Abigail_Austin wrote:
James walked out of the supermarket with his bottle of Advil and headed down the walkway toward the dry cleaners. The suit he had gotten cleaned for his upcoming interviews had been ready since yesterday.
James opened the Advil and popped a pill, swallowing it down without water, hoping it would deaden the headache he had woken up with.
Halfway to the cleaners, James spotted a sign in the glass door of a massage parlour.
"Try Soul-Gazing. $10 for 30 minutes," the sign read.
Soul-gazing, James thought, slowing down to look at the sign. Is that the thing where you look into somebody's eyes? The eyes of a complete stranger? The thought gave him a rush of nervous of nervous anxiety.
James laughed to himself, shaking his head, and kept walking. But then he stopped. And turned around. And walked back.
What the heck. I have 30 minutes, he thought. He wasn't sure why he was doing it. The thought terrified him. But something drew him, and he opened the door to the massage parlour, and went inside.
The fragrant scents of essential oils immediately hit him. Lavender. Tea tree. Something like pine.
A wild-haired receptionist had him sign in under the appropriate slot and sit down in front of a table full of magazines. He looked around. There was a white noise machine sitting on the floor, plugged into an outlet in the corner, and it hummed softly and consistently in the background, almost like a fan would.
James felt himself starting to relax. His headache started to fade away. What kind of place is this? he found himself wondering. It seemed a little magical.
Soon, a woman dressed in an emerald green peasant blouse and a long flowing paisley skirt with a lot of gathers in it came out to greet him. Her hair was medium brown--with a tinge of red, and it was long, but pinned up into a bun that was smooth and shiny. Her lipstick was dark pink, and she greeted him with a kind smile.
"My name is Darla," she said, extending a hand to him to shake. It was something he found strange; people in the service industry didn't often shake hands to greet people anymore. Maybe a banker or a salesman... he thought to himself.
But James took her hand and shook it. It was smooth, like she used a buckets of lotion on it every day. And it was warm. To shake her hand, James stood to his feet. He stood about two inches taller than the woman.
"I'm James," he said to her as he shook her hand. "Pleasure to meet you."
"Yes, of course...the pleasure is mine," she said, looking him in the eye. "Right this way." She turned around and led him to an open area towards the middle of the room with a gray desk which had a chair on either side of it. The desk had a lamp on it, a tray stocked with tools for doing manicures, and a beautiful deep purple geode sitting atop a bowl of decorative stones. There was also a tiny stalk of green bamboo, shooting up out of a tiny square vase and surrounded by pebbles.
"Have you ever done this before?" Darla asked him, as she watched him examining the items on her desk. James looked back up at her and shook his head. Smile lines formed around her blue eyes as her mouth formed a barely detectable smile.
"Saw the sign?" she asked.
James nodded and looked away again.
Why am I so nervous about this, he wondered.
"Do we have to do this...like...out here in the open?" James asked, looking back at Darla. "I mean--isn't there a room or something. Isn't everyone going to be wondering what we're doing?"
Darla smiled, looking down and nodding.
"James, there's nothing to be ashamed of about looking into somebody's eyes. There's nothing wrong with it. Do you feel like there's something wrong with it?" Darla asked, her eyes inquiring and studying his face.
"Well...no," James said slowly. "But I think that...well it looks kind of weird."
"Why?" Darla asked.
"Well, because people don't do it everyday. It's...not normal."
Darla smiled. She took his hand in hers and looked into his eyes.
"It's not weird," she said. "It's normal. People are weird. Our culture is weird. But this--this is normal." She squeezed his hand.
James stared at the desk for a moment, in silence, affected by the profundity of her words. Then, slowly, he nodded.
"Okay," James said, and he looked back up at her. He smiled awkwardly. "So...what do we do?"
Darla placed her arms flat on the desk in front of them, bent at the elbows, her palms turned up.
"Have you heard of a Roman handshake? It's kind of like that. Just lay your arms on top of mine, grab my arms right below the elbow...here let me show you," she said. She reached out and grasped his sleeved forearm gently with her hand, and did the same thing with his other arm, then lowered their hands, together, down to rest on the desk.
