Wednesday, May 12, 2010

Blog fests, blog fests everywhere

It’s apparently time once again for me to indulge myself and revisit my experiment with second person. The Alliterative Allomorph is hosting the Internal Conflict Blog Fest, and this seems to be what called to me. Don’t forget to check out the other entries for some great midweek reading.


You know it’s your fault. You know it when you look at her. When you watch her, knowing that she doesn’t know you’re there.

You remember kissing her, promising her things that you couldn’t possibly ever give her.

Life. Love. Hope. Happiness.

A promise that everything would be all right.

You lied.

You remember kissing her, the familiar tingle of electricity shooting from the tips of your hair straight down your spine to curl your toes.

Almost.

You remember holding her on your lap, pressed tightly to you, arms and legs and lips tangled. Feeling her under your hand as her body collapsed against yours.

It’s been five years.

Life went on.

You remember promising her love, kissing her with all the passion, hope, truth you still had left to offer her to seal your covenant, putting your mother’s ring on her finger.

Love endured.

She is yours and you are hers. Finally. Always. It’s as simple and as honest as that.

But there are ghosts here. Her. You. Your unborn child who lingers in the walls, whispers in the silence and the shadows, echoes in the heartbeat you listen to every night.

You step into your room. Not quietly like you used to, when she used to hear you. You don’t have to be quiet anymore.

She doesn’t hear you.

You wonder what she thinks. What she sees when she searches that blank void with dead eyes.

Can she see him? There in the cobweb of memory? Your eyes, her hair, your wits, her skills?

Everything that isn’t. Wasn’t. Wouldn’t ever be.

You see untold stories, a fairy tale with a happily ever after, and laughter.

You remember laughter. With her.

You don’t think she does.

You come to stand behind her, rest your hands on her shoulders and she shifts away, tries to hide something.

You know what it is. A possibility. Taken a life time ago. The image black and white and grainy. A small thing, really. No bigger than your thumbprint.

Something beautiful you both still remember.

You take the picture from her gently; lay it reverently on the table next to her brush.

You turn her in your arms, skim your fingertips lightly down her arms, and entwine your hands.

She’d loved you, given you your future, and a happiness you’d only dreamed of.

You let your fingers move to circle her waist, brushing lightly against satin skin as you lift the hem of her shirt. She puts her arms up obediently and you slide it off, toss it into the corner.

You’ll get it tomorrow.

You broke her. You’d tried to fix her, but she was never the same. She’s your dead girl walking.

But you’d grinned your half-assed grin at her, pressed your lips to her scars, and watched her paint on her porcelain smile, shroud her bruised eyes.

And then you broke her some more.

It’s what you did.

What you couldn’t fix, you broke. And every day with you, you watched her die a little more, killing yourself.

Tears like rain, flowing like wine, like the sky bleeding.

Your fingertips slide down the silky trail of her spine, under the waistband of her pants and around. You undo the fastener and zipper as you gently kiss her mouth, rest your forehead against hers, and breathe the same air.

You slide the pants over her hips to pool on the floor at her feet; take her hands again as she steps out of them. Long, pale legs and still graceful, she stands before you. You still think she is the most beautiful thing you have ever seen.

The more you wanted to fix her, the more you broke her.

It’s what you were good at.

She’s the only thing you’ve ever been afraid of losing. You’re here. She’s here. You’ll go down with your ship.

You sit her down in the chair and begin your nightly ritual.

You breathe deep as you run the brush through the waterfall of ebony that cascades down her back. You’ve always loved running your fingers through that river of silk, the scent and feel of it.

She hasn’t brushed her own hair in five years.

It’s all kinds of wrong, on all kinds of levels. But it’s everything you always wanted. Everything you’d ever dreamed.

Your perfect circle.

You want to live with her. Want to give her what she needs. You want her to know that.

Touch. Warmth. Strength. Connection.

You’ll never let anything ever come between you again.

You put the brush down, pull her up close and wrap her in your arms. She nuzzles at your chest. It’s almost like she’s searching for your heart, where it should be but isn’t.

She’d taken that the first time you’d laid eyes on her.

Beautiful. It’s what she is. What she’s always been. What she always will be to you.

You lead her to bed, lay yourself down beside her. She nestles in your arms, scoots herself back. You spoon yourself around her, hand tangled in her hair, her back to your chest, your legs tangled in hers.

“We’re gonna be okay.”

Hope.

