It carries me that way, because it must. A steal trap that plays dance music and trundles past the pretty fields.1
Some kind of destiny found in routine. Turning a corner we can see a flock of rooks rise from some trees and call to one another. But I’m the only one who notices, and wonders what disturbed them.2
And there it is, morning light and the sun barely up, the sky is cloud clad but still you’ll always see it through the gloom.3
The heat from too many bodies in too small a space has made the wet clothes, soaked from morning mist try to shed their load. The hallways stink of sweat and sick. The hallway smells of children, and I can sympathise with Roald Dahl’s witches.4
Several small bits of paper seem to be hitting the back of my head, but I can close my eyes and imagine they’re stones if I want to. I can imagine that its anything and still turn around in anger. 5
In waves half uniformed they seem to shimmer past, in the heat. The mirage at their feet from the puddles they trod in.6
But it’s not long now until the bell rings for the day.7
Looking up, I see her sat there, watching me from the empty plastic seat in front of me. With her broken eyes she is watching me watch her.8
She is wet from the mist of high mountains; her hair hangs limp and dark around her shoulders. Her lips are cracked and bleeding. There is a cut upon her forehead that is bleeding into the old scars where her eyes used to be. This the evidence of her struggles, as she fought to find herself facing me, surrounded by books and children.9
The noise from the corridors swells, as classes move.10
She leans in; her hair swings forward to drip on my page. She whispers, gently "I gave this eye to the crow upon the gallows tree, so that I might see the dead." She points to the left socket.11
"I gave this eye, to my lover, in the hope that he might find me beautiful." She points to the right.12
"An eye for an eye and we shall all be blind." I told her.13
She met my gaze with sightless acknowledgement.14
"Ghandi," she nods, "not Jesus."15
Silence, and across my minds eye an empty corridor, dusty with a single sheaf of paper making its slow way down through the air.16
"Did you see what she was wearing?"17
"This morning?"18
"All that black! Does she think she’s some kind of witch?"19
"Like in the craft?"20
"Like she could be so cool."21
"Don’t we all wear black?"22
"Yes, but we have to. And its not what she wears, it’s the she wears it, so Black."23
"Of course she wears it black, it is black."24
"She believes in fairies."25
"Fairies?"26
"Heard her talking to herself once. I asked her who she was talking to. She said Fairies."27
"But fairies?"28
"Fairies."29
"Hmm."30
She smiles at the stylistic image, and I see her lips are bleeding, not because they are cold and dry as I had originally thought, but because she had just ripped open a seam meant to keep her quiet.31
"They said I saw too much, and shouldn’t be allowed to speak of it." She shrugs, sensing my distress. "But how many senses am I supposed to give up for enlightenment?"32
Her face was quickly becoming a horror of blood, what with the cut above her eyes and the increased agitation of the wounds around her lips. A quick glance at the rest of the room shows me that no one else is much bothered by her appearance.33
"What have you seen?"34
"Nothing in a long while. I’m blind, or hadn’t you noticed?" She smiled at her irony and did not stem the flow of blood that ran down her chin.35
She looked as though she had glutted herself on blood, some silver screen vampire sat there, tormenting me with her lack of insight. Her teeth too were covered in blood.36
I handed her a tissue I’d had in my pocket for too long. And I almost imagine that she blinks in acceptance as her cold hand reached out to take it from mine.37
There’s a little boy in the corner, and he’s crying because he doesn’t want to be here. He wants his childhood to be summer, trees, and fields that fly away when you walk through them.38
He knows this winter school life is just another injustice but today it seems the only injustice. And he’ll do anything to make his grievances known. Because the world owes this boy everything, though he’ll never admit it he’s fully prepared to do anything to get all he deserves. No matter what the cost to other people.39
She shakes her head; his tears clear in a malicious grin.40
"She’s a fucking slut!"41
"Aye, I’d bet she’d sell it."42
"Go on, ask her how much it is."43
"Yeah, I bet she works down by the docks."44
"Go on, ask her how much it is"45
"Bet she’s over priced"46
"I thought you said she was gay?"47
"I did."48
"Well, then why would she sell it to men?"49
"What are you talking about? Don’t be so stupid."50
"Go on, ask her how much it is."51
The seat is left wet where she was, there’s water stains in my ink and blood on the page. But she is gone.52
Gone to see the world with sightless eyes. And gone, no doubt to seek the unfaithful lover and see if he still had her eye.53
Author notes
Yes... well this was written kind of as a general summation of my school life, it was going to be a school day, but I ran out of time and I'm now no longer at school so didn't much want to dwell on it.
