Post by AURI THEIRIN on Apr 28, 2012 11:03:31 GMT -5
| [atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style, width: 400px; background-image: url(http://i1109.photobucket.com/albums/h424/Shade066/Random/abg059.png); border-radius: 20 20 20 20px;] [STYLE=width: 360px; height: 200px; border-top: 4px solid #000000; border-bottom: 4px solid #000000; border-radius: 20 20 20 20px; margin: 20 20 0 20; background-image: url(http://i.imgur.com/2E2nU.jpg);] [STYLE=font-family: Georgia; font-size: 34px; color: #000000; margin: 167 5 0 15px; text-shadow: #000000 1px 3px 8px;] listen to my story, [/style] [/style] [STYLE=width: 340px; margin: 10 20 20 20px; border-radius: 20 20 20 20px; border-top: 4px solid #000000; border-bottom: 4px solid #000000; background-image: url(http://i1109.photobucket.com/albums/h424/Shade066/Random/abg034.png); color: #000000; font-family: Georgia; font-size: 11px; padding: 9 5 37 15;]In my palace of shattered crystal and empty glass, the memories slice at my mind as surely as any blade might cut my skin. The twisted corridors of this palace that has fallen to ruins has but one door. For as long as I can remember, it has been there and I have longed for it at the same time that the very thought of it sends a dark chill of fear through my body. It makes my skin prickle, and my mind scream to run, just run. Every time, I do. I run back through those bleeding corridors that sing with angels voices. I never think, I never stay. I just run. Every whisper in this place murmurs something new and different to me, it sings me a song of past and future times. A spider whispers oily promises, and birds dance through the skies like drops of blood caught on the wind. When the butterflies move, their wings sound like screaming. For all the blood in this dark place, it is safer than anywhere else I have ever been. The thunder makes those creatures go away, and when the rain falls it sings off the crystal with a sound that cleanses my soul free of dirt and mud. When the rain falls on what is left of the palace that shone like a thousand stars, I feel as though I am safe. I am protected by the icy water that falls on my skin. I don't know how long it's been since the palace cracked, since the lines danced along the walls and split everything apart. When the foundations shook with screams and sobs and finally tumbled into the sharp mess that it is now. There is nothing left but shattered remains, and the fear so sharp that I must be careful not to cut myself on it. I don't know how long I've been here. I know only that my body is tired from running, my hands are covered with cuts every day, and my feet bleed from dancing through the crystal shards. I know that at night I will curl myself into the arms of my tree, I know I climb so high that nothing can touch me, and the tears will come like a river. I can't stop it, even if I know that every sob is tearing me apart inside, even if I know that they do nothing but drain my body of every reserve of energy, I can't stop. Sometimes it's nice. Sometimes it's nice to cry and pretend the tears are like the venom from lies leaving me and leaving the wound a bloody mess to heal. Only it never heals. My memory is nothing but a tunnel of emptiness. Sometimes I think I'm brave enough to go back, I'll reach for a pen, or for a clock or for something that I can feel the memories tingling on the surface. Then there's something else, right before I touch. A scream, or maybe it's the whisper of a scream, the echo of pain, the echo of loneliness and aching and hurting and screaming and things that my mind, fragile and broken as it is, flinches away from. I don't know anything. I know I had a name, I know I had a home. I know things that other people don't, like the names of the stars and languages and history. I know them but those facts are like shards of crystal scattered in long grass. Sometimes I find them, and sometimes they are only found when I stumble on them or they cut my hands. I know I was someone, but I know that girl was weak and broken and I don't want to be her anymore. I'm supposed to fix it, to find the memories and fit them like clay pieces into a mosaic. At the same time, there's nothing I'd like better than to stay in the shattered world and listen for the name of the wind. I thought writing it would help. Would fix things, but the words are as strange to me as if I'd never understood how to hold a pen. Maybe I'm too lost to come back.. [/style] [STYLE=font-size: 34px; font-family: Georgia; text-shadow: #000000 1px 3px 8px; color: #000000; margin: -55 30 20 160;] ~Auri[/style] |
