots for the moment. A stream babbled nearby, speaking to the rocks it crashed it's way around, cutting deep into a ravine until it disappeared completely into some small cavern system. The water that had cleansed my body so recently that drops of moister beaded on it's mangled surface had places to go. It flowed much more easily than I, laying along the bank with my dark, dull eyes skyward. My hands were nearly crossed, one resting with it's fingertips tracing a small scar on my upper thigh, the other set solidly on the opposite forearm. Here, the scars were a map, some streets deeper, some older, some number. They didn't lead to any city, but a place where I had been so long ago, and wished never to return. They were a warning, so strongly in my head, of how easily it was to fall into a place where most emo-kids only wished they had the courage to traverse.
I had once needed blood as surely as I had shed it in the far reaches of Corone. My hand curled around the prize I'd gained for my valiant efforts. The thought still makes me sick. Valiant efforts? My motives had all been selfish, and yet, there had been praise for heroism afterwards. I was no Princess Charming, no White Knight come to save the world and live happily ever after. How could I have been so foolish to forget the most important thing about this entire ordeal? I was indeed in a place where anything was possible, but despite the place, I was still me. They say that Paris is the city of lovers, but were I ever to go, I know that I would leave as alone as I had arrived. What did Setting have to do with anything when such a sad Persona as I walked among it?
My thoughts were disturbing the beauty of the place I lay. They were a poison, and I had come to know poisons well lately. There had been a pool I crossed the day before that had seemed so clear and inviting. I drank from it, finding peace in the fact that no animal tracks were along the muddy banks. It meant, surely, that there was no threat of a predator near if a wolf or boar's feet had not come near this place. I have always thought myself a fool. It wasn't until the night's sleep interrupted by fits of cough and my hands pooled with dark spots that I realized that I should have found anything but peace from the stagnant waters. The worst of it was that I should have known better. Yet, after my ordeals and travel, thirst got the better of me. Foolish and weak. My thoughts turned darker by the moment as I stared at the darkening sky. Soon the stars would be out, the cicadas chirruping in songs that were little more than annoying to human ears. Sleep would come, and I knew as surely as my wheezing breath had caused me to stop the day's march towards the small port town of Kaer Kella, that with the dawn I would not wake.
Always wear clean underwear in case you're hit by a bus....
The thought assaulted me at once, though I couldn't remember where I'd read the line from. Somewhere in high school, where I'd groaned and laughed with the rest of my friends about it. I could barely remember it now, looking over to see Nicole caught somewhere between embarrassment at the idea of underwear and amusement at the idea of someone dead caring about skidmarks. I let my head roll to the side, where my clothes were laid out on large boulders, still wet and heavy with the water I'd washed them in. I was dying, and I stretched my fingers out to where my panties were just out of reach. Did I have the strength to get up and go get them? No. Did I really want wet, freezing cotton on my fat ass right now? No. Instead of obeying that creed of honor I had remembered from years ago, I closed my eyes, and smiled. I was in Corone. I was in Althanas. At least I would die where I belonged, instead of some corner of America where my death would only be met with indifference. Here, at least, my body would feed the vultures that might one day be written into a friend's quest.
As another coughing fit came, this time my lungs too weak to really oblige it, I felt regret that I had never found the best of my friends in my time here. I had been looking forward to tormenting Godhand, pinching Victor's ass, having a Screaming Orgasm or a Redheaded Slut with Natalya and maybe, just maybe, finding some way back to Elena or Laurea where I could be by Jennifer's side in some small way. The thoughts of these characters, and especially the people who wrote them, made me smile. Sleep came peacefully, and as always, a little by surprise. From awake, to the dreaming, without ever really knowing what happened. I can honestly say that I died in my sleep, without pain.
It was a more generous end than had been given to my mother.