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Becoming a Memory.
She looked at the boxes stacked on the floor of her dorm room, the things inside them hastily packaged and carelessly whisked off onto a train which led to a plane which led to a cab that carried her to her dorm room. A room that waited all summer for her to fill it again, empty and desolate with her absence, a layer of dust blanketing everything she deemed unimportant to bring with her on her travels. She planned on going to England to see the sights and for schooling, not to visit a land of heartbreak that left her flailing in a pool of her own tears. No, she knew she would kiss a few lads and maybe even further, but she never thought she would feel something more, something worth staying for. But she didn't stay.
She left him behind with protest in his eyes, his fists clenched to hold in the thoughts he was silently screaming at her, the telepathic messages clouding her mind and making her temples throb until she thought she would finally collapse into his arms. She didn't though. Her sunburnt legs carried her to a train, not even the last one running, and she forgot to look out the window as it took her hostage back to a place where summer had already ended. All the way back she wondered what he was thinking, if he had looked at the picture she slipped into his pocket. It was a bad picture, slightly blurry and out of focus, which was acceptable since the person who took it had been more than a bit intoxicated at the time. She had been talking like always, and he had adverted her eyes, like always. He looked at her that night, however, their last night together. He had told her to stay. She said no.
All fairytales have a time limit, sometimes at midnight or when happily ever after reaches the end of the happiness meter. She slowly knelt down, afraid of the creak in the floor that would jolt her thoughts and wake her from her reverie, a penance for leaving him behind. Or not staying. What would she have done? The box was easy to open, almost like it was eager for her to see what it had claimed in its depths. It was her favourite sundress, white eyelet and yellow laces. When she bought it she considered it a waste of money, something she would wear once and shove into the back of her closet to be forgotten. It had been remembered, maybe because it was his gentle touch that had peeled the dress away from her or because it had made him look her in the eyes. She brought the dress to her nose and in a vain moment of desperation attempted to see if his smell lingered upon the cotton material. It didn't.
The next box held random objects, like books she bought and seashells from the beach. They had spent most of their time together on the sandy shore. This particular seashell she remembered was the day that there had been over ten sand castles to kick over. He had watched but his gaze was penetrating beyond her, at something she couldn't see. Now she picked up the shell, tracing its grainy surface, rippled with a grooved pattern. She pressed it to her ear, hearing the ocean waves echoing inside it. She squeezed her eyes tight in concentration and blocked out everything except what remained of his voice in her memories. Imagination had never failed her until now. Not even this seashell could recreate his snide remarks that made her smile impishly.
The last box was full of her sketches, tall buildings and abnormally round ones, wide with windows, and crippled with balconies. Her least favourite drawing was the one he said he liked, his first comment on her artwork, and also his last. It was simple, just a basic business office tower, with the standard ten plus floors lined with too many windows to bother counting. It was at a funny angle, a technique she had experimented with and decided against using again. The pencil she had drawn the building with was running low on lead and she had forgotten her sharpener so the lines faded until finally, there was nothing left. A gaping hole on one of the sides, never completed. He had kissed the back of her neck then and said, "It's all right." To her the comment was so bizzare it was like he said he saw a huddle of cats tap dancing across the street. But there were no dancing cats, only an unfinished drawing liked by a left-behind boy.
For the umpteenth time that hour she wondered once again what he was doing. Was he sleeping, eating, perhaps already at another bar, finding a different girl to be with for the fall? No, he wasn't that type of guy. Or was he? Did she really know him at all? He had told her stories before, wonderful stories that did not make much sense but that was the kind she loved best. He talked the most after she had been quiet for five minutes, a feat that was nearly impossible for her to maintain. Except when she was sleeping, which her silence was probably due to the fact her dreams were filled with conversations, ones where he had more to say than what he really said.
She wasn't in love. It couldn't hurt like this, letting go. They hadn't even said good-bye, just a quiet departing that was sizzling with unspoken words. They had argued beforehand and said everything that needed to be said so how could there be more? But there was and she, for twice that night, had said nothing. He didn't either. She half wished he would reach out a hand and grab her arm and spin her around and tell her she can't leave, she can't. If he tried to, his arm didn't reach out far enough.
They were left frayed, like the edges of the open boxes that were now distributed across the floor like cardboard islands in a wallowing sea. Then she kicked them, one by one like she did to the sand castles at the beaches. When she was done watching the cardboard fold within itself, she collapsed to the floor and let go of the strength that was holding back her tears. This was it. There was no going back. He had become a memory.
Sorry for any confusion. I wrote this at 3:00 AM, which really has no ring to it. Anyway, this writing is a response to an AMAZING one-shot:: http://www.fanfiction.net/s/5105808/1/Kicking_Down_Castles
It's beautiful. I recommend reading it if you have the chance to.
As for my one shot, like one or two parts of a line are taken from "Kicking Down Castles."
