This is the best thing I've written in english!!! Check it out and PLEASE tell me what you think..^^
I've always wanted to write it, as it's an idea which wandered in my mind for ages before I decided to make it a story. The writing style may seem strange, or even difficult, but It was inspired from that literary genius, Terry Pratchett. Anyway. ENJOY!
Enangeline Archer presents What I've Been Searching For
Chapter 1: A Heroic Death
The device was vibrating in the indolent and romantic rythm of a forgotten ballad which was nothing but one more pointless anthem, an ode to a worldly unsucces like love; Instruments, microphones,transistors, computers and voices had made their powers join to be successive notes, and all that jumble of sounds and artistic abstraction had heroically fitted in a small, black-colored portable box, currently resting on the bookcase shelf, its antenna popping out with pride, moving convulsively, uncertain and nervous because of the volume of sound, which pretty much didn't suit its age. A slight, yet annoying humming echoed, somewhat dimming the tragically decent, utopic, absolutely cloudless love of the four-minute duration. The sound became distant and weird, the scenario ended unhappily for the very first time in its life. Tired, obsolete, old, the radio made a distressing crying noise of a recently obtained discord, sounding as if it was a lover desperately asking his beloved not to leave him. And that was it. The song got lost in the bottomless gulf of sonic insanity and ultimately, both the composition and the radio, tightly embraced, looking passively at the End, died. The small room sank in the depressing silence of night.
The small female figure threw her pen on the floor, incensed, and sighed passionately. She groaned at a low voice, uttering a terrible cursing before she pushed her chair back. The wooden object withdrew, whining disturbingly, deafening as it was being drugged on the perished planks of the floor. Tiptoeing on entire hills made from thrown objects, a certain pink hedgehog approached the shelves threateningly, curious to find the one responsible for the sudden omission. Her deep emerald orbs tried to detect the betrayer, and when they did so, the adolescent struggled to overflow her nerves and internal confusion both her age and hard-to-cope-with problems had caused to her.
- So YOU left me just like everybody else did, didn't you, piece of junk?! she exclaimed, glaring at the enemy as she achieved the fatal attack to it with her punch. It had been the only company of hers during her blue days, how could it leave her like that? She hit its lifeless remnants again and again in stark madness, till her fragile hands ached because of the mersiless phenomenon, widely known as "action-reaction", which gave the dead radio the infuriating right to happily return to her all of the force she enthusiastically utilized to punch it. Dammit.
Declaring her retreat, for the enemy was withstanding with remarkable bravery, Amy let herself fall on the ground, countless relieving tears flooding her eyes, dampening their green velvet, making her vision vague and altered. Yet again that night, in her vast ocean of self-pity, the young heroine thought that her life on earth had precosiously reached a dead end. Her own pathetic condition devastated her, followed by a negative thought, and then another negative thought, and third thought, untill an endless troop of such thoughts had gathered, dancing in her mind pitilessly, malevolently smiling at her.
Everything was his fault. Everything. She liked to repeat that to herself, for she felt relieved and calm every time she did so. She liked to write it wherever she found space, in old, yellow pages of books hidden for ages in the most inaccessible shelves, just to keep the story of her hurt heart forever recorded, forever hers. A dubbious smile trembled on her face. She liked the idea. Yes. She needed to have something entirely hers-his story, their story. She remembered of the way he rejected her, the way he daunted her dreams and hopes with nothing more than a single word. Offensive, self-centred, bad-tempered, heartless, she thought. Suddenly everything seemed to get better. Offensive, self-centred, bad-tempered, heartless, she repeated vivaciously. She murmured the last phrase repeatedly, she tried the sound of it to see if she liked it. Did she ever! Offensive, self-centred, bad-tempered, heartless!