"Just like that. Is this okay for you?" she inquired. James shrugged.
"Yeah, sure," he replied.
"Good. Okay. Now comes the hard part. It's hard because it's so simple. Just remember...it's hard for everyone at first, okay? So don't worry," Darla assured him.
"Um... oookay," responded James.
Darla smiled slightly at his answer. She lifted her arm out from under his, and punched a button on a timer next to them, then returned her hand to under his.
"This timer is set for 5 minutes and 30 seconds," Darla said. "The 30 seconds is to let us get settled, but it might take a little longer. Don't worry. They say when you look into someone's eyes, you can see their soul. That can be very personal. And that's okay. We're going to gaze into each other's eyes for 5 minutes. That's the goal." She paused for a moment to let all her words sink in. "Are you ready?"
"Sure," James said, looking into her blue eyes.
"Okay, we're starting right now," Darla said, looking back into his brown eyes. As if on cue, the timer beeped twice, indicating that the time to get settled had passed and the five minutes was starting.
The sound spooked him, and he looked back down at the timer.
"Oh...I'm sorry," James apologized.
"Shhhh...don't apologise, just look at me," Darla said.
He looked back into her eyes.
They were not light blue, they were somewhat darker, more vibrant. They held eye contact for about 10 seconds.
Suddenly he realized that his arms were probably getting sweaty. She could probably feel it. He felt like he was breathing loud. She could probably hear it. He suddenly felt the need to shift in his chair, but felt like he couldn't, because with them being connected, arms to arms, she would probably feel it. His nose itched. He felt trapped, all of a sudden. And he looked away. He pulled his arms off of Darla's, stood up, and turned around, so that his whole body was facing away from her, facing the back wall.
"I can't do this," James said, not turning around.
"I know. It's hard. But you can," she encouraged. "Just come sit back down and let's talk about it. What just happened here? What made you turn away?" She waited patiently for his answer.
What DID just happen here? James wondered, himself, and he was suddenly overcome by a burning curiosity to figure it out. He turned back to Darla and smiled a nervous half-smile. Then he walked back to the desk and sat down, looking at her, then squinting his eyes and focusing on a beam in the distance just beyond her head.
"I don't know--I just felt so... well, for one thing my nose itched." He latched onto the easier explaination. Darla laughed. James gazed at her smile and suddenly realized--it was really beautiful. Looking at it did something to his stomach, but he liked it.
Darla put her arms out on the desk again, inviting him to resume the pose. He placed his arms on top of hers.
"Be honest," she said. "Think about it. You felt afraid, didn't you? What were you afraid of? Rejection? Judgement?"
James thought about the sweaty arms worry, and the loud breathing, and the not wanting to move too much because she would be able to feel it. He breathed a sigh out. A sigh of confusion and frustration. He frowned at the desk.
"Yeah," he admitted. "I didn't want you to see me--doing anything. Moving around, having sweaty arms, breathing hard. You were watching me so closely, I just didn't want you to see me--" James continued.
"Shhhh...stop," Darla said holding up her hand. She took both his hands in hers, and squeezed them, looking deep into his brown eyes. "I see you, James. I see you, and I accept you. Completely. I don't care if your arms are sweaty, I don't care if you're breathing hard, I don't care if you move around, I don't care if you scratch your nose. You're okay. You're good. You're accepted. Fully accepted. Nothing you can do in front of me is wrong." She paused to let those words sink in. "Nothing you can do in front of me is wrong." she said again. "Okay?"
James was stunned. Darla's words flowed around him like a cool breeze. Like a clear brook.
He swallowed. He blinked a few times. Then he spoke.
"Ye-yeah. Okay," James stuttered. "But um... but..." He shook his head, not sure what he had been going to say. "Okay," he said again. He nodded. "Okay."
Darla nodded once and smiled a bright, shining smile. She loved this work. She loved it when someone got it. She loved it so much.
"Alright, let's try it again," she said, hitting the timer and slipping her arm under his, grasping his forearm.