It’s not a lie, just a necessary untruth. She believes you because she trusts you fully.

Happiness.

You whisper a kiss into her hair and close your eyes.

27 comments:

  1. There's something wonderful about the tone of this that sets up hope and cuts it down all at once.

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  2. This is very emotionally charged. A great example of internal conflict.

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  3. Loved this! I could feel the emotion! I too participated in the blogfest! It was fun!

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  4. Really great and very emotional, wish we could see more.

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  5. This was brimming with rich poignant emotion that it was spilling from the seams! Great segment. I especially loved this: "Can she see him? There in the cobweb of memory? Your eyes, her hair, your wits, her skills?"

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  6. Kinda confused, it's so full of poetic images I don't really know what's going on or what the conflict really is about.
    Sorry. :(
    Too early in the morning.

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  7. This is amazingly beautiful Sarah. I can't even tell you how much I loved it. REALLY REALLY REALLY LOVED IT!

    WOW, you amaze me. A perfect piece, my eyes even got teary.

    I'm so glad I got the chance to read this, but I was sad when it was over. I hope things work out for these two, at least some what.

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  8. This is really touching (thankfully I had my tissues handy). Beautiful. I'm not sure I even want to know what really happened, it would kind of destroy the mystery of it...

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  9. I must say, I really enjoy your writing style. I love how you get across so much meaning without a lot of superfluous words!

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  10. This is very well written, poetic, the cadence of the words a great speed for internal thoughts. I like the word repetitions, broke...kinds...I wish I knew what was going on though.

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  11. Wow. And a little bit creepy. I agree it is somewhat poetic as well. Nice work!

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  12. No matter how many times I revisit this, the emotions it calls forth remain as powerful as they did on my first read.

    There's such an intensity of quiet despair here, made even stronger by the apparently subdued tone of the narration, a blend of of hope and tragedy in equal measure that balance each other in poignant simmetry.

    Tears like rain, flowing like wine, like the sky bleeding.
    and
    It’s almost like she’s searching for your heart, where it should be but isn’t.
    She’d taken that the first time you’d laid eyes on her.


    It hurts, but in a good way.
    Thanks.

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  13. There is a lot of emotion in this pieces, and I think you do a good job of using the short paragraphs and plenty of white space to drive it forward while still maintaining the quiet sorrow without bogging the reader down.

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  14. You have a way with words. A style. A voice. I was totally glued to the screen (not easy with my 3yo here). Beautiful.

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  15. So emotional, so powerful. Like Stu said, you continually offer hope, then knock it down. I loved the back and forth.

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  16. So beautiful! I was sucked in and loved every word.

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  17. Magnificent Sarahjayne. I'm awed.

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  18. I loved it! I can't even express it!

    Also, thank you SOOOO much for not telling me you can see why I cut my scene (even though I actually cut the entire draft). I got so tired of people telling me that, I was about to pull the whole post.

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  19. wow, this was really emotionally charged and conflicted. Great excerpt and thanks for sharing!

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  20. This Blogfest was superfun. This is so emotionally charged, it was great!!! Congrats on this great piece!

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  21. Wow! This was internal conflict and a half! So raw and full of emotion, I loved this!!

    The more you wanted to fix her, the more you broke her.

    It’s what you were good at.

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  22. Wow. Gorgeous. If this is you "experimenting" I have a feeling the real thing would blow me away.

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  23. OH, SJS, this rendered me speechless.
    Powerful. Lyrical. Intense. Hopeful yet hopeless.

    WELL DONE.

    The second person POV really worked for this piece. The risk paid off in a big way!

    Love,
    Lola

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  24. I tried to comment TWICE yesterday and couldn't. Blogger was being weirdly persnickity.

    This is an amazing mix of hope and despair and longing and fear and guilt without feeling overwritten or melodramatic. Excellent underplaying of emotion for greater punch.
    You totally rocked second person narration! Nicely done.

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  25. Gorgeous and heartbroken. I admit I was a little bit lost at some points, with the references to the unborn baby and other lines like that. Is a segment from something longer? You set a really nice tone, throughout, very tormented/sexy/intriguing!

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  26. Oh my goodness SarahJayne!! This sucked me right in and your use of breaks and rhythm are impeccable!! Fave line(s)--"But there are ghosts here. Her. You. Your unborn child who lingers in the walls, whispers in the silence and the shadows, echoes in the heartbeat you listen to every night." Very nice...Looking forward to more :)

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