Light

So this is just a sketch. I think the idea is cool but I'm not sure if I'm completely satisfied with the results just yet. Please tell me what you think so I can know where I should fix it or how I can make it better. Thanks!

She held a light.

It was small, barely noticeable. But it glowed around her, illuminating the small patch of concrete she stood on. There wasn't much around, except the concrete and the light. She pulled the light closer to her chest, hoping that it wouldn't go out, because it flickered and dimmed but would then brighten. If the light went out, there would be nothing but the darkness. Nothing but the shadows.

But for now, she stood there in the light, with the fringes of the abyss reaching toward her, but still held at bay. She liked it that way. She could see the abyss, she could see the darkness, but it couldn't touch her. She was safe.

But for how long?

The light flickered again, sending little rays to push at the dark but then returning as it pulled back. It wasn't a normal kind of darkness. It didn't seem content to stay at the edges, it wanted to reach out and touch her. Reach out and pull her in. She wasn't sure if that was a good or bad thing. What would she do if it reached her? What would she do if it didn't stop until there was nothing but the black night?

She wasn't sure if she was content to simply sit there in the darkness, with nothing but the light to keep her safe. What if just this little light wasn't enough and the shadows and darkness grabbed her? She needed to move, move forward, sideways, or backwards, it didn't matter. She just needed to get away from her small slab of concrete. She needed to find her way out of the dark and into the light. Because there had to be light. She didn't know why, but she knew that there couldn't always just be dark everywhere. Somewhere, some place, there was light, and she needed to find it. It was very important.

Very. . . important. . . She took a step. The ground quivered a little bit, and the light flickered threateningly. She shivered, but didn't stop. She needed to keep moving. If she didn't move, then nothing would happen. And that was bad. Wasn't it? Her mouth felt funny, like something was different about it. It felt strange. She swallowed to make it go away, but the feeling remained. Her steps were coming faster now, and she had to keep herself from bolting forward. She needed to be careful. She didn't want to trip.

Wait. . . what was a trip? But she knew. . . she knew that tripping was when you fell. She couldn't fall. It was vital, if she fell, her light might go out. She pulled her light closer again, her heart beating frantically. The light must not go out. It must never be allowed to go out.

The sounds of her steps echoed against the blackness. Instead of swallowing it up, it seemed to bounce back at her, each step a soft thud. The girl took a deep breath, feeling something surge in her chest. It felt a little like the light, or a balloon, but inside her. She blew it out and whistled, the tune simple but sweet. It was easy to keep track of, easy to walk to, and the sound bounced off the darkness and wrapped around her. Like a blanket. She whistled louder. Her light grew brighter and the night seemed to push back a little, freeing her even more. The concrete wasn't so plain now. There were little specs of color in it, like glitter. The girl rubbed her foot along the floor, feeling the roughness, the texture. It was then that she realized that she was barefoot, the ground rough against her feet. It felt nice, and she wiggled her toes as she walked, revealing in the feeling of the ground beneath them.

The light was very bright then. It shined around her like a halo, brightening her step and sending her music floating through the air. She twisted, letting herself dance. Her feet played across the ground, sending her through the steps gracefully. She was alone, but she was free. She was beautiful. There was a silver dress that draped her frame, and it swung out as she spun. The material was soft, glistening in the brilliant light around her. She laughed, the sound breaking the darkness apart. Bits of it cracked, and the light sped into them, illuminating the area all around. There was still blackness, but the light was large, so that the girl could see a great many things around her.

The ground was no longer just concrete, but tiles, smooth and brilliant. There were cracks in it, large and jagged pieces torn up from the ground and leaving large chasms gaping in the earth. The girl paused, surprised at the ugliness the light illuminated. Her light grew smaller, the sights disappearing before her, until the light was just a small circle around her once more.

The darkness hid the torn up ground, but now she was afraid. She stopped, and stood there for a moment, clutching the light to her chest. She was afraid that it would go out, but she was also afraid of what it might show.

