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word-of-art · 7 years

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Wants

“Mom, let’s go.”

Before the woman could protest, Iris took her hand pulled her to safety beyond the crimson smoke. Their running steps echoed through crackling fires and collapsing buildings and once they had faded, he let go of the breath he didn’t realize he held, shoulders trembling.

Everything felt so dulled and fuzzy. No clarity in his eyes. No sound except for the boiling in his ears. His mouth was coated with the tang of copper coins and red. Every step he swayed until he could not stand any longer. He didn’t know when he hit the ground, but when he did, he saw flashes of color burn into his eyes. The world spun and his vision swam as he tried to collect his breath.

It was all he could do. His body refused to move any further.

Ash and dust burned in his lungs and his lips cracked and bled, tongue wetting them with blood. There was no doubt. He was to die today. Alone with his guts spilling from his belly. It would be a slow death. The contract he signed years ago would assure it, magic trying to mend wounds and staunch the bleeding. But what could it do for torn intestines and shattered bones?

He lied there in the familiar cobblestone path, paces away from the home he once dreamed of sharing with a family. He watched it burn and crumble, but he felt nothing. No tug of sentimental attachment. No cracks in his heart as it slowly collapsed on itself. No sense of wanting.

But perhaps it was because he could have sworn that his former wife looked at him with worry and a broken heart as they ran far, far away. A plea hanging on her lip before she burst into a sprint towards the evacuation ships. Seeing them stirred the scraps of emotion he thought were long gone. Relief. A pinch of joy. A tinge of regret. A small flutter of tattered love. Feelings for them, not long lost dreams.

He was surprised to have felt anything like that. Yet he was not surprised it was because of his wife. He swore she had some witchcraft over people’s hearts, stirring emotions they were never meant to feel. He thought her brilliant like a beacon in the dark. So beautifully brilliant. A light so bright she exposed the good man beneath the filthy scoundrel he had always been. It drew him to memories of the twilight when they had first met. Their kiss and declared love for each under shimmering moonlight. How she shone like stars when she smiled. He could have sworn he married a goddess’s daughter.

And then their daughter. Oh, how she’s grown. Taller than both her mother and his eldest child. She mirrored her mother’s jet black locks and soft brown eyes. Softly sculpted cheeks and pixie nose. But she was like wildfire. Perhaps more than her sister. Aggressive. Hot-headed. Bursting with what seemed to be infinite amounts of confidence. God help the man who would marry this spitfire. But she had been blessed with cleverness and ruthless determination.

Lacie had been wrong. Iris brimmed and beamed with so much damned courage that it was infectious.

Oh his girls. His wife. He dreamed long ago of a life with them. Of smiles, lessons, dinners together. The beckoning he had felt the first year gone. Stolen away by the contract made by a selfish man who feared losing everything good in his life. He still did in a way. A daughter who despised him for the suffering he left them. A daughter who was afraid of him. A wife whose heart remained broken but somehow still poured with relentless love for a greedy petty little thief.

Tears stung the burns on his face as they begin to drip. Colors filled his final thoughts as he watched the fire die, leaving behind ashes of everything he had hoped for. Brilliant joy for being able to see his love and baby girls one last time. Lonely gray for the time he watched his family from afar, never talking, touching, or celebrating. Crimson fury for his foolishness and desperate hunger for the perfect life he was never meant to have. Stormy sorrow for shattering his family in ways he never meant to and for the shameful gifts he gave them. Filthy colors of guilt blending for all that’s he’s done to himself, to his loved ones, and to innocents. The intense rosy love he was supposed to give as a brother, a father, and a husband. Cold shades of blue that was regret for believing the words of a stranger who manipulated paranoia and fear into him. Vibrant, obnoxious green for voracious want for another chance.

His breaths shortened as he began sobbing, rolling on to his back so that he may face the Heavens. Vivid blue eyes watched it burned a bloodthirsty red, raining bits of ash onto his stinging eyes. The emotions gave him the words he wanted to say. Words he meant to say. He wailed in agony once his back hit the ground, lamenting over the life he wanted to desperately live.