I want to know if its cliched or not, I want to know the effect it had on you.
What did you think? Please comment!
Comments
1 - 10 of 10
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neato. Sure shows that everyone is inasne. I enjoyed your discriptions.
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oohh. . . speechless. I lovelovelove it. It was like watching a horror movie where they're showing the shot of whoever went insane (like the little girl in the Ring) and you can see or imagine every detail of their face?? This was just like that, in every good way possible. I loved this line, if possible more than the whole story;
The seat is left wet where she was, there’s water stains in my ink and blood on the page. But she is gone.
Very very excellent write. I will promote this for a couple clicks when I get enough points up.
A. M. Adrian -
I think my brain exploded while I was reading this. It was great and I think there was a metaphor in there. Nice job and keep writing.
By and By
Evy -
thanks for the corrections, I've done what felt was necassary, I kept the Ghandi quote for personal reasons...
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not what she wears but the way she wears it- I like that line, and the last two are brilliant! Nice job with this story! I will be interested to see you in the feature box again!
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good, needs work
Hello... some things to fix...
Turning a corner we can see a flock or rooks rise...
--I think it's "of" you were looking for?
The hallway smells of children, and I can sympathise with Roald Dahl’s witches.
-- spell check 'sympatise' and 'Roald Dahl'
Several small bit of paper seem to be hitting the back of my head...
-small bits... as you did say several
"An eye for an eye and we shall all be blind." I told her.
She met my gaze with sightless acknowledgement.
"Ghandi," she nods, "not Jesus."
-- Ghandi's quote is "An eye for an eye makes the world go blind"
Silence, and across my minds eye an empty corridor, dusty with a single sheaf of paper making its slow way down through the air.
-- this sentence is a little strange... rephrasing could help a little...
She smiled at her irony and did not stem...
--seem?
Her teeth too were covered in blood
-- should be Her teeth were also... unless you add commas instead
This is a beautiful line:
There’s a little boy in the corner, and he’s crying because he doesn’t want to be here. He wants his childhood to be summer, trees, and fields that fly away when you walk through them.
This piece, with corrections is gold. Even the spelling mistakes say that this is an original that came spilling purely out of the moment. Change the spelling, and it's perfect.
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great
I know that girl.I am her.Good job. -
Thanks Tina, for pointing out the typos- I hate it when you can read through a peice over and over again, but because you know what it should say, you miss the mistakes...
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I will comment as I read. I felt the story really began to intrigue me once you described Her and how she leaned over and then the dialouge that followed thereafter.
In the line "seam meant to keep her quite," you mean "quiet?" as in silent? Seems so in the context of how the sentence is worded.
Reading on...In this line "The seat is left we where she was," I am thinking "we" is a typo and something else was supposed to be there, as is it just doesn't make sense read that way, to me.
This wasn't cliche at all, at least not the way you told it. The descriptions are strong and fresh and visually appealing and I enjoyed the read.
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I dunno, it's kinda hard for me to comment on this... certain things from school obviously ring true for me [ surprisingly] lol and it had some rather pretty imagery... in fact i think i liked it almost a lot better than the reality of school, the pain is more subtle, more a kind of dull ache but i could feel the pain in this in places, it was a weird and lovely mix of fact and fantasy...
Adding your comment:
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