literature

Extraordinary Idiocy

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perfectionsflaw's avatar
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Literature Text

I've always wanted to be a writer or a poet, though I have never understood most poetry. It's nights like these that I want to be able to put emotion into words. After I'm done with my inane babbling you might encounter a story, my story, don't worry it's short. My name is Eric and I once knew a girl who was extraordinary.

Several years ago I joined a community of young authors, a few not so young, many not exactly authors. During my time there I had gone through my highs and lows. I had tried to keep my stories on the lighter side of humanity, I would call them comedies if I wanted to give myself credit. During that time I had began chatting with a girl, fifthteen, a year younger than myself at that time. We had converged seperate story-lines and with it our own lives. Everything between us was purely lust from day one. From my strong advances to her coy recoils, it was plainly passion. I wrote for her romance in the guise of sonets, I plucked buttons from her shirt to unveil her ample breasts, I lingered for her hot breath against my moist skin. Together we were without the fulfillment of touch, without the light caress, without the heated embrace of skin against skin, without so much as a kiss.

I could have been with her like this for an age. But by the gods should the stars align against us, literally. In the form of a horoscope I found that she had fallen for me. For me! A man of such ill-regard, such low up-bringings, not that her's were any more prestigeous. I confronted her like the fool I was, surely enough the night sky cannot lie! She was in love, but I was not. Ignorantly I walked away from my passion and left her to dwell with the horrible thought, "Why doesn't he love me?" Could I be such a fool to bound to the idea that if I did not love her the exact moment in time she confessed to me that it was not meant to be!? Such a fool I was and I left her alone without an explanation, but no not at once! I slowly slipped away, day after day.

I avoided Lizbeth for months on end, I ignored my life. Nothing was on hold, it was abandoned in hope that time would change everything. It did. She didn't love me anymore. With this, the idiot I am was satisfied deep down in some way.

I was eighteen now. The community moved, eventually I along with it. Under new ownership, Michele's. After a brief reign of our good friend Bill, great writer not much of a manager. That's a good thing. So shortly thereafter she was involved with unsavory people, adolescents. I offered to her my skills in the art of 'persuasion'. Quickly we became friends because of her welcoming demeanor. She was nagged and abused constantly to the point where she saw it fit to let the abusers know her condition. Michele had been plagued with the disability, as far as I was told since early childhood. She was the warm beat of the sun against flesh, when she was around there couldn't be darkness and everywhere she would give life. I was the rain, fallen down from the heavens to bring chills and to bring life. We both brought to the world life, in our own ways.

It was Michele, myself, and Carl. He had been her confidant and friend since before the move. It didn't take long in talking with Carl and Michele to find out that they had feelings between them. Feelings that I had decided to make acknowledged to them both. I enjoyed the thought of bringing two happy souls together. Their love wasn't of passion like my own with Lizbeth. They longed for the touch, they waited to hold one another, they spoke to one another in a different way, but in the same tounge. He lay in wait for the moment where he could hold her in his arms, to smell her hair. She waited for him to feel his steady breathing against her back. They both knew that if they could see each other just one time- that if they could just glance into one another's eyes that time would stop, giving to them forever. Michele's light was fading.

The signs kept appearing here and there. Abscence, lack of energy, the short conversations, she even told me and I didn't pay attention. She confided to me she was in the front of a line to receive a transplant. The last time I had talked to her she was on a respirator, the tubes a foot from the machine, restraining her movements. It makes perfect sense, I am the fool after all.  A day before her death Carl and I were arranging to send 'Get Well' presents. His was a soothing botique of midnight flowers mine a fluffy stuffed animal with a card. Being an artist, the next day I was making the card myself when he had gotten ahold of me. He didn't know how to word it, Michele had died. Quietly I went about informing all of her friends, I wasn't suprised that it was no short list. It didn't take much to fall in love with her heart. After I was done and I could cry all that I wanted. Cry myself to sleep, like they do in the movies.

A second is all it took the next morning before touching the damp pillow and wanting to shed tears again. That was my life for the next week. The times I had not been crying I wished I had been. I loved this woman as a sister, as my own sister, as my blood. When Michele passed away she took a piece from many of us. From her parents, her brother, her love, from her many friends, and from me. She took with her the light she had given to keep us warm. The comforting thought in all of this is that she has her warmth where ever she is now. Funny thing is she left a spark in the ones she met, the ones she talked to. The spark was always just enough for us to remember how it felt and make lights of our own, If we wanted to.
A short story on the social happenings of my life and loves. I attempted to write some of it as if it were a poem, it's no where near readable in my opinion.
© 2004 - 2024 perfectionsflaw
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Khaidu's avatar
very touching :(