But then she saw the other lights. Dim, and far away, but she could see them. They were yellow, or white, far away and in the distance, but they were definitely there. Were there people in those lights? Were there others like her? She took another step forward, but was afraid to keep going. What would she find? Or would she fall into the gaping chasms around her? But. . . how could she keep going if she couldn't see?

She had to see.

“Melanie!” The voice echoed along the darkness, but the girl recognized it. “Melanie!” it was a name. It was her name. Melanie felt the light grow brighter, and she was aware of the tile beneath her feet and the dress hanging on her shoulders. It felt nice, and carefully, she pressed her lips together and sent out the little tune. An answering whistle drifted back through the darkness. She smiled, and with one bounce of her heels, ran toward the sound.

Melanie's light grew brighter, the glow illuminating her steps once again as she danced, but now more lights were alongside hers. They didn't touch, but she could see them. Other people, men and women, all dancing with their lights glowing around them. Many of them laughed, all were smiling, and all looked at her with a bright joy in their eyes. Their eyes! They were green, gold, brown, black, blue, and every shade between. One of the girls ran to her and threw her arms around her, “Melanie,” she said, holding her shoulders and pulling back. She wore a golden dress, with the same design as the girl. Her name was. . .

“Jill,” The girl whispered. Jill smiled and took her hand. Their lights both grew brighter, illuminating four times as much as when they stood alone. The others turned toward them and hesitated, but Melanie gestured for them to come forward. One boy took a breath and called out the whistle, and Melanie and Jill answered. The boy came forward. He wore a plain white t-shirt and tan pants. He approached them cautiously, since they were standing still. Melanie held out her hand, and he took it. They both grinned widely as the light broke forward, and though it illuminated broken landscape and wrecked grounds, the light was beautiful. Like crystal or gems. The boy was named Michael.

“Michael,” Melanie whispered. He nodded, then turned his gaze out to the people still in the dark. Their lights were strong, but when they stood together it was stronger.

“Jacob,” Michael said, holding out his hand. Another boy stepped forward, hesitantly, but with determination. Jill held out her hand as well. He came forward and grasped it. Michael clapped his free hand and clapped him on the shoulder. There were tears in his eyes, but the light grew so bright that they glittered like precious stones upon his face. The others were out there still. But they came. One at a time. And they clasped the free hands of the people who had joined the circle. They clasped the hands until everyone was together, all connected in a great line. Their light was so bright that there was no spec of darkness in the entire area. It was all filled with light.

And the sight was beautifully terrifying.

There were people. Lying down in the once darkness. Their faces cracked, their eyes shut, their limbs splayed apart on the floor. All of them lay on the ground, all of them had tracks of tears rolling down their cheeks. There were men and women, with different clothing and hairstyles, with different skin colors and facial features. They were all so different, and yet all the same. Because all looked so very alone.

Melanie pulled her hands free of Jill and Michael. They stared at her, reaching out to grab hold of her again, but she pushed them gently away. It was hard to pull away from the crowd and approach the still bodies on the floor. Part of her wanted to flee back to the safety of the others, but she pushed herself onward. If she had been on the ground, she would hope that someone would come to her. She knelt by the person closest to their group. She knew him. His name was Richard. She pulled him gently toward her. Pulling him into her lap. “Richard?” she whispered, brushing back his hair, “Richard?” his eyes fluttered and new tears began to fall. As the brilliant green eyes opened he only stared at her, then shook his head, mouthing a silent denial.

“It's okay,” Melanie said. And the world shattered. The words weren't just a name. They were a confirmation. Something new, something different. “It's okay.” Melanie said again. The world wasn't being destroyed. The shatter cracked open the light, bringing forth something. . . more. The other bodies began to stir, a little light resting gently upon their chest. Melanie helped Richard to his feet, and the others began to help the waking ones.

As more of them were helped to their feet, the light began to overcome everything. There was no darkness now, no shadows or hidden areas. It was beautiful and it was frightening. Though many were stirring, the bodies stretched into the distance, lying on their backs or their bellies, as still as death, and the landscape was still broken and terrifying. But the light showed it all. Melanie straightened her back and took a step forward, the others following behind her. The way was rough, many had fallen, but they were here now.

