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Choices
Contributed by ShadowDaughter
on Sunday, 10th July 2005 @ 12:58:30 AM AEST
Topic:
true
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His name wasn't Adric. I would have prefered pronouns in their unassuming mystery but practicality demanded an uppercase letter for him. Adric was a good name, though, I supposed; firm edges interspersed with apologetic curves. It didn't fit him at all. The manchild who could never have been Adric was jagged, jagged and smooth and flat hard stab-staccato. His handwriting was slanted, angular, thick. He pressed too hard. Adric --I may as well call him that-- wrote like he didn't know if marring the page were pain or purpose. Healer's hands are always scarred, he said . . . I remember he told me once that poems wrote him. Maybe he screamed during the process.
Adric respected paper, anyhow, respected it like he respected who he thought I was. We frail, flammable healers. I drew scars on my hands, tracing the veins spanning them with purple magic marker. Before smiling at him I'd consume grape popsicles, tonguing them, eyes shut, sensual-slow and unutterably cheap, the way girls did chupa chups on porn sites. Orgasmic. The dye (artificial, chemical, the way I liked it) stained my tongue and teeth an italic shade-- proof to him that I was paper. I wrote myself and read myself, in a voice with sanded edges. Soft as snow. The words echoed around me, around, around, dizzying . . . they were never mine. None could've been easier to claim, though; borrowed phrases dressed up in discard props and stage makeup. I was an expert at fooling the eyes I pretended were mirrors-- and I could never get enough. Such a slut. The almost-smile on Adric's face as his gaze snagged on me, me in royal purple like a Roman emperor, me as Jesus ****ing Christ and ready to die as long as he believed I meant it-- the almost-smile was everything. A bauble. I taught myself tricks (art to such an extent is hidden by art itself, said Ovid, said my Latin teacher, said our heart-to-hearts that I lied to us both in) and went to bed smiling at my anonymity. I wonder if he understood.
He told me he had dragon eyes. I would've liked to say I scrutinized my pictures of him, searching for the flecks of gold he attested to. I didn't. Disappointment is such a powerful incentive.
Maybe I don't know **** about you because you ****ing hide all the ****ing time, Adric said. Maybe he shouldn't have spoken in maybes. Maybe he didn't know the half of it. Layers upon layers upon layers, and dragons are very little like onions.
Never did breathe fire, anyhow. He lied in red as I did in purple. Now and then seething in a dark sort of gray that he laced with burgundy --because back then all of him was laced-- the drama and passion of which I clung to like I needed it. (I did.) He liked pretending his legs were long enough for a leap of faith; his magik without a c and his dreams of warring angels. He was one of them. I believed because I was good at believing and because his gray was threaded with silver.
Silver. Adric was precious. Precious in a way that I couldn't afford to lose him (I told myself it was the world that couldn't; it was truth, for a change, but I meant it as a lie). Vital. It made me desperate and panicky and I emailed him daily with a thousand easy lies and made my face into a situationally appropriate emoticon and dug my purple tinged nails into his hand (I loved him, maybe, loved him as much as a fourteen year old girl obsessed with cheating the mirrors can manage) and
and
and
we danced, in a blur of catalogue carpet shades, burgundy and eggplant. We danced for six months before the red washed out of his smile like blood, before the black dye washed out of his hair. He was a natural blond. Mine stayed black, the shade I'd called it since second grade when I gave up telling people it was dark (dark! dark!) brown . . . habits are hard to break. Till the end, we both thought it black. Till the end.
His name was Jeff, and he was everything.
Copyright © ShadowDaughter
... [2005-07-1012:58:30]
(Date/Time posted on site)
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Re: Before Potential Hues
(User Rating: 1)
by shelby on Sunday, 10th July 2005 @ 07:43:17 PM AEST
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your way with words had me on the edge of my chair your very talented
Michelle |
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Re: Before Potential Hues
(User Rating: 1)
by lostinmyself on Monday, 11th July 2005 @ 06:41:06 PM AEST
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Nora...you will hate me saying it, but I'm very proud of you...
I know how much this must have taken, and I know how real it is, and how true.
I can't say more than I have said before.
*hugs*
Phil xxx |
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Re: Before Potential Hues
(User Rating: 1)
by MorningDove on Tuesday, 12th July 2005 @ 02:55:37 AM AEST
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Nora, first let me say this is brilliant. Second I would like to say to you something my grandmother said to me many years ago. Sometimes everything is more than we need. Somes everything is not near what we need. Sometimes everything is just an idea in our mind. If you understand that at your age, you are smarter than I was. It just fits this in my mind though. I am delighted to see you post. Rita
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Re: Before Potential Hues
(User Rating: 1)
by lil_angel on Thursday, 14th July 2005 @ 01:39:41 PM AEST
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This is really good....i have read it a couple times trying to get the right words that this deserves but unlike you i dont have a wonderful way with words! This is sooooo good, i am jelous of your talent! |
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Re: Before Potential Hues
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by blowfish_jane on Friday, 15th July 2005 @ 12:16:14 PM AEST
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This is such a sad write. But somehow i know what you meant and where trying to say. Sometimes we can love so much and it always somehow backfires on you. It's a sad thing but somehow you learn from it.
This was really grat Nora, you are truely one talented girl who will have a very bright future ahead of her.
Jane xxx |
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