Katie Taylor

2/21/07

Essay 1

Of Fragments and Chaos

Fragments.

That's all that was left—fragments. Fragments and mental fabrication—vivid illusions of reality. Or was it illusions of unreality? Was it all just envisaged for some kind of escape or self-preservation? A deception to fool herself into believing all was right and she wasn't tainted? No, though—she knew the answer already. Knew it wasn't for her own benefit that she found herself alone in some desolate, grey wasteland, ravished and dead of life—frozen and deathly still for an eternity. No, the answer to her wintry hell was right before her.

Punishment.

Damnation.

Penance.

Guilty by pleasure.

Stirred by sin.

Ruled by vindictiveness, spite.

Broken by love, passion.

Conquered by retribution.

Composed by fragments.

She breathed in, the frigid air burning her esophagus. Memories came, albeit unwanted, swift and powerful—suffocating and haunting. Memories of a past not so long ago; memories that sucked her in, eddying her around years long past—so many memories she wished to discard, but hold tightly onto all at once. Contradictions and oxymoron's—she knew them all too well; they made up her life… An exasperated sigh escaped her, a puff of white emanating from her mouth. So many memories, fragmented and broken, but overpowering—anger, happiness, forbidden, sinful pleasures, love, abandonment, hatred, spite, chaos…

So much chaos—formidable, dominating, destructive…it had rampaged everywhere, destroyed everything. She remembered…remembered so vividly the events that had transpired. It was like a distant dream, but still so extremely vivid, so…so… She wasn't entirely sure and didn't fancy caring. Caring wasn't for people like her, not after… But no, she was already numb and cold to almost all feeling now. Had been since that day… Oh, she remembered it so and hated it fervently. A swelling anger, the only real feeling, emotion, she possessed—a blazing inferno; it never did anything to thaw the coldness stretching throughout her person. So unlike how she used to be—a dreamer, always fantasizing and believing in Fairytales and Faeries, impulsive and subjugated by whims, full of emotion, life; restrained, though, by the people around her…

"Whimsical—it's what you are."

She remembered the day he told her that. The very same day hell reigned and a dark bitterness, a treacherous hate and anger manifested into something… something wild and unstoppable, rampant. She had been waiting for him at Luna's Café, a serene little place overlooking the city; they were to have lunch. She had been waiting, staring off at the people surrounding her, chin resting in her small hand, her mind elsewhere. Off in her world of Faeries, Elves, Gorgons, and other fabulous and horrifying creatures when he had come up to her, surprising her with his words. When she had asked what he meant he had merely looked at her with enigmatic green eyes before asking for the menu, ordering a coffee cappuccino. A soft breeze, carrying flower buds from the nearby trees and sweet fragrances, had been present that day, ruffling her auburn tresses—she barely remembered what a breeze felt like anymore. It was always so still, so cold, where she was prisoner.

The day had appeared perfect. Why she hadn't recognized his off behavior she didn't know. Maybe it was ignorance that had hid what was right there in front of her, naiveté. Should have recognized the signs, known something was off when he gently brushed a stray curl from her face, ran his thumb over her pale lips, caressed her cheek softly—a fleeting touch lasting only a second. Should have questioned him further after he gently kissed the side of her mouth, the usual gusto gone, and lingered for a second, nuzzled the side of her face, breathed in her soft, sweet scent before pulling away, an odd look in his eyes. Shouldn't have let it go so easily, but pressed when he whispered in his beautiful dialect, his accent causing her stomach to flutter.

"It's nothing, querida.Somente o inadiável."

However, she hadn't. She had smiled, quipped something quirky, and turned to call for the waitress. There had still been time to go to the park, rest beneath the large weeping willow by the pond; the grass would have been cool and soft that time of the year. When she had turned back to him, however, her brow had knitted, panic seizing her heart. His seat was empty, the wind flickering up the edge of his crisp napkin every now and then. By it, a loose napkin had been caught and carried with the wind, landing on her hand. She had only stared at it, her heart stopping, her world crumbling.

"Fairytales aren't real. The time's come to stop pretending," had been scrawled across it in neat, dainty cursive. It wasn't signed, but she knew. Everything had been in perfect clarity at that moment. She had let the napkin escape her and drift away, being carried down to the magnificent city below. Her eyes had followed, staring blankly at the metropolis, numb to all things around her…only anger…

"Hell hath no fury…" she had whispered, letting her anger grow and swell—quickly and passionately, wild and uncontrollable. The wind had picked up and the sky had grown dark. And that was when chaos started.

Watching and listening, her fury washed the city in hell. She had watched and listened as the city burnt and crumbled, mayhem spread, buildings collapsed, and screams filled the darkened day. She watched the trams, long vehicles dotted with lights shining through the windows, fall from the rails, gravity pulling the large machines to crash into the city below. The streets were painted crimson and catastrophe wrecked the city, shaking its foundation. Horror had filled the screams, and still she didn't stop. She had wanted them to hurt, wanted them to hurt like she hurt—wanted him to hurt. And somewhere, out there in all the madness and bedlam, she knew he was there. Dead or alive—she didn't know, far too enraged to care.

The wind had violently whipped at her, her hair becoming tangled as it grew darker—

She inhaled sharply, recoiling from the memory. Her hands balled into fists, nails digging into her flesh and cutting it. None of that mattered anymore. That was long past and she wasn't the same person. She wasn't the sweet and whimsical girl that dreamed of Fairyland anymore where the Elves, Faeries, and Gryphons lived… no, she lived there now, damned to the wintry Wastelands with frozen grounds, dead trees, horrid monsters. The hollow shell of the girl, her mind and thoughts were broken—fragmented. Still though, her hatred was there; she continued to dig her fingernails into her skin, blood dripping and staining the grey-white ground.

A breeze blew her blackened locks, her brow slowly furrowed; her anger was still present. The bleak grey sky slowly turned dark. She raised her head, eyes closed. The wind howled, and she knew. She opened her eyes, once blue but now swirling pools of black, and slowly turned her head to look behind her. The dark was gathering. Chaos was here.


A/N- This is AFTER I revised and tried to decrease the word count... It was still over a 1000, but still sent in... You can tell me which version you like better.