Author: GoodGirlsGoBad PM
This is just random ramblings of Heathcliff. Maybe what he was thinking?Rated: Fiction K+ - English - Romance/Hurt/Comfort - Heathcliffe - Words: 771 - Reviews: 2 - Favs: 1 - Follows: 1 - Published: 06-09-10 - id: 6036897
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
I stared at the lighter, turning it on and off. I had been here, in this century, for six months now, and I still couldn't help being infatuated with even the simplest things. Like a lighter, or a light bulb. It is amazing how you could push a button and an entire room would be lit. I couldn't get over the fact that the easiest things were accessible in the easiest ways.
Another thing I couldn't get over is that Miranda had read the book Wuthering Heights, my book, over and over again, and still cared about me. She knew how horrible I is. She knew how evil I could be, but she still loved me. I couldn't wrap my head around it.
I am reading Wuthering Heights now. I am almost finished. The more I read it, the more I miss my darling Kathy. The more I read it, the more I realize that if I went back home I wouldn't be able to take Miranda with me. The more I read it the more I realize that I have to chose between them. Do I choose the girl I have loved since I is a boy, Katharine, or Kathy's four times great granddaughter, Miranda. Kathy is beautiful, but selfish. Miranda is beautiful, innocent, but me being with her is corrupting her.
I must not, I cannot, corrupt her, destroy her soul.
I love Kathy, and I love Miranda. So, I must choose between them; do I want to corrupt the innocent, or do I want to be neglected by the selfish?
I close my eyes and take a deep breath. Now is a time for quiet. Now is a time for peace. I chanted this to myself as I did most nights. It is the Christmas break and I am alone. This meant I am stuck with a faculty of teachers that judge me. The worst part of that is that they are not, as Miranda says, judging a book by its cover. The book, Wuthering Heights, is just as horrible on the inside as it is on the outside.
I squeezed my eyes shut and try the old age method of counting sheep.
Five sheep. This.
Six sheep. Is.
Seven sheep. Boring.
I stand up and storm out of my bedroom. I am tired, cold and lonely. I miss Kathy, and I miss Miranda. I am tired of missing them. I am tired of staying up late thinking about them. I am tired of wanting to hold Miranda and never letting go. I am tired of my heart breaking over and over again because of Kathy. I am sick of knowing that no matter who I choose I will end up back in the 19th century without Miranda and with Kathy hating me.
I just can't stand it anymore.
I want out. I want to go home. I want to stay. I want in. I want Miranda. I want Kathy. Everything is just so controversial. Everything is just so selfish. I am just so selfish.
I have always looked at what I want. Now is the time to look at what I need. I need… I need… I need…. I don't know what I need. I thought I needed Kathy to survive, but now I'm not so sure. I thought I needed power to survive, but it creates problems. I see that now. I want to stop it. I want to go back, back when my father was still alive. He would've known what to do. He always did.
I look around me and see where my feet have taken me. I was under the tree where I last saw Miranda.
I look around and take in the sight. It looks different in the night. The tree was much more sinister. It draped down to the ground like a spider looking down at its prey, laughing at its weak demeanor. It had ghostly hands that swayed suddenly with the wind. I walk toward the tree and put my hand on its rough trunk. It felt like an over ripe walnut. Dry and crinkly. It felt like my heart. Old and tried. I put my back to the tree and began to slide down. The tree rubbing against my back hurt, but I didn't care.
I butt landed on the damp ground and I let my head loll to the side.
All I wanted was sleep, and I hoped this tree would bring it to me.