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Literature Text
She's the type of girl that disappears without a trace.
Half the time, she's there with her smiles and laughs, and half the time, there's nothing but letters scattered on the floor.
Half the time we're afraid she'll shatter, and half the time we're afraid to touch the pieces.
- - -
- - -
We found her jacket the other day.
It was funny, it smelt nothing like the strawberries and cream we were all expecting. She wore that jacket every day, and we were expecting all the good things--
Strawberries and cream, lemonade and cotton candy, cinnamon and peppermint.
It smelt like fresh tears and vodka, and somehow, there was a part of all of us that wasn't surprised.
- - -
- - -
Her house seemed so empty when she wasn't there.
She brought life to the things around her, so stark white walls looked like art and pale blue couches looked like heaven. She made everything look better, brighter, lovelier.
But without her, the walls looked too bright, and the couches looked too faded, and everything else looked sad.
Even the house knew she wasn't there.
- - -
- - -
But there was always this one place in her house that we never touched.
She had a hallway, in the back, and it was always dark. The walls were painted black, but it was a sloppy job-- the paint was chipping off, and the edges were either not done or spilling over onto the ceiling and floor. The closet at the end of the hallway was locked, always locked, and she avoided the hallway like it was filled with monsters and demons and all the bad things in the world.
The day she disappeared for good, we went into the back.
- - -
- - -
Her demons were scratched into the paint.
We thought that the paint was chipping-- we were wrong. We were wrong about so much of her. We'd thought she'd outgrown her agoraphobia because of the time that she'd ran out into the rainstorm field and danced in the rain like so many people wished they could-- but on her walls, she'd scratched in boxes and boxes and boxes, all surrounding a tiny little heart. We'd thought she'd left behind her dreams to fly when she'd jumped off her roof and broken her arm-- but on her walls, there were drawings of wings and birds and bats and angels.
We thought she'd given up hurt in hope for something better, like she'd told us all those times to do-- but every heart scratched into the wall had cracks and dents and bruises in them.
- - -
- - -
When we cut the lock, the sound echoed off the walls.
It was like her warning us one more time that it wasn't right, this wasn't right.
We tossed the lock and opened the door.
- - -
- - -
Pictures.
Pictures and pictures and pictures spilled out, all in black and white. There were polaroids, and there were digitals. There were negatives pinned to the door, and there were film canisters in a box on the top shelf. Pictures of everything-- landscapes, flowers, trees, old pets, zoo animals, but mostly people. People from across the street, people from the tops of apartment buildings, close ups, fade outs, teenagers, babies, mothers, fathers. Boxes, boxes, boxes.
Not a single one of her.
- - -
- - -
She's the type of girl that disappears without a trace.
Half the time, she's the laughter in the wind, half the time, she's the sobbing in the rain.
Half the time, she's the cold at night, and half the time, she's the sun clinging to me.
Half the time, she's my love for life, half the time, she's the hole in my heart.
Half the time, we love to remember who she is.
Half the time, we forget that 'who she is' really should be 'who she was'.
- - -
Half the time, she's there with her smiles and laughs, and half the time, there's nothing but letters scattered on the floor.
Half the time we're afraid she'll shatter, and half the time we're afraid to touch the pieces.
- - -
Dear life-- I would trade butterflies for hope. love for friendship. beauty for passion. faith for candles. fear for trust. desperation for relief. sleep for lullabies. But maybe they're one in the same, anyway.
- - -
We found her jacket the other day.
It was funny, it smelt nothing like the strawberries and cream we were all expecting. She wore that jacket every day, and we were expecting all the good things--
Strawberries and cream, lemonade and cotton candy, cinnamon and peppermint.
It smelt like fresh tears and vodka, and somehow, there was a part of all of us that wasn't surprised.
- - -
Baa baa, black sheep, have you any wool? Yes, sir, yes, sir, three bags full, One for the slaughter house, One for the stage, One for the dark horse, We're gonna run away. Baa baa, black sheep, have you any wool? Yes, sir, yes, sir, and none of it's for you.
- - -
Her house seemed so empty when she wasn't there.
She brought life to the things around her, so stark white walls looked like art and pale blue couches looked like heaven. She made everything look better, brighter, lovelier.
But without her, the walls looked too bright, and the couches looked too faded, and everything else looked sad.
Even the house knew she wasn't there.
- - -
Once upon a time, there was a little girl with no mouth.
She had stitches where her lips should be, stitched up because her mother liked it better that way. No one knew how she ate or drank. She was never allowed outside of her house, because no one would want to see her, anyway.
One day, she ran away.
She met a boy when she ran. He had these deep eyes that hid something, and she assumed that it was kindness. He spoke the kindest words, and he told her of a magical place called love where it wouldn't matter that she had no mouth, because people wouldn't be afraid of her. She looked up at him with bright eyes and nodded her head until it hurt.
He smiled back at her and took her hand.
"Then I'll take you there."
Love was in a big field. There were red, white, and blue tents, and they billowed in the wind. There were lions and tigers and white faces painted with big red smiles and sad blue frowns. There were cages with people inside, a boy with two heads, and a girl with no bones, and a baby with wrinkled skin. Love looked crowded with laughing, pointing people, and love smelled of peanuts and grease and animals.
