First of all, this oneshot is not important. It is not significant. It will not matter if you review it or even read it. I just needed to do something, anything. My grandfather died today, and I couldn't bring myself to do anything. Homework, studying, eat, work on an actual story, do my drawing assignments. So finally I just started typing, and I came up with this. If one wants to get technical this is about a certain event that you will know of if you've read "Old Soul", but if you haven't then just use your imagination I guess. If you have read it and you still don't know what it's about then feel free to message me. I don't really know how clear this will be anyways. Whatever.
I didn't use any names because I liked it that way, and I'm not going to say who it is. It should be pretty obvious at one point or another.
The song used is Sullen Girl by Fiona Apple. The character used is, of course, Aaron McGruder's. And the rest is basically my big clusterfuck of emotions, blended into another character's torment. ...Yeah...
"Days like this I don't know what to do with myself.
All day, and all night."
Is this what it feels like when you've hit the bottom? Is this how it's supposed to feel?
It's as if one spends so much time suspended in midair, clinging onto the thin strings of their dreams as if they're clutching at their lifelines. As each dream's lost, we come closer and closer to sinking. Finally, when the last thread has broken and we have nothing left, we fall.
Is that how it's supposed to be? Is there truly no way to fix what has been broken?
"I wander the halls along the walls and under my breath I say to myself I need fuel to take flight."
The human condition is fragile. Some say we were made to be broken. Surely you don't hear anyone say we were made to fly. Only somehow, people tend to believe that. We as humans constantly set ourselves up to be lifted off our feet with so much force it takes our breath away, leaving us gasping in its wake. We lift our heads to the sun, to the stars, to whatever is up there watching us with curious eyes, and we hope. We hope that we can recover. We hope that we can fly again.
Hope is all we have, and when we no longer have that, we have nothing.
I have nothing.
The moon is surprisingly bright, reflecting in the still waters like some identical twin. Not too many people notice the power of the moon. The sun gets all the credit for being bright, but the moon is what holds us in place. Sure, the sun keeps us from freezing to death, but the moon keeps us in balance, keeps us all from hurtling into one another and burning into ashes. The moon has that unnoticed uniqueness that most don't bother to acknowledge. It's all I can focus on while I sit here, the water lapping at my feet and my heart too big, too hollow for the confinements of my chest.
"And there's too much going on.
But it's calm under the waves,
in the blue of my oblivion.
Under the waves, in the blue of my oblivion."
I wonder if he knows I cry for him every night. I go to sleep and fall into illusions that he's with me, that when I open my eyes and go running he'll be there, that calm smile on his face and that tortured look in his dark eyes. The same look I've probably gotten in mine as well. When appearances mean everything and the pressure builds up, how else is anyone supposed to conceal their pain? I've already shut off my tear ducts. I already wear my smiles for the world to see like a jacket, only to cover them with a big overcoat of despair when I'm alone. When I'm around strangers, around peers and co-workers, they think I'm happy. They believe that I'm bubbly, outgoing, kind. They have no idea to suspect me for the true wrecked soul that I am.
No one would suspect sweet, innocent me to ever be so damaged.
"Is that why they call me
a sullen girl, sullen girl.
They don't I used to sail the deep and tranquil sea."
Once upon a time, I was happy. I had a family who loved me, who I loved with everything that I had. I had friends, best friends, who were there just beyond the reach of my fingertips. I had hope. I had dreams. And I had him.
It was something about him that made my already colorful world brighter. He challenged my intellectual abilities in ways no one else had. He bothered to talk to me before anyone else would. He made me happy, even if he didn't know it until it was too late and he was on a one-way train out of my life; the same train that took my heart, my rainbows and pastels, along with it.
Considering that it's October, it's not that cold. Two days before Halloween and it feels as if it could be early summer. I peel off my jacket right there on the shore, standing up and following the path that leads to the rickety structure that's just down the path. My dull thoughts pick up, my heart, which I thought had died a long time ago, pumping heavily, so heavy that I can hear it, loud and thunderous in my ears. Or maybe my adrenaline is just kicking in for what I'm about to do.
"But it washed me ashore,
and it took my pearl.
And left an empty shell of me."