And their lights had yet to go out.

Sixth Heart

The Fates created a heart,
It was fleshy and weak,
soft like velvet and red like blood.

They handed it to someone who didn't understand,
Who dropped it and crushed it,
With a single step when he ran.

The fates wept from pain,
But didn't want to quit,
So they created a new heart.
Believing they would make it right.

The new heart was brittle,
With an outer hardened shell,
But a rough setting cracked it open,
Splitting it apart to let the insides drip and spoil.

The third heart was like glass,
Shining and glittering in the light,
It was taken and thrown,
The wall shattering it's beauty,
The shards splitting, and cracking, and screaming.

The fourth was thick,
Fleshy but strong,
It beat with determination,
Continuing, beckoning, but wrong.
The people took their needles,
Jamming into the thickened skin,
They tore it to shreds,
Each bit by tiny bit.

So the fates hid their final piece,
Behind walls of granite and stone,
They guarded it with beasts,
With chains and locks,
Hoping no one would enter,
And tear out their heart.

But one brave soul,
He mounted the walls,
He fought off the beasts,
And unlocked the cages and chains,
When he finally reached the heart,
It was beating determinedly,
He picked it up and cradled it,
Careful to be gentle,
Reluctant to see it freeze.

But no man is perfect,
No one without fault,
And he squeezed that poor heart,
Throbbing its muscle,
Interrupting it's strong beat.

And the Fates mourned,
Wondering what to do,
All their hearts had been ruined,
Broken, slashed and killed.
Was there no good here?
Was there no reason to continue?
What was the point when all their work was battered and betrayed?

Then someone came to them,
And opened their hand,
The sixth and final heart,
Its beauty defied all men,
It was light as the air,
Strong as the mountains, wind and sky.

“It cannot be destroyed,” he promised,
as he handed the heart to them,
“Just let it fly, and let it float, and let it touch everyone here,
There is nothing that can harm it,
No weapon that will rip it,
But it will travel to all those people,
Who need it but won't take it.
This is the sixth heart,
And it belongs to all who behold it.”

The Price

I just. . . wanted him to come home.

The iris was purple, the petals fanning out and looking as though they were just waiting to fall. I held it carefully in my hands, kneeling on the side of my grassy hill. I hadn't been here in a long time, ever since he was called away, ever since he'd put on that uniform, I hadn't wanted to come back. I didn't think I wanted to see this place anymore.

Which was silly. I'd never had him come with me to this place. This place was mine. My eyes stung, the tiny prickles threatening to restart the waterworks, but I didn't let it. I was done crying. It didn't even take any effort to hold the tears in anymore. Why hadn't I brought him here? I could imagine what would have happened. What I would have said. I would have explained everything. I would have told him what had happened and then he wouldn't have left. If he'd known. . .he wouldn't have just left. He would have stayed.

That's what I told myself anyway.

The flower twirled slowly in my hands. I wanted to throw it, tear it to shreds. I didn't know if I could stand looking at it anymore. I didn't want to think about what it meant. I didn't want to think about. . . about. . .

My breathing shook, my eyes clouding over. NO. I wasn't going to cry. I'd cried too many times already. It didn't do anything. There was no point in crying when no one was there to comfort me. Then it was just worthless tears. They were all worthless. WORTHLESS.

I took a deep breath, calming down. I was being silly. I knew the consequences of him leaving. I knew that. . . I knew he wasn't coming back. I should. . . I should. . . I sighed, putting the flower down softly in the long grass. I stood up, walking to the top, where a little garden bravely fought against the weeds. I pushed them aside, using my fingers and nails to dig a small hole. Leaning back to pick up the flower, I stuck the stem firmly into the ground, moving the dirt back to keep it firm. If all went well, the flower would grow a root and maybe then my special place would be covered with them. Covered with little irises. Wouldn't that be nice? I smiled, scrubbing at my eyes a little. Smearing mud on my face.