Her eyes came in line with his, and they gazed into each others' eyes for what seemed like a long time. It reality it was only about 45 seconds before James looked away again. He didn't get out of the chair this time. He just turned his head, closing his eyes and shaking it.
"What happened?" Darla urged him. "What's going on?"
"No--it's just--" when he opened his eyes and turned back to look at her his eyes were glassy. "I've just never--"
Darla nodded knowingly.
"I know. It happens to everybody that really gets it. Don't worry about it. It's okay," she said, grinning at him. "It's perfectly okay." She laughed and wiped a tear away herself. She put her arms out again.
"Here. Let's go again," she said. She hit the timer again and clasped arms with James as they looked into each others' eyes. This time tears flowed down his face, and, in response, as they always did at this point, tears flowed down her cheeks as well. But, this time, he didn't look away.
James opened the Advil and popped a pill, swallowing it down without water, hoping it would deaden the headache he had woken up with.
Halfway to the cleaners, James spotted a sign in the glass door of a massage parlour.
"Try Soul-Gazing. $10 for 30 minutes," the sign read.
Soul-gazing, James thought, slowing down to look at the sign. Is that the thing where you look into somebody's eyes? The eyes of a complete stranger? The thought gave him a rush of nervous of nervous anxiety.
James laughed to himself, shaking his head, and kept walking. But then he stopped. And turned around. And walked back.
What the heck. I have 30 minutes, he thought. He wasn't sure why he was doing it. The thought terrified him. But something drew him, and he opened the door to the massage parlour, and went inside.
The fragrant scents of essential oils immediately hit him. Lavender. Tea tree. Something like pine.
A wild-haired receptionist had him sign in under the appropriate slot and sit down in front of a table full of magazines. He looked around. There was a white noise machine sitting on the floor, plugged into an outlet in the corner, and it hummed softly and consistently in the background, almost like a fan would.
James felt himself starting to relax. His headache started to fade away. What kind of place is this? he found himself wondering. It seemed a little magical.
Soon, a woman dressed in an emerald green peasant blouse and a long flowing paisley skirt with a lot of gathers in it came out to greet him. Her hair was medium brown--with a tinge of red, and it was long, but pinned up into a bun that was smooth and shiny. Her lipstick was dark pink, and she greeted him with a kind smile.
"My name is Darla," she said, extending a hand to him to shake. It was something he found strange; people in the service industry didn't often shake hands to greet people anymore. Maybe a banker or a salesman... he thought to himself.
But James took her hand and shook it. It was smooth, like she used a buckets of lotion on it every day. And it was warm. To shake her hand, James stood to his feet. He stood about two inches taller than the woman.
"I'm James," he said to her as he shook her hand. "Pleasure to meet you."
"Yes, of course...the pleasure is mine," she said, looking him in the eye. "Right this way." She turned around and led him to an open area towards the middle of the room with a gray desk which had a chair on either side of it. The desk had a lamp on it, a tray stocked with tools for doing manicures, and a beautiful deep purple geode sitting atop a bowl of decorative stones. There was also a tiny stalk of green bamboo, shooting up out of a tiny square vase and surrounded by pebbles.
"Have you ever done this before?" Darla asked him, as she watched him examining the items on her desk. James looked back up at her and shook his head. Smile lines formed around her blue eyes as her mouth formed a barely detectable smile.
"Saw the sign?" she asked.
James nodded and looked away again.
Why am I so nervous about this, he wondered.
"Do we have to do this...like...out here in the open?" James asked, looking back at Darla. "I mean--isn't there a room or something. Isn't everyone going to be wondering what we're doing?"
Darla smiled, looking down and nodding.
"James, there's nothing to be ashamed of about looking into somebody's eyes. There's nothing wrong with it. Do you feel like there's something wrong with it?" Darla asked, her eyes inquiring and studying his face.
"Well...no," James said slowly. "But I think that...well it looks kind of weird."
"Why?" Darla asked.
"Well, because people don't do it everyday. It's...not normal."
Darla smiled. She took his hand in hers and looked into his eyes.