She took the small photograph from the half-opened drawer of her desk and examined it under the dim light of the tiny lamp. Stooping, careful not to lose her balance as she was still standing on heaps of thrown objects, she grabbed the small pen from the floor. She recalled the times she had childishly claimed that, if she had to choose between him and the world, she would choose him. How naive she had been! The world had accepted her presence, it had offered her the greatest adventures she could ask for, allowing her to be one of the very few to discover its astonishing beauty. For the first time in her life she chose the world between the two, as she strutted in front of the small rectangular piece of paper, smirking threateningly. On it, a painfully handsome blue hedgehog was smiling blissfully, posing like a hero, absolutely carefree, that fact making the whole scene seem somewhat funny; Amy, being real, right before the small desk, her eyes full of the sparkling an assasin's look has, held the fatal weapon just one centimeter above his annoyingly happy face while he, still on the paper seemed to have got over the fact that he was about to be umbearably tortured, blatantly refusing to stop smiling.
Mad at him facing the whole situation with remarkable coolness, she felt her blood reaching her head swiftly, boiling bitterly in it. She glared at his image, that angry glimpse having nothing sane in it, before she started attacking him mercilessly. With careful moves, she started drawing a thick, black line above his perfectly shaped lips, voluntarily making it large and
curved. She shrieked in enthusiasm. Her hand, desperately desiring to take revenge, continued with the beautiful, smiling eyes, by blackening the extremely rare green of theirs, turning them into two ordinary, dark ones. She forced him to wear glasses, a pair of awful, outdated, ugly ones, to make his enchanting look seem totally indifferent. She instantly stepped back and examined the results of her work, content with his new appearance. He deserved it, she thought. It reflects his true character.
-So, you're still smiling..., she murmured hoarsely. Schizophrenic and happy simultaneously, the pink girl tore the photograph, and while half of the head, the one hand, the one leg and part of his shirt said goodbye to his smiling lips and his left arm and leg, her hoarse laugh echoed morbidly in the gentle silence of her little world. The two pieces tumbled, tripping in the air, blissfully dancing before they fell on the ground and crashed on the unraveled carpet, spectacularly ending the show.
Amy Rose smiled when the old-fasioned clock on the wall declared lackadaisically that it was two o' clock in the morning. In just a few hours the sun would clamber over the throne he insisted on falling off every twenty four hours, panting, and she had already committed two abominable crimes, after having tortured her unfortunate victims, showing them what brute force means. It didn't matter that much, though. She had just messed up with her own life because of her love, but it didn't seem so tragic, as she could dance alone, and scream, and laugh out loud, and then burst into tears screaming deeply satisfied things that didn't make sense. Why not, after all? When you live on a ball which, endlessly revolving around a huge fire, tirelessly makes pirouettes, yet with no music giving it a reason to do that, nobody has the right to tell you what makes sense and what does not. The universe itself was created in a such moment of unspeakable worldly madness, after all...
Having lost the fight against his self-proclaimed girlfriend, the man fell heroically at the place where the battle had taken place. In less than a second's time the carpet had welcomed both of his pieces. It could not be seen, not anymore, but the glorious defeated one was still smiling with pride, in spite of having been ruined, despite the tortures his brave soul had bore and the artistic intervention of Amy's. Yes. He was still smiling, painfully gorgeous, with glasses and moustache, his distorted eyes being happy too, not being able to hide their emerald truth under the black ink.
Sonic was smiling and he was only a photograph, thus he couldn't tell her how he felt in his heart, nor that he was thinking of her that night, despite beisng far away from her. He was smiling, and Amy couldn't see that anymore, because his image was now burning in the fireplace.
Her crying voice was the only thing to stir the calm of night, before the phone rang.
"Ah, Cream, hi" she stuttered, trying to bring herself together. There was something in her cute sidekick's voice she didn't like; she seemed preoccupied. Amy narrowed her green eyes and took a deep breath. "Hay, what's the matter?" she said slowly, trying to calm her friend down. Then her eyes went wide open and a slight shriek escaped her mouth."Why?" she asked. Cream explained. A determined smile appeared on Amy's face."So, he'll be around there." she concluded to herself "Thanks, Cream" she said, distracted by the plans her mind had already started thinking about and hung up in a rush.
In the next chapters it will be more interesting. I'm thinking of turning it into a short novel. REVIEW, REVIEW,REVIEW!!! Review and I swear you'll see a review to your stories by me the next day. REVIEW!~