The girl followed the boy around until they found a man in a tall top hat and red suit. He had a gritty smile, filled with gold and silver caps, and a greedy look in his eyes. He looked like he didn't belong in love, but was apparently in charge. The boy spoke in hushed tones and the man looked over the girl. She flinched under his beady eyed sight, but he didn't notice. He nodded and gestured to a man on his right.
The boy smiled down at the girl and told her that she would like it here. That this was love, and that she would have a wonderful time. And then he walked away, and the man on the right grabbed her. With her arms behind her back, he shoved her into a cage with the boy with two heads, and he locked the door.
The boy, her boy, grinned at her from beyond the bars and waved.
When she blinked away the tears, he was gone.- - -
But there was always this one place in her house that we never touched.
She had a hallway, in the back, and it was always dark. The walls were painted black, but it was a sloppy job-- the paint was chipping off, and the edges were either not done or spilling over onto the ceiling and floor. The closet at the end of the hallway was locked, always locked, and she avoided the hallway like it was filled with monsters and demons and all the bad things in the world.
The day she disappeared for good, we went into the back.
- - -
I WILL NOT CRY FOR YOU.
My heartbeat is
screaming.
I WILL NOT CRY FOR YOU.
I'm tired of seeing your face in my window
grinning at me.
I WILL NOT CRY FOR YOU.
I want to scream it from my
roof tops.
I WILL NOT CRY FOR YOU.
But I'd do it in the
rain.
I WILL NOT CRY FOR YOU.
Because then you can't see me
breaking it.
I WILL NOT CRY FOR YOU.- - -
Her demons were scratched into the paint.
We thought that the paint was chipping-- we were wrong. We were wrong about so much of her. We'd thought she'd outgrown her agoraphobia because of the time that she'd ran out into the rainstorm field and danced in the rain like so many people wished they could-- but on her walls, she'd scratched in boxes and boxes and boxes, all surrounding a tiny little heart. We'd thought she'd left behind her dreams to fly when she'd jumped off her roof and broken her arm-- but on her walls, there were drawings of wings and birds and bats and angels.
We thought she'd given up hurt in hope for something better, like she'd told us all those times to do-- but every heart scratched into the wall had cracks and dents and bruises in them.
- - -
Dear Life--
This is being caught between heartbreak and nothing left.
This is being caught between saving yourself or saving someone else.
This is being caught between the desecration of what you love by the people you love.
This is being lost in things that no one else wants.
This is being lost in the things that not even you want anymore.
This is being the broken doll that no one at the garage sale wants.
I wonder how much longer until they throw me away.- - -
When we cut the lock, the sound echoed off the walls.
It was like her warning us one more time that it wasn't right, this wasn't right.
We tossed the lock and opened the door.
- - -
You say you like me because I have the biggest brown eyes you've ever seen.
(but really, you're imagining your ex girlfriend, because she had the biggest blue eyes, and blue is your favourite colour)
You say you like me because I have roses in my cheeks.
(but your favourite flowers are fake, and I can see you frown when you touch me and realize I'm not)
You say you like me because I have cherry cola lips.
(but you always liked pepsi better)- - -
Pictures.
Pictures and pictures and pictures spilled out, all in black and white. There were polaroids, and there were digitals. There were negatives pinned to the door, and there were film canisters in a box on the top shelf. Pictures of everything-- landscapes, flowers, trees, old pets, zoo animals, but mostly people. People from across the street, people from the tops of apartment buildings, close ups, fade outs, teenagers, babies, mothers, fathers. Boxes, boxes, boxes.
Not a single one of her.
- - -
I said you liked me because I was pretty.
(but you only ever went for drop dead gorgeous-- two out of three ain't bad, right?)
I said you liked me because I could sing.
(but every time we listened to music, you only played instrumentals so I couldn't sing along)
I said you liked me because I was unforgettable.
(but you only liked me because I could disappear)- - -
She's the type of girl that disappears without a trace.
Half the time, she's the laughter in the wind, half the time, she's the sobbing in the rain.
Half the time, she's the cold at night, and half the time, she's the sun clinging to me.
Half the time, she's my love for life, half the time, she's the hole in my heart.
Half the time, we love to remember who she is.
Half the time, we forget that 'who she is' really should be 'who she was'.
- - -
Hey, you--
Never forget me.Suggested Collections
Wherever you are--
We could never forget you.
- - -
This was purely an experiment that evolved. I still can't really see how I formed it into anything mildly resembling 'memory'.
XD
I haven't had the heart to look over it myself, but I think I like the idea. Here's the hoping that it wasn't an experiment gone terribly, horribly wrong!
Step eleven down.
Enjoy.
<3
- - -
11 / 100
Theme 12 :: Insanity
Theme 10 :: Breathe
- - -
Permission for use--
We could never forget you.
- - -
This was purely an experiment that evolved. I still can't really see how I formed it into anything mildly resembling 'memory'.
XD
I haven't had the heart to look over it myself, but I think I like the idea. Here's the hoping that it wasn't an experiment gone terribly, horribly wrong!
Step eleven down.
Enjoy.
<3
- - -
11 / 100
Theme 12 :: Insanity
Theme 10 :: Breathe
- - -
Permission for use--
© 2009 - 2024 MissAlphaWolf
Comments22
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You have melded together so many aspects of your literature into this one piece. I like how you remade the classic nursery rhyme. You told a story of what love can do.
I like it. I really do.
I like it. I really do.