It was chilly, the wind scraping across the grass like an icy breath. I put my hands in my jacket pockets, forgetting why I hadn't done so before. The little folded piece of paper crinkled in my fingers. My breath sucked in, freezing my chest. But like always, I pulled it out, smoothing the wrinkles and peering at the too tidy print. It was such a little letter. Shouldn't little letters be unimportant? It should be the long letters I'm afraid of, not short ones. But that wasn't the way reality worked. That wasn't the way my world worked.

Dear Mrs. Gunther,

Your husband was a brave man. He died a hero. You should be proud. He served his country well, and we will all miss him. His donation to our cause has made a difference and we hope that this knowledge will help you through this difficult time. Please accept our deepest condolences.

I should be proud.

My husband died and I should be proud. My hands shook, my shoulders trembled. I didn't want to move, didn't want to keep drawing breath. One hand gently cradled my growing belly, the slight kick sending a tremor of pain through me.

My husband died a hero? That's wonderful. But now he would never live to be a father.

I just. . . wanted him to come home.

Room

I was in a large, bright room. The walls were white, the floor lightly tiled in a speckled pattern around my feet. And it was filled with people. People I knew, people I loved, people who meant more to me then anything.

They clustered around me, smiling, showing their hands. I smiled back, taking them, pulling myself toward them. They held me, and I held them, happy with their presence, with what they represented, with where I was. I was comfortable. Surely nothing could be more perfect then this, in a bright room, with people all around. Surely nothing was safer, surely nothing was better.

One of them turned away for a moment, squinting across the room. I cocked my head to the side, watching as she turned her back to me. Then someone else began to walk away. I grabbed his arm, but he shoved me off, still moving. Another person looked around, beginning to move outward. I tried to hold onto her, but she pushed passed. Soon they were all turning, all moving away. I tried to reach out, to hold them all in, but they wouldn't stop.

Soon I was alone by the wall, the speckled tile beneath my feet. The tile lurched, sending me sprawling. I tried to stand again, but the ground shifted, sending me flat on my back. Nobody seemed to notice as they walked further and further away. I tried to call out, but nobody seemed to hear.

Tears stung at my eyes, sending little bits of pain through the eyelids. My lips tried to form words, tried to make sound. “Come back,” I tried to whisper, but the ground jolted again, and my words were drowned out as I crashed to the wall.

I curled there, unable to move, seeing only the fuzz through my tears, doing nothing but stare toward the backs of the departing figures. I tried to reach out but my arms wouldn't move. I was alone.

Alone.

I wanted so badly to run after them, to hold them to me, to tell them not to leave. Why were they leaving? Why did they feel the need to go away? I needed them! Why couldn't they see I needed them? My head ducked into my arms, the tears falling freely now.

Something soft stroked the top of my head, lifting it up. A single hand reached toward me, palm up, waiting. I didn't move for a second, staring at the outstretched limb. He leaned down, gripping my wrists firmly, but gently. “Stand up,” he said, pulling me to my feet. I swayed, the ground still feeling like a wave. I looked into his face, feeling slight recognition. He wore robes of white and seemed to emit a soft, muted glow.

I licked my lips and tried once again to speak, but the words wouldn't form in my mind. I wanted to cry, but the presence of him kept me still. “It will be alright,” he promised, helping me take a step. I didn't want to. I was afraid to lift one foot and place it down again without all of my friends around me. I was afraid that the ground would shift and I would fall. I was afraid to do anything. But his hand was firm and strong. His step sure. So I followed.

Slowly, but I followed.

“You've never been alone,” he said, “And you won't ever be alone. But sometimes, when things get rough, you need to learn to stand.” He slowly let go of my hand, making me take a step on my own. I turned toward him in a panic, terrified that he would turn his back. But he didn't. He smiled at me, motioning me forward, “I'll always be close by and if you need me I'll be there.” My next step was firmer. My feet feeling more secure. “But sometimes you won't see me, or you'll forget to look for me.” I shook my head, turning back to him, “I'll never leave you.” I smiled holding out my hands, he took them, pulling me along, but then he let go.

