Friday, February 19, 2010
And Then You Came Along
This is a little story I wrote for my school's literary magazine. I would love to hear what you think of it, I really adore and appreciate all of your feedback. It means the world to me :)
Here it is:
You Can’t Fall in Love with Me
By Heather Taylor
My dream that night was filled with midnight blue and royal purple speckled skies. The decayed field I so often stood still in was alive with the most aquamarine shaded of blossoms.
I am running for the first time through this field with its sharp blossom petals sticking me in my shins, my blushing knees, my bruised ankles. It doesn’t matter. You are at the center of the field, on a beautiful ivory swing that hangs from a magnificent oak tree. The tree of life, all lit up with vermilion apples, dripping sweet juice from the branches onto your hair, the color of rust and copper mixed together.
Oh, you remain my joy still Cliff, even if I am not yours. The dreamer in me sees our happily ever after in my diamond clouded blueish green eyes arrested by the beautiful, if not injuring, fantasies in my mind. In my reality, I am the dreamer. Here in my sleep, I am the realist, the girl who is more prone to letting her tears flow and resigned to the loves of my life leaving. This realist says that I am in lust with being toyed around. A wooden puppet that thrives on the strings you pulled on me, yanking me in all the directions you loved. Maybe I should not want that feeling, but the realist in me was too late. The diamonds hardened my pupils and I got lost in their brilliance.
Cliff is wearing a pair of worn blue jeans and a simple white shirt. I am running in the thinnest of beige nightslips Gentle breeze tickles my arms. I am running. I told you I would meet you halfway.
You asked me why I was so wonderful to you and the answer came courtesy of the dreamer, because you are special. If you listened to the realist, she wouldn’t have said anything. As a puppet, your next move would be to pull my strings.
My long hair does not fly in the breeze because it is somehow shorter. Those flower petals must have freed my scalp with their velvet scythes. I look behind me and fat strands of yellow are wrapped around the stems of all of the flowers.
I should have never said what I did. I didn’t mean to have you walk away.
You do know I didn’t mean that, right? That it was the puppet in me, trying her best to respond the way you wanted it to be? For years, I’ve been slowly changing how I say words to men. How I say what they like and lock what I feel away in my mind. Not my heart. That’s becoming a place that’s filled with people I can love at a distance.
I should have never looked back at my hair. Cliff has gotten off of the swing and is walking away in slow motion. He doesn’t turn around to look at me. How unlike my old evenings when he used to try to say words to me and I slid onto bright red toboggans with my hands against my eardrums. Hear no evil.
I want to catch up, I feel like I need to want to catch him. My feet stay rooted in the soil, bare and squishy and streaked with thin lines of dirt, dark as coal. I was a naughty girl once. Now just a girl who wants to scream until her vocal cords break apart when she thinks of you.
Cut my strings, free the wooden puppet girl.
I sit down in the blossoms and pluck several. My fingers well up with crimson blood, but I blithely wind the sky blue wonders together in a circle, fit for a wrist. They become a corsage. It is my new shield. In the Age of Loneliness, without my parents or brother or sister to fight my battles, only I can protect myself.
The shield of flowers smells so sweet. Lilac scented with just a hint of me. I curl up in a fetal position and stare at the speckled royal queen’s lavender sky as the flowers continue to scalp me with their silky petals.
Would being the dreamer right about now be the better me to be?
Some of the story was borrowed from real life.
Though I wonder if he'd ever know.
Love to you all,