Post by cradleman on Mar 5, 2010 22:14:48 GMT -6
Ok, so i don't really have a title, but what I've titled the thread will do i guess. I've been depressed since my girlfriend broke up with me, and yesterday was just a bad day. In addition to my normal sort of depression, I watched an Angel episode about a guy who's girlfriend was breaking up with him, I got the lowest grade in my teaching science class on a teaching because my teacher is an ass-hole, i had to go through an interminable 3 hour chem lab, and to finish it all off, I watched the Buffy episode where her mom dies. It was possibly the most depressing episode of any show i have ever seen, although it's probably my favorite episode of the show so far. Anyways, with all the depression, i just felt compelled to write a story that mirrored my emotions due to the break-up with my girlfriend. Now and again as the mood strikes, and as my life progresses, the story will be updated. until then, here is the first part.
His footsteps echoed loudly in the empty corridor. Though actually quite soft, they sounded to him as crashing cymbals. His heart beat slowly in his chest, undetectable to anyone else, but to him the only evidence that he was even still alive. He walked, but there was no purpose or direction to his steps. If not for his heartbeat, he’d have sworn that someone had ripped out his heart mere minutes ago. The worst part, he knew, was that it was he himself who had ripped it from its resting place. And why did he do this? Oh, he knew why, or at least he thought he did. Now, of course, he wasn’t so sure. That thing they call love, is it really true? Is there really someone for everyone? For almost two years now, he’d known the answer. He had his someone, and nothing would take her from him, or so he thought. No one except she could end it, and she wouldn’t do that, but end it she did. Now, of course, he realized that love was nothing but a game. Cruel, addictive, and deadly. He kept on walking, listening to the echoes, trying to gather his thoughts. What had compelled her to destroy him like this? He had given her his heart, his greatest sacrifice. What had he obtained in return? Shattered pieces, no good to anyone, especially him. He continued to walk, now out in the sunshine. The sun beat down on his face, warming his skin, but not his mood. Eventually, the tears he had been holding back began to roll. He had tried to be a man, keep the tears from coming, but like all men he finally succumbed, and now the tears rolled down his cheeks one after another after another. His mind screamed at him to turn around, demand another shot. His head kept him going in the same direction. He still loved her, but she no longer loved him. Friends? She would want to be friends, and he would oblige, but deep down he knew what it would mean. It would mean she had moved on, but he would still feel the pain. Every time he saw her, even if it didn’t show in his attitude or on his face, he would feel it in his soul. Feel that knife turning, twisting, damaging everything about him. The urge would come to him, followed swiftly by realization. She was not his to love, not his to cherish. He was not the one that she needed, even though they were perfect for each other. He shuddered at the thought; waves of nausea rolled through his body. The tears kept coming; nothing could stop them as they poured from his eyes, his emotions controlling his every action. Around him now he heard the sounds of others, those more fortunate than he. He recognized laughter, scoffed at its stupidity. He knew no joy, could feel nothing but pain and sorrow. He knew that all other emotions were lies, a gilded covering to alleviate the cares of life. All that really existed was pain. It might come in one form, it might come in another but it all was all still pain. Love may seem grand to those experiencing it, but the realization of false love is more painful than any torture ever devised. He glanced up, realized he was on his street now. Soon now, it would be ended. One way or another, it would be ended. He saw himself climbing the steps to his door, unwilling, but unable to stop himself. The door opened and he slipped inside, headed for his room. The tears which had subsided only as he had reached his home now found new life, springing from his eyes like rivers. He let his body go limp and fell aimlessly onto the bed. As he lay prostrate, he lifted his head but was greeted rudely by her picture. He tried to scream, but no breath came. He wanted to tear the photo to shreds, but his limbs would not move. Finally, he lowered his head again, and drifted slowly and sorrowfully into a somber slumber.
Part 1
His footsteps echoed loudly in the empty corridor. Though actually quite soft, they sounded to him as crashing cymbals. His heart beat slowly in his chest, undetectable to anyone else, but to him the only evidence that he was even still alive. He walked, but there was no purpose or direction to his steps. If not for his heartbeat, he’d have sworn that someone had ripped out his heart mere minutes ago. The worst part, he knew, was that it was he himself who had ripped it from its resting place. And why did he do this? Oh, he knew why, or at least he thought he did. Now, of course, he wasn’t so sure. That thing they call love, is it really true? Is there really someone for everyone? For almost two years now, he’d known the answer. He had his someone, and nothing would take her from him, or so he thought. No one except she could end it, and she wouldn’t do that, but end it she did. Now, of course, he realized that love was nothing but a game. Cruel, addictive, and deadly. He kept on walking, listening to the echoes, trying to gather his thoughts. What had compelled her to destroy him like this? He had given her his heart, his greatest sacrifice. What had he obtained in return? Shattered pieces, no good to anyone, especially him. He continued to walk, now out in the sunshine. The sun beat down on his face, warming his skin, but not his mood. Eventually, the tears he had been holding back began to roll. He had tried to be a man, keep the tears from coming, but like all men he finally succumbed, and now the tears rolled down his cheeks one after another after another. His mind screamed at him to turn around, demand another shot. His head kept him going in the same direction. He still loved her, but she no longer loved him. Friends? She would want to be friends, and he would oblige, but deep down he knew what it would mean. It would mean she had moved on, but he would still feel the pain. Every time he saw her, even if it didn’t show in his attitude or on his face, he would feel it in his soul. Feel that knife turning, twisting, damaging everything about him. The urge would come to him, followed swiftly by realization. She was not his to love, not his to cherish. He was not the one that she needed, even though they were perfect for each other. He shuddered at the thought; waves of nausea rolled through his body. The tears kept coming; nothing could stop them as they poured from his eyes, his emotions controlling his every action. Around him now he heard the sounds of others, those more fortunate than he. He recognized laughter, scoffed at its stupidity. He knew no joy, could feel nothing but pain and sorrow. He knew that all other emotions were lies, a gilded covering to alleviate the cares of life. All that really existed was pain. It might come in one form, it might come in another but it all was all still pain. Love may seem grand to those experiencing it, but the realization of false love is more painful than any torture ever devised. He glanced up, realized he was on his street now. Soon now, it would be ended. One way or another, it would be ended. He saw himself climbing the steps to his door, unwilling, but unable to stop himself. The door opened and he slipped inside, headed for his room. The tears which had subsided only as he had reached his home now found new life, springing from his eyes like rivers. He let his body go limp and fell aimlessly onto the bed. As he lay prostrate, he lifted his head but was greeted rudely by her picture. He tried to scream, but no breath came. He wanted to tear the photo to shreds, but his limbs would not move. Finally, he lowered his head again, and drifted slowly and sorrowfully into a somber slumber.
TO BE CONTINUED