"It's not weird," she said. "It's normal. People are weird. Our culture is weird. But this--this is normal." She squeezed his hand.
James stared at the desk for a moment, in silence, affected by the profundity of her words. Then, slowly, he nodded.
"Okay," James said, and he looked back up at her. He smiled awkwardly. "So...what do we do?"
Darla placed her arms flat on the desk in front of them, bent at the elbows, her palms turned up.
"Have you heard of a Roman handshake? It's kind of like that. Just lay your arms on top of mine, grab my arms right below the elbow...here let me show you," she said. She reached out and grasped his sleeved forearm gently with her hand, and did the same thing with his other arm, then lowered their hands, together, down to rest on the desk.
"Just like that. Is this okay for you?" she inquired. James shrugged.
"Yeah, sure," he replied.
"Good. Okay. Now comes the hard part. It's hard because it's so simple. Just remember...it's hard for everyone at first, okay? So don't worry," Darla assured him.
"Um... oookay," responded James.
Darla smiled slightly at his answer. She lifted her arm out from under his, and punched a button on a timer next to them, then returned her hand to under his.
"This timer is set for 5 minutes and 30 seconds," Darla said. "The 30 seconds is to let us get settled, but it might take a little longer. Don't worry. They say when you look into someone's eyes, you can see their soul. That can be very personal. And that's okay. We're going to gaze into each other's eyes for 5 minutes. That's the goal." She paused for a moment to let all her words sink in. "Are you ready?"
"Sure," James said, looking into her blue eyes.
"Okay, we're starting right now," Darla said, looking back into his brown eyes. As if on cue, the timer beeped twice, indicating that the time to get settled had passed and the five minutes was starting.
The sound spooked him, and he looked back down at the timer.
"Oh...I'm sorry," James apologized.
"Shhhh...don't apologise, just look at me," Darla said.
He looked back into her eyes.
They were not light blue, they were somewhat darker, more vibrant. They held eye contact for about 10 seconds.
Suddenly he realized that his arms were probably getting sweaty. She could probably feel it. He felt like he was breathing loud. She could probably hear it. He suddenly felt the need to shift in his chair, but felt like he couldn't, because with them being connected, arms to arms, she would probably feel it. His nose itched. He felt trapped, all of a sudden. And he looked away. He pulled his arms off of Darla's, stood up, and turned around, so that his whole body was facing away from her, facing the back wall.
"I can't do this," James said, not turning around.
"I know. It's hard. But you can," she encouraged. "Just come sit back down and let's talk about it. What just happened here? What made you turn away?" She waited patiently for his answer.
What DID just happen here? James wondered, himself, and he was suddenly overcome by a burning curiosity to figure it out. He turned back to Darla and smiled a nervous half-smile. Then he walked back to the desk and sat down, looking at her, then squinting his eyes and focusing on a beam in the distance just beyond her head.
"I don't know--I just felt so... well, for one thing my nose itched." He latched onto the easier explaination. Darla laughed. James gazed at her smile and suddenly realized--it was really beautiful. Looking at it did something to his stomach, but he liked it.
Darla put her arms out on the desk again, inviting him to resume the pose. He placed his arms on top of hers.
"Be honest," she said. "Think about it. You felt afraid, didn't you? What were you afraid of? Rejection? Judgement?"
James thought about the sweaty arms worry, and the loud breathing, and the not wanting to move too much because she would be able to feel it. He breathed a sigh out. A sigh of confusion and frustration. He frowned at the desk.
"Yeah," he admitted. "I didn't want you to see me--doing anything. Moving around, having sweaty arms, breathing hard. You were watching me so closely, I just didn't want you to see me--" James continued.
"Shhhh...stop," Darla said holding up her hand. She took both his hands in hers, and squeezed them, looking deep into his brown eyes. "I see you, James. I see you, and I accept you. Completely. I don't care if your arms are sweaty, I don't care if you're breathing hard, I don't care if you move around, I don't care if you scratch your nose. You're okay. You're good. You're accepted. Fully accepted. Nothing you can do in front of me is wrong." She paused to let those words sink in. "Nothing you can do in front of me is wrong." she said again. "Okay?"
