Literary Persuits and other Ramblings

Tag: random

She sat alone

She sat alone.

Her long dark hair was already pulled into a tight plait. Her hands, wrists and forearms were wrapped tightly for protection in white bandages. The white tight sleeveless tank top clung to her form in direct opposition to the flowing white cotton pants she wore. Both afforded movement. Both were traditional.

The white would show blood. It would be a mark of any weakness on her part.

Her feet were bare. Her toes icy from the concrete floor.

She sat alone.

The room dark save for a little light coming through the slightly ajar door. She sat on a small flat bed with a thin mattress. There were no pillows no blankets. A small wash basin was in the corner of the room next to a single wooden shelf upon which she had neatly folded her clothes.

She sat alone, staring at the blank whitewashed wall ahead of her. Her mind was calm. She was relaxed. The dagger which rested across her thighs was sharp and polished to a high sheen. The blade was nineteen inches in length and the tang fit snugly in a polished dark wood hilt. The hilt was further wrapped in tightly packed leather. The grip would not slip. The dagger was perfectly weighted and splendidly lethal.

She let out a breath as a bell sounded in the distance, each ring bringing a clench of fear around her heart. Once. Twice. Three times. The time had come. Slowly she stood, stretching out her back and legs. She gripped the dagger firmly in her left hand. The dagger transformed from a separate weapon to an extension of her arm. She was complete now that she was holding the weapon. It was familiar. It was comforting.

Walking towards the door, her steps were deliberate and placed with care. There was no glancing back. Nothing sentimental lay behind her. All that there was lay in front of her. A moment. One moment which would determine the rest of her life.

She walked down a corridor, her arms hanging loosely at her side. The dagger brushed past her leg as she walked. It took her fifteen steps to reach the end of the corridor. She counted each step. Taking a deep breath, she paused for a second, before exhaling any nerves which had crept in during her short walk. She waited another second before pushing the heavy, rough oak door open.

Ahead of her was an open courtyard.

The courtyard was easy enough to traverse. It wasn’t a vast expanse nor was it small. It was enclosed by towering dark grey granite walls which loomed menacingly up toward the sky. The only light which could penetrate such monstrosities was the midday sun. The ground was covered in fine white sand which was perfectly flat and smooth as a pond. There were only two entrances to the courtyard. One lay behind her, the other directly opposite. It was through those doors she intended to leave, or not at all.

As she waited, her opponent entered the courtyard. She stared in fascination at the imposing woman who stood facing her. Her opponent had short hair the colour of a winters fire. She too wore a white tank top and the white flowing cotton pants. Her opponent was tanned yet formidable looking with white scars in stark relief on her perfect skin.

She tightened her grip on her dagger. She knew what was coming, and took a step forward before fear could take root and cause her to turn and flee.

For each step forward she took, her body responded, anticipating the fight ahead. She changed the grip on her dagger, so that the blade rested against her forearm. Her right hand subtlety moved up towards her waist. The last bit of tension left her shoulder blades and she became completely relaxed once again. She came to a halt in the center of the courtyard, waiting for the fight she had been preparing for to begin.

Her opponent started circling her, waiting to tango with her to gauge her fighting style. A quick feint to her right, then one to her left. She waited and watched, as still and motionless as the air within the courtyard. She used her periphery and other senses to gauge what her opponent was going to do next. Her opponent continued to circle her like a predator stalking prey.

It was the slight sound of sand shifting which alerted her to her opponents attack from behind. In the blink of an eye she shifted her weight to her right, turning as she perfectly deflected the blow in a clash of metal. The fight had started in earnest now, and would only end with blood.

As quickly as she defended, she attacked. Her right hand circling around her opponents dagger arm. As she reached the top of the circle she bought the butt of her hand crashing down onto her opponents forearm. The blow was true and her opponent’s grip loosened on her blade. Taking advantage, she allowed her hand to travel along her opponents forearm, taking grip of her thumb. Using the distraction of her right hand going for her opponents dagger, she gave a quick shunt using her own blade sending her opponent off balance. As her opponent started to topple, she quickly gripped her elbow to prevent her opponent from regaining balance. While her opponent was floundering for the stability she needed to continue to fight, she slashed neatly across her opponents neck. Blood, hot and thick, gushed out covering her blade and arm. Soaking the bandages and turning them a pinkish red.

Her opponent dropped her dagger as she fell to her knees, her eyes wide in shock as her hand gripped the wound on her neck. Her opponent tried to stem the flow of blood. She just looked on to the doors and wiped her blade clean on her pants. Turning, she walked deliberately and slowly towards the doors which would lead her to her salvation. She walked with care, knowing she was being observed.

She pushed the doors open and walked along another short corridor to another sparsely furnished room. The bed with a flat mattress was in the corner, opposite a wash basin. She walked over to the basin, set her dagger down on the already cleared table and washed as much of the blood off her arms as she could. A servant entered and bowed, waiting to take her blade off to be cleaned and polished. She took one look at the dagger and offered it over freely.

She sat alone.

And waited.

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Was it a Dream?

It was just over a year. Longer perhaps, but definitely went over the year mark.

The beginning was happy. Not new and shiny happy, but more of a comfortable fit of a favorite pair of jeans. The kind of happy where the world finally makes sense, and everything that lead you to that moment was just part of the journey. The kind of happy that made you feel as though you have arrived home after a long time.

I still feel that way. One look, a touch, sends me reeling back into the feeling of comfort and safety. The feeling of belonging.

I made a choice, I walked away. I gave up.