“But by the same token, you must learn to walk on your own.” I closed my eyes, and when I opened them he was gone. Nothing but the retreating backs of those that left me behind. I didn't know for sure if he was gone, but I didn't think so. I looked around searching for a place to go. A door popped out at me, inviting me in. I moved forward each step more confident then the last. I didn't know what was behind that door, but I knew that I needed to find out. And even if nobody came with me, I knew that I had to do it anyway. But someone was coming with me. Someone would always come with me. Because he promised he would be.

Girl Code

So, I wrote this story in like. . . half an hour. Maybe less. I was bored, had a few minutes, and decided, why not? It's completely ridiculous, but I think it's kind of funny. Oh, and it's not meant to be deep or anything. It really is just a ridiculous story that I busted out in a few minutes, and I decided to post it because the site has been boring lately.

Running is hard work.

I'm not kidding! Sweat was pouring down my face as I ran against the conveyer belt, my eyes fixed at some nonexistent point in the distance, trying NOT to think about how fast I was going and how tired I was. But that never really works.

Running is one of those weird exercises that most people hate—who're sane– some people love—they're the crazy ones– and some do just because they have to—that's me. I don't completely hate it, I think it's fun to feel the stretch and pull of your muscles, the feeling of going and going and going and never stopping, but on the other hand. . .

My lungs were stretching and pulling and I wanted to stop really badly.

But I didn't. Like always I pushed on, forcing my legs to keep going even though I didn't really want to. Running was the time when life just seems to flash before your eyes, you know? Like having a near death experience in a half hour. It could be called wonderful, but ever since my ipod broke it meant that I had to sit-- well, run-- through all of my problems every day. It was extremely annoying.

At the moment, the problems were all related to one thing: boys. Like always. This time it was my best friends boyfriend. He was flirting with me and making me exceedingly uncomfortable. But on the other hand. . . I'd liked Chris for more than half a year. Both Rachel and I had. When she'd caught him I'd respectfully backed off because that's what best friends do. You don't break that girl code. You just don't. Not unless you wanted to lose yourself a friend at least.

But now. . . he was totally flirting with me. And his eyes followed me whenever I moved. I couldn't help but think he was admiring my runners body. Speaking of which. . . Dang was it time to STOP yet? Nope. Still had fifteen minutes to go. Blast.

He had the most gorgeous dirty blond hair, it was cropped short, and I knew it was fun to fuzz. We all teased each other, and he fuzzed my head so I fuzzed his back. He has really, really good hair. Ugh. . . This train of thought was not helping me.

Rachel and I had been friends since we were two. Our mom's had been college buddies and they'd lived near each other after that. It was a miracle that neither of them ever moved, and Rachel and I had grown up together. We'd had our fair share of fights, who didn't? But life was good. We always made up and we'd gone through High School together, liking different boys the ENTIRE time. Our taste was COMPLETELY different. And yet. . . Why did she have to fall for Chris too? Chris was the only guy we could ever agree on that was completely hot. Completely gorgeous, which is weird because normally she had totally weird taste in guys, I mean. . Totally. But here we are. . . grrrr. ..

Run, run, run, run, run. . .

Why do I even care about this? This is crazy.

Run, run run run run run run run run. .

I'm so tired. . .

Runrunrunrunrun. . .
He has green eyes. . .

Runrunrunrunrunrunrunrunrunrunrunrunrunrunrunrunrunrun. .

“Lucy!” Rachel called. I yelped, twisting my head. My foot slipped, right off the conveyer belt.

Oh snap.

My legs flew backwards, sending my face straight into the tredmill. I fell forward, sliding down and collapsed onto the ground. My heart was still going a million miles an hour, my face was covered in sweat, and I was seeing double.

And laughing hysterically.

“Lucy, are you okay?!” Rachel ran over to me, trying to help me to my feet. I laughed her off, waving my hand nonchalantly.

“I. . hahaha,” I drew a deep breath, “Guess I have my answer.” Confusion cross my best friends face as I took her hand and she pulled me to my feet.

“And what's that?” she asked.

“I'm an idiot.” I grinned, giving her a gross sweaty hug.



I fell off a tredmill the other day, hahaha, it was great.