James was stunned. Darla's words flowed around him like a cool breeze. Like a clear brook.
He swallowed. He blinked a few times. Then he spoke.
"Ye-yeah. Okay," James stuttered. "But um... but..." He shook his head, not sure what he had been going to say. "Okay," he said again. He nodded. "Okay."
Darla nodded once and smiled a bright, shining smile. She loved this work. She loved it when someone got it. She loved it so much.
"Alright, let's try it again," she said, hitting the timer and slipping her arm under his, grasping his forearm.
Her eyes came in line with his, and they gazed into each others' eyes for what seemed like a long time. It reality it was only about 45 seconds before James looked away again. He didn't get out of the chair this time. He just turned his head, closing his eyes and shaking it.
"What happened?" Darla urged him. "What's going on?"
"No--it's just--" when he opened his eyes and turned back to look at her his eyes were glassy. "I've just never--"
Darla nodded knowingly.
"I know. It happens to everybody that really gets it. Don't worry about it. It's okay," she said, grinning at him. "It's perfectly okay." She laughed and wiped a tear away herself. She put her arms out again.
"Here. Let's go again," she said. She hit the timer again and clasped arms with James as they looked into each others' eyes. This time tears flowed down his face, and, in response, as they always did at this point, tears flowed down her cheeks as well. But, this time, he didn't look away.
That is amazing!! I love your writing
Emo wrote:
Abigail_Austin wrote:
James walked out of the supermarket with his bottle of Advil and headed down the walkway toward the dry cleaners. The suit he had gotten cleaned for his upcoming interviews had been ready since yesterday.
James opened the Advil and popped a pill, swallowing it down without water, hoping it would deaden the headache he had woken up with.
Halfway to the cleaners, James spotted a sign in the glass door of a massage parlour.
"Try Soul-Gazing. $10 for 30 minutes," the sign read.
Soul-gazing, James thought, slowing down to look at the sign. Is that the thing where you look into somebody's eyes? The eyes of a complete stranger? The thought gave him a rush of nervous of nervous anxiety.
James laughed to himself, shaking his head, and kept walking. But then he stopped. And turned around. And walked back.
What the heck. I have 30 minutes, he thought. He wasn't sure why he was doing it. The thought terrified him. But something drew him, and he opened the door to the massage parlour, and went inside.
The fragrant scents of essential oils immediately hit him. Lavender. Tea tree. Something like pine.
A wild-haired receptionist had him sign in under the appropriate slot and sit down in front of a table full of magazines. He looked around. There was a white noise machine sitting on the floor, plugged into an outlet in the corner, and it hummed softly and consistently in the background, almost like a fan would.
James felt himself starting to relax. His headache started to fade away. What kind of place is this? he found himself wondering. It seemed a little magical.
Soon, a woman dressed in an emerald green peasant blouse and a long flowing paisley skirt with a lot of gathers in it came out to greet him. Her hair was medium brown--with a tinge of red, and it was long, but pinned up into a bun that was smooth and shiny. Her lipstick was dark pink, and she greeted him with a kind smile.
"My name is Darla," she said, extending a hand to him to shake. It was something he found strange; people in the service industry didn't often shake hands to greet people anymore. Maybe a banker or a salesman... he thought to himself.
But James took her hand and shook it. It was smooth, like she used a buckets of lotion on it every day. And it was warm. To shake her hand, James stood to his feet. He stood about two inches taller than the woman.
"I'm James," he said to her as he shook her hand. "Pleasure to meet you."
"Yes, of course...the pleasure is mine," she said, looking him in the eye. "Right this way." She turned around and led him to an open area towards the middle of the room with a gray desk which had a chair on either side of it. The desk had a lamp on it, a tray stocked with tools for doing manicures, and a beautiful deep purple geode sitting atop a bowl of decorative stones. There was also a tiny stalk of green bamboo, shooting up out of a tiny square vase and surrounded by pebbles.
