I wanted to write a piece that reminded me of my inspiration, so I did. I hope the dark tone bodes well, and that you don't find it too melodramatic. It's supposed to be a pretty out-there interpretation of the Ice Climbers, with tons of metaphor as opposed to canon. Some may find it bending the rules, but that's sort of what I'm going for; genre over substance. It was sort of a rushed project, but the person who inspired the prose behind this, the style I'm taking inspiration from, writes a lot like this.
Disclaimer: I own nothing, regret nothing and let them forget nothing.
Take a breath, count to three, light your torches and jump in.
You used to be my reflection.
We were everything that we were, and more to add to it. We were both people who could look at a glass and see it as half full. We were people who could find beauty in the blades of grass, majesty in the rain, adventure in the skies, each other in the stars. You loved the stars, then I did too, because you gave them to me in a new light.
I never forsook that vision. Because it was you, and you were brilliant.
You were my reflection in pink, different from my blue. I tried to keep steadfast on the ground. You were a balloon floating in the air. I knew of the powers human beings had. You thought you were powerless. I tried to show my love in my actions. You showed yours in your words, your beautiful, majestic, adventurous, brilliant words that captivated me from the day I discovered you.
I never let go.
I loved you. I loved you in a way that I never loved anyone else, not even those who I kissed. I adored you, looked up to you, because of your talent and vision and the way you were, the way you were but no longer are. I put trust in you that I never did in anyone else, because I had always believed you would give it back. That you had. That you did.
Now I'm left here, wondering what was true and what was not.
You were like no one else I knew, and it was intoxicating, and yet, we still were so similar. I always thought I was looking at my reflection when I saw you. A reflection in pink, because we were different in our own ways, but still the same in our hearts.
Then I heard about you. I heard what they said. What started as a buzzing became a roaring fire that I couldn't outrun. I couldn't believe it. With my whole heart, I denied it. My world became a nightmare that I couldn't escape, because I knew that I was wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong. I was a fool to have trusted you so blindly, so foolishly.
I ran to where we met before, under the stars. Where you connected the dots within them and brought forth the vision. You were the stars, and when you became part of me I always tried to give that back to you. You gave me something no one else truly gave this lonely soul before.
We would climb mountains together, we would overcome obstacles that were bigger than us, and we'd survive. We were adventurers, ones that had nearly lost ourselves and each other, but held on tight.
You told me that you loved me, that I was like a reflection of you. That you could see someone who truly understood you and all the voices and visions in your head. I felt a soaring surge of honor. I had always, so badly, wanted to mean something to someone. I never forgot those words or the chills through my skin when you said them.
Now here I am. I see you before me, a friend lost in time. Your eyes burn with something that terrifies me more than it exhilarates me. The light behind them is gone. The stars have vanished.
Voices in my mind scream accusations, and I can only barely choke out one question, a question for explanation, for quietness in my head. A plea for the reflection that you said you were. The friend you promised you would be.
I beg for your honesty.
You look at me with those vacant eyes, looking over me, and you run away.
I can only stare at the empty space in front of me, calling for you, calling for my reflection. You never return. I stay there, petrified, for days, in the last foolish act I will ever do for you.
Eventually, I become angry, give up and leave.
When I return from the mountaintops, I see your friends, the ones I never truly knew but respected, because you liked them, and they were good people, ones I should have given more to.
I calmly ask them to give me what you could not.
They give me honesty, and it hurts.
You weren't what I thought you were after all.
It's then that I realize that the reflection never was.
It was only a painting, a piece of brilliant artwork created only for myself, a creation that I had become mystified with beyond the point of reason, one that constantly changed to whatever I desired. It was flawed and it had its cracks, but it was the most amazing piece of artwork I had ever seen.
I thought that piece was real.
Even now, sitting here alone, in the place where you gave me the stars, I hold the painting in my heart, but it's changed from reality to a relic.
I fear I will never truly know who its painter was.
A/N You know, this makes good NaNo practice, writing 850 words in 20 minutes. I want to compete in that, so wish me luck.
Also, I hope this doesn't scar you for life on the Ice Climbers. This is just a really abstract interpretation of the theme. If you want to hear my love and adoration for the Ice Climbers, look for my story Adventures. It's actually in the SSB section; maybe I'll send it over to Ice Climbers. This section needs love.
I hope this experimentation worked well for you.