A year and no one knew, at least not anyone I was friends with. I was hidden in the shadows like a terrible secret. A secret that one is so ashamed of they almost try and forget that it ever happened. It was happening though. It was there. It was real.

Or for the most part I think it was. There is no evidence that it ever happened. No social media comments or social reality. According to the world it didn’t happen. Life continued and no one knew the truth. If the truth is what the collective think, then the truth is that there was no relationship. Of course there were reasons for all of the secrecy, but as time went the reasons started to sound like the logic of a child.

Then the disappearing acts started happening. Hocus pocus, abracadabra and alakazam. Gone for a day, a week. Almost a month. I was rejected. Not even important enough to be included. Heaven forbid I point out it was wrong. May I be struck down for saying that I need attention too. Why did I not understand what was happening? Why couldn’t I just let it be?

Why does all of this have to hurt so much. Five minutes to delete everything from my life.

That is all it took.

Five minutes to delete a couple of digital photographs that no one ever saw. The only evidence that may have proved that something had happened.

Was it a dream? Dreams have happy endings.

No, this was more like a nightmare. A place where I did not exist. Where I was not as important as anything else in the world.

My significant other was my world and I was not even on a list of priorities. I existed only when and if I was wanted, like a toy which could be discarded at any moment.

This is not the first time, although it may be the first time I gave away all my love. The question is rather why do I let this continue? Why do I try and justify being treated with such disregard? Do I really think that little of myself that I would stay and be treated like a ghost?

No. I do not. I walked away.

I may have left my heart behind but I walked away.

And there is not even a photograph of us to prove that it wasn’t a dream.

Writers Block

Her hair was coarse.
Dry as veld grass in winter, and about the same colour. I was certain it had been dyed though.
I guess it made sense.
She was dead after all.

The Promise

You lie there, in the dark, watching her sleep beside you. You take in her scent, watch her breathe, trace outlines on her skin. She is dreaming, you hope that it is about you. She smiles secretly in the dark of the room, and you begin to feel tendrils of fear flicker through you.

You barely acknowledge them at first, but with each breath she takes, the stronger they get. You realize how fragile this moment it. How fragile it all is. She can be taken from you at any moment; swiftly and silently. A stalker grabbing hold of its prey, and there would be nothing you could do to stop it. To save her.

You cuddle up closer to her, feeling her heartbeat with yours and you promise her you will never let anything happen to her. You promise that you will be there for her. That no matter what, you will always answer her call. No matter how silent it is.

But when the day dawns the fears are left in the dark of the night. You fall back into your normal routine. Taking for granted that she will be there, always, when you call. Days turn into weeks, months continue to pass you by, and yet your promise remains forgotten in the depths of the dark of one lonely night.

You look at her, trace your fingers along the lines of her face. She is so beautiful, so fragile. You remember you silent promise all those ages ago, and wonder what happened. How did you miss her call? She looks just as she did back then, content, with a secret smile on her face. You want to tell her how much you love her, but the men are closing the lid. You scream at them, fight them off. Deny that she has gone. Deny that you weren’t there for her.

All that’s left now is ashes, and memories that are already beginning to fade. You remember her laugh, her smile. You throw the ashes off the edge of her favourite spot. You had never once taken the time to climb up here with her. Not once. You had always been too busy. Too preoccupied with your own demons to see hers. There are no tears left, and as you watch the last of the ashes float way In them you can see her smiling, laughing. You can see the love in her eyes. The love she had for you.

Hours pass, as do days. You torment yourself with every means possible. Continually, you punish yourself not being there when she needed you the most. Your world, your soul, is black. You are a void. Nothing. No one knows you; no one even bothers to find out. You exist from one day to another, finding an escape from her touch, her scent, her smile. That secret smile she had which haunts your every dream.

What feels like an eternity passes, and you find yourself back at that spot. Her spot. You scream in anguish for the person you have become. Dark and twisted by pain and rage. By the guilt you feel. She wouldn’t recognize you now. You can no longer hear her soft laughter anymore, or feel the way she felt when her skin was pressed against yours. You can barely see that secret smile she had, it has faded from your dreams.

As the tears flow and the racking sobs tear through every fiber of your body, you catch a faint scent, barely there on the wind. You cry out to her, begging her to forgive you, for you can never forgive yourself. You see her, just pass the edge.

You try to grab her, to hold her, to feel her just one last time. Something grabs you, a warm hand on yours. The touch melts the dark inside away, and eases some of the pain. You turn, expecting to see her in front of you, given back to you by some miracle.

It is not her, you find, but someone else. She doesn’t look the same, but she also has a secret smile, and eyes filled with love. She holds out her hand, and you take it.

She stays with you, Answers your every call. Never forgets you are there. You sit across from her and can’t help but trace the line of her smile. You make another promise. This time the promise is not only to yourself, but to to your love and to your love lost. Never again will you forget her. Forget that she is there. Never forget to answer her when she calls.

This time, you promise that you will keep your promise made to a girl with a secret smile.

Mirage

something of an illusion. that is all it was.
I stood there at the edge of something that should of been beautiful. Instead it was desolate, empty and broken.
In the end, it was a mirage

Wistful

it has been a long time, however this time of year always makes me feel wistful.
There is nothing I can do. What has been done is done. There is no turning back. Sometimes I see a glimmer of a hope. But that is all it is.

Tea

I owe much to tea.

 

It is the comfort I need after a long hard day. It is the warm embrace that lets me know it understand the pain and torment of getting up early. 

Tea is there when I am happy, sad, or apathetic. It doesn’t judge me on what I am wearing (or even if I am wearing nothing). 

So, to tea, I thank you.