"Have you ever done this before?" Darla asked him, as she watched him examining the items on her desk. James looked back up at her and shook his head. Smile lines formed around her blue eyes as her mouth formed a barely detectable smile.
"Saw the sign?" she asked.
James nodded and looked away again.
Why am I so nervous about this, he wondered.
"Do we have to do this...like...out here in the open?" James asked, looking back at Darla. "I mean--isn't there a room or something. Isn't everyone going to be wondering what we're doing?"
Darla smiled, looking down and nodding.
"James, there's nothing to be ashamed of about looking into somebody's eyes. There's nothing wrong with it. Do you feel like there's something wrong with it?" Darla asked, her eyes inquiring and studying his face.
"Well...no," James said slowly. "But I think that...well it looks kind of weird."
"Why?" Darla asked.
"Well, because people don't do it everyday. It's...not normal."
Darla smiled. She took his hand in hers and looked into his eyes.
"It's not weird," she said. "It's normal. People are weird. Our culture is weird. But this--this is normal." She squeezed his hand.
James stared at the desk for a moment, in silence, affected by the profundity of her words. Then, slowly, he nodded.
"Okay," James said, and he looked back up at her. He smiled awkwardly. "So...what do we do?"
Darla placed her arms flat on the desk in front of them, bent at the elbows, her palms turned up.
"Have you heard of a Roman handshake? It's kind of like that. Just lay your arms on top of mine, grab my arms right below the elbow...here let me show you," she said. She reached out and grasped his sleeved forearm gently with her hand, and did the same thing with his other arm, then lowered their hands, together, down to rest on the desk.
"Just like that. Is this okay for you?" she inquired. James shrugged.
"Yeah, sure," he replied.
"Good. Okay. Now comes the hard part. It's hard because it's so simple. Just remember...it's hard for everyone at first, okay? So don't worry," Darla assured him.
"Um... oookay," responded James.
Darla smiled slightly at his answer. She lifted her arm out from under his, and punched a button on a timer next to them, then returned her hand to under his.
"This timer is set for 5 minutes and 30 seconds," Darla said. "The 30 seconds is to let us get settled, but it might take a little longer. Don't worry. They say when you look into someone's eyes, you can see their soul. That can be very personal. And that's okay. We're going to gaze into each other's eyes for 5 minutes. That's the goal." She paused for a moment to let all her words sink in. "Are you ready?"
"Sure," James said, looking into her blue eyes.
"Okay, we're starting right now," Darla said, looking back into his brown eyes. As if on cue, the timer beeped twice, indicating that the time to get settled had passed and the five minutes was starting.
The sound spooked him, and he looked back down at the timer.
"Oh...I'm sorry," James apologized.
"Shhhh...don't apologise, just look at me," Darla said.
He looked back into her eyes.
They were not light blue, they were somewhat darker, more vibrant. They held eye contact for about 10 seconds.
Suddenly he realized that his arms were probably getting sweaty. She could probably feel it. He felt like he was breathing loud. She could probably hear it. He suddenly felt the need to shift in his chair, but felt like he couldn't, because with them being connected, arms to arms, she would probably feel it. His nose itched. He felt trapped, all of a sudden. And he looked away. He pulled his arms off of Darla's, stood up, and turned around, so that his whole body was facing away from her, facing the back wall.
"I can't do this," James said, not turning around.
"I know. It's hard. But you can," she encouraged. "Just come sit back down and let's talk about it. What just happened here? What made you turn away?" She waited patiently for his answer.
What DID just happen here? James wondered, himself, and he was suddenly overcome by a burning curiosity to figure it out. He turned back to Darla and smiled a nervous half-smile. Then he walked back to the desk and sat down, looking at her, then squinting his eyes and focusing on a beam in the distance just beyond her head.
"I don't know--I just felt so... well, for one thing my nose itched." He latched onto the easier explaination. Darla laughed. James gazed at her smile and suddenly realized--it was really beautiful. Looking at it did something to his stomach, but he liked it.
Darla put her arms out on the desk again, inviting him to resume the pose. He placed his arms on top of hers.