For he knows he would die an unnamed man. His daughters would be his legacy. One to make history and the other to record and share it with thousands of future generations. But no one would know of the man who had birthed them. They would never acknowledge the man who left them with hollowed, thorny hearts. Who would even remember a dirty street rat such as himself for anything good?

Warmth slowly left his body, exhaustion and cold taking place. His breath began to slow and fear took grip on his heart as if it was trying to end it quickly. He couldn’t help but gasp for more air to his lungs so that he could weep for everything he gained and lost. The cold filled his veins and he could hear his heartbeat slowing to a crawl.

His final words were not for his daughters nor his wife. They were the quiet but deafening cry for the gods to hear.

“I don’t want to go.”

The gods never heard his pleas before nor have they answered them. But as he slipped into his final slumber, he dreamt that they finally did.

#Short story #fantasy #original story #I don't have my plot in order lol

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word-of-art · 7 years

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Decisions

Decisions. Always some kind of decision. Always some kind of cost and always either yourself or others.

I’ve always made my decisions thoughtlessly. Thought I had everything figured out. I never needed much other than the friends I have and necessities for everyday function so I never thought twice about making the choice to better someone else’s day.

I also thought that if it turned out for the worse, I’d just be deemed a poor choice of confidant and it’d be someone else’s problem.

I mean I never said I was actually a good person for it.

Still I end up regretting them, the results weighing down on my shoulders like hands gripping me and telling me that I fucked up. Real bad.

She let her eyes linger on a page in a book neither reading or seeing or blinking. Instead she dwelled on the words that continuously buzzed in that little head of hers like a broken record.

We should end this.

The professor continued hardly minding the fact that students were preoccupied with their phones or other assignments from other classes. He continued barraging them with terminology that were familiar but still unfamiliar, a book in his hand and a pointer in the other, excited to talk about the reactions between different combinations of the arcane arts. He spoke fluidly from topic to topic, hardly missing a beat when students asked him questions.

But all she heard were words from months ago. Word that left her cold down to the fingertips. She’d rather it’d be the winter air slipping in through the window by her seat. Snow and wind would be more bearable than the edge of the words that would not leave her alone.

“Ms. Lacie. Are you with us?”

It wasn’t until a friend’s kick under the desk snapped her out of her stupor.

“Y-Yes, sorry. What’s the question?” She quickly sputtered, startled and clearly distracted.

The professor peered at her from his glasses, a frown slowly forming on his face. “I asked you if you were able to answer Mr. Hart’s questions about the reactions of different forms of elemental magic.”

She glanced over at ‘Mr. Hart’ and he only gave an apologetic face. Whatever expression she had must have guilt tripped him because he began to shrink back into his seat the longer she stared. She schooled her face into something a little more neutral; she never meant to take it out on Wesley like that. Determined not wear her heart on her sleeve, she spoke. “Well… the reactions tend to have high variances due to the volatility of certain elements such as fire, electricity, and…” She continued to drone on and on, glad to have a distraction from gaping hole in her chest that threaten to swallow her whole each day. A distraction from the gaping hole that only grew slowly but surely. She used words that she was familiar with. Words that were definite. Words that were strung together to answer questions and not leave her asking any. Words that filled in holes where it was better not to have any.

“And… well that’s really about it. It’s ultimately a personal responsibility to make sure these reactions are as predictable as possible and also less dangerous.”

The professor smiled. “Good, you’ve been studying.”

“No, sir I just made a lot of poor decisions experimenting with elemental magic.” She shrugged. She felt a small tickle of joy hearing the others laugh briefly at the remark.

“Nonetheless you have learned and you are still learning. Those poor decisions have paid off.”

But do they all pay off? The question never left her mouth.

The day continued, myriads of students marching through the stone halls. They filled the air with different emotions, filled her eyes with different expressions, and filled her ears to the brim with a cacophony of conversations.