**Claire:: It's Draco fanfiction! Not Lunaco though :[
She looked at the boxes stacked on the floor of her dorm room, the things inside them hastily packaged and carelessly whisked off onto a train which led to a plane which led to a cab that carried her to her dorm room. A room that waited all summer for her to fill it again, empty and desolate with her absence, a layer of dust blanketing everything she deemed unimportant to bring with her on her travels. She planned on going to England to see the sights and for schooling, not to visit a land of heartbreak that left her flailing in a pool of her own tears. No, she knew she would kiss a few lads and maybe even further, but she never thought she would feel something more, something worth staying for. But she didn't stay.
She left him behind with protest in his eyes, his fists clenched to hold in the thoughts he was silently screaming at her, the telepathic messages clouding her mind and making her temples throb until she thought she would finally collapse into his arms. She didn't though. Her sunburnt legs carried her to a train, not even the last one running, and she forgot to look out the window as it took her hostage back to a place where summer had already ended. All the way back she wondered what he was thinking, if he had looked at the picture she slipped into his pocket. It was a bad picture, slightly blurry and out of focus, which was acceptable since the person who took it had been more than a bit intoxicated at the time. She had been talking like always, and he had adverted her eyes, like always. He looked at her that night, however, their last night together. He had told her to stay. She said no.
All fairytales have a time limit, sometimes at midnight or when happily ever after reaches the end of the happiness meter. She slowly knelt down, afraid of the creak in the floor that would jolt her thoughts and wake her from her reverie, a penance for leaving him behind. Or not staying. What would she have done? The box was easy to open, almost like it was eager for her to see what it had claimed in its depths. It was her favourite sundress, white eyelet and yellow laces. When she bought it she considered it a waste of money, something she would wear once and shove into the back of her closet to be forgotten. It had been remembered, maybe because it was his gentle touch that had peeled the dress away from her or because it had made him look her in the eyes. She brought the dress to her nose and in a vain moment of desperation attempted to see if his smell lingered upon the cotton material. It didn't.
The next box held random objects, like books she bought and seashells from the beach. They had spent most of their time together on the sandy shore. This particular seashell she remembered was the day that there had been over ten sand castles to kick over. He had watched but his gaze was penetrating beyond her, at something she couldn't see. Now she picked up the shell, tracing its grainy surface, rippled with a grooved pattern. She pressed it to her ear, hearing the ocean waves echoing inside it. She squeezed her eyes tight in concentration and blocked out everything except what remained of his voice in her memories. Imagination had never failed her until now. Not even this seashell could recreate his snide remarks that made her smile impishly.
The last box was full of her sketches, tall buildings and abnormally round ones, wide with windows, and crippled with balconies. Her least favourite drawing was the one he said he liked, his first comment on her artwork, and also his last. It was simple, just a basic business office tower, with the standard ten plus floors lined with too many windows to bother counting. It was at a funny angle, a technique she had experimented with and decided against using again. The pencil she had drawn the building with was running low on lead and she had forgotten her sharpener so the lines faded until finally, there was nothing left. A gaping hole on one of the sides, never completed. He had kissed the back of her neck then and said, "It's all right." To her the comment was so bizzare it was like he said he saw a huddle of cats tap dancing across the street. But there were no dancing cats, only an unfinished drawing liked by a left-behind boy.
For the umpteenth time that hour she wondered once again what he was doing. Was he sleeping, eating, perhaps already at another bar, finding a different girl to be with for the fall? No, he wasn't that type of guy. Or was he? Did she really know him at all? He had told her stories before, wonderful stories that did not make much sense but that was the kind she loved best. He talked the most after she had been quiet for five minutes, a feat that was nearly impossible for her to maintain. Except when she was sleeping, which her silence was probably due to the fact her dreams were filled with conversations, ones where he had more to say than what he really said.
She wasn't in love. It couldn't hurt like this, letting go. They hadn't even said good-bye, just a quiet departing that was sizzling with unspoken words. They had argued beforehand and said everything that needed to be said so how could there be more? But there was and she, for twice that night, had said nothing. He didn't either. She half wished he would reach out a hand and grab her arm and spin her around and tell her she can't leave, she can't. If he tried to, his arm didn't reach out far enough.
They were left frayed, like the edges of the open boxes that were now distributed across the floor like cardboard islands in a wallowing sea. Then she kicked them, one by one like she did to the sand castles at the beaches. When she was done watching the cardboard fold within itself, she collapsed to the floor and let go of the strength that was holding back her tears. This was it. There was no going back. He had become a memory.
Sorry for any confusion. I wrote this at 3:00 AM, which really has no ring to it. Anyway, this writing is a response to an AMAZING one-shot:: http://www.fanfiction.net/s/5105808/1/Kicking_Down_Castles
It's beautiful. I recommend reading it if you have the chance to.
As for my one shot, like one or two parts of a line are taken from "Kicking Down Castles."
**Claire:: It's Draco fanfiction! Not Lunaco though :[
Last edited by shatteredxlolli on Wed Jul 28, 2010 8:55 pm; edited 1 time in total
