|close your eyes and fall backwards
Author: brittle hearts PM
She has never loved him. Not really.Rated: Fiction T - English - Angst/Romance - Words: 1,253 - Reviews: 17 - Favs: 14 - Follows: 1 - Published: 11-06-07 - Status: Complete - id: 2435169
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
Author's Notes: Poetry-like, only not. Bunch of gibberish if you choose to think so, but only if you choose to think so. Reviews will be cherished and replied to.
Now, she wishes she had. Maybe. A friend's death isn't that much, because we're all going to die, anyway.
His body is cremated and his ashes are scattered across a sea. Never would've wanted it to end that way. He was more of a sky person.
Chlorine water, salt water, bubble water, water. Any type of water, as long as she can float on it. Like those yellow styrofoam floats for beginners who kick their legs frantically to keep moving forward. Lying on her back, stretching her arms out till they're sore and sunburnt.
And then there's the drowning.
Three years old – she drowned once. Lost a shoe, a bright red shoe with a lovely ribbon atop. Like a cherry on a cupcake. It was a refreshing experience, and he ruined it all by dragging her ashore, wet dress and all. Scrawny little thing, he was. Dirty dark hair, clear blue eyes that made him look blind. Maybe he was blind, after all.
Blind to the colors in the world, blind to the pale pink of her lips, blind to the faint brown freckles showered across her shoulders, blind to her scraggly almost colorless white-blond hair, blind to her brown irises.
Flying is not a dream. She's always been afraid of heights. He took her on a ferris wheel once, and she threw up on him halfway. He took her to the top of a tower once, and she clutched his arms till her knuckles protruded white. He took her to the top of a mountain once, and she held a knife to his neck while threatening to slit his throat if they didn't go back down.
He had always loved soaring above everyone else.
Hair billowing out with white shirt, always white, never others. Because he can't tell, anyway. Arms stretched out wide, slightly pushing his shoulder blades in. She saw him half-naked once, and she saw his wings. Clipped and small, frail and ugly to most, two small bits of flesh hanging from his back helplessly, uselessly.
They are the most beautiful things she's ever seen in her entire life.
But then again, every inch of him is breathtaking. She doesn't love him, not at all, but she will admit that he is unlike any other. Glowing, sort of. Not an angel glow. More like, the moon when it shines through her window on nights when he's not around.
Sheets are white.
Walls were white once, faded to grey. She asks her walls – don't all things fade to white?
He doesn't answer her, doesn't encircle her waist loosely with a single arm, doesn't whisper the answer into her ear, breath against skin.
She decides to take a bath.
Flicker once twice thrice stagnation. Mom hasn't fixed the light yet, but Mom never comes home anymore. Not with the new boyfriend who has a big car, big house, big bank account, big everything. Doesn't have a pool though – can't really win her over without that. Cookies aren't her sort of thing. Even if they have marshmallow bits in them, like the ones he made for her birthday every year.
Hmm, no more disfigured marshmallow cookies.
They tasted so bad, anyway.
She steps into the tub, fully clothed. The water is cold at first, then warm, then scalding. A slight wince, a hand snaking out quickly to turn the tap towards the other end. No, more the middle. Her hair is more blond than usual in the white bathroom. Little strands reaching out in the water, swaying softly.
He is in the water with her, dark hair blue eyes fair skin unsmiling face –
Are you lonely? she asks, not really determined to get an answer out of him. Ghostly him, but then again he's always been somewhat of a ghost to her. Winged ghost. He just stares, like always.
She gets a sense of déjà vu. They've done this before. Same bath-tub, same white tiles, same blinding bright light.
Arms trapping her against the wall, knees on the bottom of the bath-tub, lips close.
Cold breath against her neck, wet fingers on her throat.
You are, she giggles; more bubbles. Translucent blue, unchanging. He is constant, she is not.
Straightening up, she puts her arms around his neck, fingers winding into each other. Doesn't really touch him, they never really touch.
Do you want me to go with you? Another question, faint pink chapped lips whispering whispering.
He shuts his eyes and brings her down gently, caressing her spine, her long platinum locks.
When she opens hers, she sees more white. Detergent?
It's the hospital.
Mom and Boyfriend are outside, talking to the doctor. He sits on her bed, hardly forming an imprint in the mattress. Life is still boring, she doesn't deny.
She takes his hand and climbs onto the window ledge. Stealthy as always, like the time they used to play Robbers and Victories. Always the robber, always the victor. He is on the ledge with her, hugging her waist, spreading his wings.
Is this how you died? she asks him, smiling.
He doesn't answer, his wings shiver slightly.
Life is boring.
Morning, afternoon. Mid-morning, then. The wind is strong.
She knows what to do, because he left her a guidebook on how to fly.
When she gets over the height phobia.
Different kinds, different species.
He turns her slightly, teetering along the edge. Feet hurt from the metal on the ledge. Doesn't matter. Her pajamas is too long for her – hinders her movement a little. He doesn't express any irritation, because he never does.
She leans back into his chest.
Never loved him, not one second, not a single heartbeat.
They stuck around, because they had no one else. Bird and fish, out of sky out of water on land, land, more land. United in differences, perhaps. She doesn't know, doesn't care. When she's dead, will she get to play in water?
Mom is coming back in, just in time.
What do I do now? she teases him, maybe she's not going to go with him in the end –
Oh, who is she kidding? He never succumbs. Always wins.
Calm, soothing, emotionless voice in her left ear. Icy cold whisper, yet so comfortable, so familiar.
Step One: Close your eyes, and fall backwards.