“Thinking I’ll ditch class today.”

“Wanna get lunch?”

“Hey, how’d you do on the midterm?”

“Oh, I’m heading to the library for now. Not doing too well in herbalism.”

She held a few of her own, however brief. A small smile, a touch of sarcasm, and feigned exhaustion from a long night of working. But once the conversation ended, it’s back to feeling the yawning emptiness in the pit of her stomach and the thoughts that the voices of others couldn’t drown out.

“Hey, you free tonight? New episode of Moon Flower is out today!” Her friend sang.

She felt comfort in that familiar smile. Remmy never made her feel like she did something absolutely wrong. Or at the very least kept her grounded when she did. Remilia felt bright, almost blinding as a person. But she would pull her out of the shitty dark thoughts any time she came around. But the comfort was only temporary. The gap was only growing and one person could only do so much to try and fill it.

The grin and excitement that came up were contagious, courtesy of her. “Oh yeah, for sure! But if they kill Tory or Deliah, I am going to quit this fucking show.”

“You say that every season right before they killed your favorite characters.” She rolled her eyes and played at exasperation.

She scoffed, a laugh tugging hard at the corner of her lips. “Hey to be fair, they baited Kane’s death for four seasons until they finally killed him in the first episode of this one. I only have two faves to cling to now.”

“Oh, whatever. You set up the room, and I’ll order food. Also, get me body count tonight so I know how much to order.”

And she bows dramatically, an arm out and another bent at her belly as she leans over with her head low and all she could see were her boots. “Oh, yes your majesty.”

And with a laugh, Remilia told her to shut up and left with a hearty pat on the back. Thus she left her with the emptiness again.

Even as she ate. Even as she read. Even as she studied. The emptiness wouldn’t leave. She was fine with it. She understood it. After all, she caused it so it’s only fair to take responsibility for it. It was like a desperate dog following its master around. She did her best to care for it. Spending time outside of her room, drowning herself in work and studying, drawing nonstop until her wrist begged to be put out of its misery. She sought people out, holding fun conversations and pushing herself into her usual antics. But when the day was over and she retires to her room, it suddenly becomes colorless and deafeningly silent. That was when she felt the gap come close to swallowing her. Every night she’d lie awake in bed wondering if she’d fill it with tears until she’s exhausted herself enough to sleep. Most of the time it didn’t swallow her. It would come close, but it would never take her.

Until today.

Blood red orbs meet dulled blue. The footsteps she heard coming down the hall had stopped and when they did, she stopped too. In the briefest of moments, she felt her breath hitch and heard nothing but her heart drumming in her ears. Where she used to feel lovingly warm, she felt winter’s cold touch. Neither of their faces betrayed anything; they simply watched one another.

Leave. Leave. Leave. Please just leave.

But her feet remain rooted. Just looking at him, she could smell the strange comfort of gunpowder and sandalwood. She felt a want for warm at her back and phantom fingers on her cheeks and nose. Phantom kisses-

Please, don’t.

Mere seconds felt like hours. In that time, the words came back and this time they twisted slowly like a knife in her chest, ripping open healing wounds. They poisoned her with blackened feelings she hadn’t felt in years. A bitter concoction of regret, sorrow, and fury.

And then he effortlessly plunged another into her heart like it needed one.

“You’re looking well.” His voice filled her ears, velvety and rich. And then he leaves without waiting for a word from her.

Those words felt like ice and they drained the color from her cheeks as she made a hasty retreat to her room to let the emptiness swallow her with ease.

That wasn’t fair. That was not at all fair.

Selfishness. That gaping hole also felt selfish. She wanted to stop thinking. To stop missing the half of her she broke off. She felt small and lackluster before but now she felt like she was dying. She felt ice in her veins and her throat ache from holding in the sobs stealing air from her lungs. Her eyes, her head, her throat. It all ached as she had been touched by unrelenting fire.

And yet in the agony she felt, she still does not know if she made the right choice.

#short story #romance #amateur writing

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