One year ago today, the only person who I had left, the only one who hadn't left me behind, had been taken from me. One year ago today, I'd already stopped living. It was only right to make it official.
"And there's too much going on…"
It would be over quick, painless. It would be just like going to sleep. With how tired I was, a long rest would do me wonders.
They say the average human sleeps away one-third of their lives; that we lose thirty years just from sleeping. It doesn't bother me. The time I had only served to stretch on painfully, each day becoming longer and each wave of grief crashes into me one after the other, like I'm caught in a never ending tempest. One that I'd finally found a way out of.
The door creaked open loudly when I opened it, sending a new jolt through me and surprising me, causing me to let out a weak giggle. I clasp my hand to my throat, looking around as if I'm disturbing someone, knowing that I am physically, as well as emotionally, alone. I drop to my knees, staring into the dark water that ripples beneath the dock, seeing a reflection I barely recognize.
What happened to me?
Not wanting to have to mentally relive every grueling memory I shake my head, reaching in my pocket. Without dwelling on it I uncap it, shaking out the contents into my trembling hands. They aren't trembling from fear, but from emotion. Finally, other than pain, I feel the underbelly of another emotion beginning to surface.
Sadness, Finally. It was there, rising up like a crescendo and catching me with its beckon. I tilt my head back, dumping the contents of my hand into my open mouth. Instead of swallowing I stand up, taking a deep breath and letting myself fall into the unmoving darkness, so still that it's as if the surface is solid.
Of course when I hit, it becomes liquid again, letting me sink slowly through it, my arms floating on either side and my legs sprawled as I let the current carry me. I look up, staring at the moon, so silent and strong, the way I'd tried so hard to be for so long. I couldn't try anymore.
"But it's calm under the waves
in the blue of my oblivion."
I open my mouth, letting in a mouthful of water, just enough to wash down the contents that my mouth had held and looked up again, enjoying the silence, the feel of the water rushing into my ears. My hair fans out like silk, brushing against my cheeks, my outstretched hand. I just want to stay here, but I know the place I'll soon be in will be much better.
"Under the waves
in the blue of my oblivion."
I feel my lungs beginning to ache and slowly push myself to the surface, the moon becoming brighter and closer as I break the surface, the now cooler air hitting my face and air filling my lungs. I crawl back onto the dock, lying on the boards and simply stare up at the moon, my chest rising and falling heavily. I can already feel the blood in my veins slowing, or maybe I'm imagining it. Regardless of whether it's illusion or truth my eyelids are growing heavy and I let my eyes drift closed, the cold air sinking into my bones.
"Under the waves,
in the blue of my oblivion."
I'm eleven again and we're laughing about something or another on our favorite spot under the tree on the hill, leaves in a kaleidoscope of reds, yellows, and oranges falling around us. I'm thirteen and my mother is laughing as the comb breaks my hair, a gentle yet kind laugh that makes me forget to cry and laugh as well. I'm fourteen and we're singing karaoke in her bedroom, laughing as she swishes her blonde hair around. Then, fifteen comes. Sixteen. Seventeen.
Eighteen is the last memory I want to remember, standing on a rock as big and tall as a whale, my face lifted to the ocean and the salty spray stinging my skin. He's behind me, the beach house sitting on the sand about a quarter of a mile away. He's smiling, his own face to the sun, his feet buried in the sand. Here, it's peaceful and no one can touch us. Here, the world belongs to us.
Finally, at nineteen, I lay here, broken and scattered in the wind like a forgotten flower. The urge to sleep is overwhelming. Already the memories are fading, and already I'm drifting to another place, a place that will be better than here. At least, I hope it will.
"It's calm under the waves,
in the blue of my oblivion…"
I silently chuckle to myself, a dry, hollow one. How ironic that in my last moments, in my last thoughts, I finally find something to hope for.
And with one long sigh, I release it. I release it all, into the air, into the sky. Into the stars. As far as it will go. As far as the wind where carry it, until maybe someone will catch it, catch the hope and hold to it like they do lost treasure or precious gemstones. Maybe with it, they'll be able to reach their dreams, the ones that I'd let fade so long ago.
Maybe, with it, they'd learn to fly.
I don't know if I'll be able to bring myself to update anything this week. I really don't. I just don't feel up to it. Sorry.