Who writes when they're supposed to be working? Cricket does!

Yuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuume attacked my brain when Cricket was probably supposed to be learning about farm circles, Hinduism, or the Slovak language. Unless it was the genocide in Africa or watching Bend it Like Beckham. What a horrible movie.


The sheer irrationality of such an act rang through his ears making him deaf and dumb to the rest of their little world.

"No"

He saw the scratches she blamed on her cat.

"Please"

He saw the bruises she blamed on crashing into walls on those long restless nights she spent thinking of him.

"Listen to me"

Those god-forsaken cuts and hellish winding scars under those long bubblegum top sleeves and short licorice skirt, but he never knew it would come to this. She begged him every passing dawn and fleeting dusk just for one

Simple

Song but no, he would have none of that because those emotions, that girl was much too much to handle. He tossed her into the cold wet embrace-caress-of a starved night and farther from the long trek into the depths of his frigid, unforgiving, black heart.

She loved him from the time her world began-at least as far back as she could remember-he was the first smile-fake or not she didn't know-playful dark hair and deep emotional eyes that sung her immediately love-struck; so she would love him until the end.

Was this it?

This wavering illusion of this world within this man, though was never very giving she lived for it. He took unrequited affections and delicious inspiration from anyone and everyone (but her of course, she was too far away, too painful) and made their music his. Stolen notes from those figments of their imagination? They could never be sure, maybe it was just them two, god, they had been there so damn long they didn't know if they were still real-or ever were in the first place-human or not.

And he drank it all in; liquid gold for a wondering soul.

And when the others became the wiser of his games? His thievery? They left him, as beaten and bruised as that girl who loved him so.

The girl she loved the man who knew not of love, and the man who wanted nothing to do with it.

But together? Together at last? Could it be? Was this real?

Touches, they sizzled.

Kissed, they sparked.

Strings tangled and pure electricity ran though the spaces between them and abused skin lightning-fast as expected and in their greatest dreams this never happened. So maybe they were dreaming, as long as it stayed this good-this perfect-it was okay.

They were allowed to break the rules they had set for themselves. Her tears, loving ones-the only way she could express how deeply she loved him because words and actions did nothing anymore, just raw naked emotion really spoke truth-stained her freckled face and her hair (soft as clouds…) caressed his face just barely and his deep and somehow delicate, feathery speech rumbled, honeyed by her presence.

They danced in their own personal thunderstorm, absorbing everything the other had to offer, to present, to give…

Selfish and selfless.

Invincible and utterly vulnerable in the same heartbeat, the same single second that lasted hours upon coveted hours.

The best of all contradictions in the purest of moments in the bittersweet moonlight.

And this.

This now.

What was this?

Were these tears? Real tears rolling down his face?

Clinging to his eyebrows as if afraid to take the plunge…

She stood on the balcony of that too-tall apartment building-her favorite place- looking down at the man so far down below jostled by faceless renderings of their imagination-her favorite sight-so that's what it was now. Imagination.

But was this it?

Was there absolutely nothing left he could possibly do?

That terrifying wind gusting, flitting her clothes about roughly, her hair licking and kissing her salt-stained face and immediately he was envious, that was his job to love every piece and part of her, not the winds. His heart jumped

"oh.. oh no..."

His heart jumped, body immediately attacked by overwhelming emotion-emotion! So maybe these were tears. Yes, those hard sobs and kept-away sadness now racked his chest and disposition.

This.

Threat of her.

This threat by her.

"This is all for you.." her eyes seemed so happy so far up. "This, all because I love you."

Her tears hit him like bullets, literally and figuratively.

Cracking his expression.

"I hate to see you cry."

Seeping into the cracks of his heart that thing, that elusive thing, vague and indefinable feeling of which he was not used to in a place he thought to be hollow. The organ which so many speak so well of, the one that breaks thousands of times a day, he believed to be frozen-over, dead, and gone was aching, starting at that slow beat-because he felt it now-to an instant pounding, this act as a swift spark of life, of love, of reality.

And he now knew he did not want her like this. He didn't want her to slip into the hypothermia that tried to consume his soul and mind; she broke him out of it! It wasn't fair! She was... she was more than a simple girl. Much, much more than an unadorned friend. He smiled into those ocean-deep eyes of hers.

She could simply not disappear-impossible! Improbable!-to harm herself beyond the extent of a body, eminent and feasible return such as a heart-love?-can. Because she of all things-yes, yes of everything-was human. True feelings of love, of regret, of shamelessness passion, of hurt, of pure happiness, and of regret all over again were there and hanging in the space between her at that terrace and him down below on the busy street.

"I would like to die now." Her words cut deeper than the knives she took to herself ever would.

"Don't leave me." This voice unrecognizable to his own; what was going on?

"Hey sillyhead, I'm just dreaming," a soft laugh that gave him shivers. "and once I die here, I'll always be dreaming right? And my sillyhead won't ever stop loving me." Curse her perfect reasoning.

"Please."

This was so unlike him, to beg. To want this feeling-even the fear-anything positively anything to last just to prove it could.

This wondrous dream of hers would cease to be the second that monitor stopped chirping in that snow-white hospital ward, and they knew that. The simple job of slipping seemed all the more possible from her lovely, lofty perch in the clouds.

A new-born bird preparing to fly.

And all the more, preparing to die.

That pure poetry-reality, truth-came quickly, spiking her heart-rate and the nurses, just this final time, grudgingly turned their heads and walked away wishing that girl a pleasant afterlife as she slipped, falling, flying into his open and lovely arms. Diving headfirst into that lovely kiss of something more than death. More than the never-ending illusion she wished of so.

"Madeline?"

Light spring air kiss your eyelids open. That was your name.

"Yes?" how long had it been since you have heard a voice? Your own voice?

And was this..?

Yes this was!

It is him, that face you had come to know so well. You will your arms to envelop the one you cannot touch.

"ssh, don't move." A sweet tone you recognize; he only uses it for you.

"Michael?" that sound barely leaves your throat and you're lightheaded and surprised you even managed to see him clearly.

"Yeah…" oh that smile, that slight almost unnoticeable twitch against the corner of his mouth, but those eyes tell you much more. Those eyes smiled; those eyes smile for you.

"Am I dreaming?"

"Not anymore." Laughter? Was he really laughing? This was serious, well to you at least…

"What happened?" you swallow at the sandpaper in your throat trying to keep your focus just on him but it's hard, you're very tired.

"Maddy.. we.. you've been in a coma for almost six months" no please all you want is that happy voice to say sweet things. "We.. we ran out of options, god I feel.. I shouldn't be telling you this but.. we," those bright eyes closed and all you want is to see them again, in all their sparkling glory. "we had to pull the plug."

His candy-pink tongue snaked out and wet his lips ever-so softly and you want nothing more than to tell him that it's all okay, that you're hear now and all he could ever do was good.

But now you know, that dream, that dream you have now left it for a much more lucid, concrete world.

"Emm?" oh there was that smile. "Welcome back to the world of the living."