Tuesday, 18 September 2007

If you're emo and you know it

clap your hands. don't read the following short story. It might just be emo.

Not that I'm feeling emo or anything, I just wanna try my hand at writing serious essays (for once). This essay/short story/recount has no title.

I looked down the ledge. Sixteen floors separated me from the solid grey cement of the ground floor. My eyes were red after swimming in tears. Then a gust of wind hit me, the sudden cold reminding me of that day.

She told me she loved me.

She told me she would never leave me.

More likely, she told me lies.

We had been together for three years. My feelings for her were nothing short of the truth. Unfortunately, it didn't go both ways.

One Thursday evening, as I was walking past her house, to chance catching a glimpse of the angel that was my lover. I made sure to keep my distance from the three-storey building that was painted caramel so as not to arouse suspicion, as usual. As I walked under the shade of the oaks in front of her house, I looked up to the window of her room, expecting to see the silhouette of a slim, long-haired girl either talking on the phone or painting - she liked painting.

Instead, I saw darkness in the window. It didn't mean much at first, because I did not look down, in front of the iron gates. Yet.

Feeling slightly disappointed, I lowered my gaze, only to find her holding hands with a tall, well-built male with straight, broad shoulders. He looked oddly familiar. When they walked under the orange glow of a lamppost, I saw his face. It was unmistakable. He was my best friend. I hoped to see that it wasn't her that he was holding hands with, but she was.

Just then, a tear slid down my cheek.

I looked again. It was her, and she seemed to be happy. Happier than usual. The couple stopped in front of her house, and both looked into each others eyes and holding hands.


Their heads started to move nearer to each other. I knew it was going to happen.

It happened. Their lips touched, and they held that position for a full minute. The longest minute of my life. As I stared, my vision started to get blur. A thick film of tears was forming on my eyes, as if trying to shield them from the scene. But I had already seen it.

Then, I was back at the rooftop. A wave of agony and anguish passed through every fibre of my being, tearing my soul apart.

I looked down the ledge. Sixteen floors separated me from the solid grey cement of the ground floor. My eyes were red after swimming in tears. I climbed up the ledge and let my body go limp.

As I fell toward the grey cement, I didn't scream. Nor did I feel any pain. I just thought of an image. The image of a person.


Before I knew it, I hit the floor. I didn't feel any pain. In fact, I felt glad, the image of her still fixed in my mind. I closed my eyes, and although the afternoon sun shone brightly, I just felt cold as I welcomed the icy embrace of death.


Comment, please.

Man, after writing that, I realised something: I enjoy writing 'a-little-too-fantastic' stories better.

Ah, DnT and A Math homework beckons me.

Your favourite beatboxing ambigrammist,

Posted by Az at 7:33 PM


Post a Comment

Back >