"Be honest," she said. "Think about it. You felt afraid, didn't you? What were you afraid of? Rejection? Judgement?"
James thought about the sweaty arms worry, and the loud breathing, and the not wanting to move too much because she would be able to feel it. He breathed a sigh out. A sigh of confusion and frustration. He frowned at the desk.
"Yeah," he admitted. "I didn't want you to see me--doing anything. Moving around, having sweaty arms, breathing hard. You were watching me so closely, I just didn't want you to see me--" James continued.
"Shhhh...stop," Darla said holding up her hand. She took both his hands in hers, and squeezed them, looking deep into his brown eyes. "I see you, James. I see you, and I accept you. Completely. I don't care if your arms are sweaty, I don't care if you're breathing hard, I don't care if you move around, I don't care if you scratch your nose. You're okay. You're good. You're accepted. Fully accepted. Nothing you can do in front of me is wrong." She paused to let those words sink in. "Nothing you can do in front of me is wrong." she said again. "Okay?"
James was stunned. Darla's words flowed around him like a cool breeze. Like a clear brook.
He swallowed. He blinked a few times. Then he spoke.
"Ye-yeah. Okay," James stuttered. "But um... but..." He shook his head, not sure what he had been going to say. "Okay," he said again. He nodded. "Okay."
Darla nodded once and smiled a bright, shining smile. She loved this work. She loved it when someone got it. She loved it so much.
"Alright, let's try it again," she said, hitting the timer and slipping her arm under his, grasping his forearm.
Her eyes came in line with his, and they gazed into each others' eyes for what seemed like a long time. It reality it was only about 45 seconds before James looked away again. He didn't get out of the chair this time. He just turned his head, closing his eyes and shaking it.
"What happened?" Darla urged him. "What's going on?"
"No--it's just--" when he opened his eyes and turned back to look at her his eyes were glassy. "I've just never--"
Darla nodded knowingly.
"I know. It happens to everybody that really gets it. Don't worry about it. It's okay," she said, grinning at him. "It's perfectly okay." She laughed and wiped a tear away herself. She put her arms out again.
"Here. Let's go again," she said. She hit the timer again and clasped arms with James as they looked into each others' eyes. This time tears flowed down his face, and, in response, as they always did at this point, tears flowed down her cheeks as well. But, this time, he didn't look away.
James opened the Advil and popped a pill, swallowing it down without water, hoping it would deaden the headache he had woken up with.
Halfway to the cleaners, James spotted a sign in the glass door of a massage parlour.
"Try Soul-Gazing. $10 for 30 minutes," the sign read.
Soul-gazing, James thought, slowing down to look at the sign. Is that the thing where you look into somebody's eyes? The eyes of a complete stranger? The thought gave him a rush of nervous of nervous anxiety.
James laughed to himself, shaking his head, and kept walking. But then he stopped. And turned around. And walked back.
What the heck. I have 30 minutes, he thought. He wasn't sure why he was doing it. The thought terrified him. But something drew him, and he opened the door to the massage parlour, and went inside.
The fragrant scents of essential oils immediately hit him. Lavender. Tea tree. Something like pine.
A wild-haired receptionist had him sign in under the appropriate slot and sit down in front of a table full of magazines. He looked around. There was a white noise machine sitting on the floor, plugged into an outlet in the corner, and it hummed softly and consistently in the background, almost like a fan would.
James felt himself starting to relax. His headache started to fade away. What kind of place is this? he found himself wondering. It seemed a little magical.
Soon, a woman dressed in an emerald green peasant blouse and a long flowing paisley skirt with a lot of gathers in it came out to greet him. Her hair was medium brown--with a tinge of red, and it was long, but pinned up into a bun that was smooth and shiny. Her lipstick was dark pink, and she greeted him with a kind smile.
"My name is Darla," she said, extending a hand to him to shake. It was something he found strange; people in the service industry didn't often shake hands to greet people anymore. Maybe a banker or a salesman... he thought to himself.
But James took her hand and shook it. It was smooth, like she used a buckets of lotion on it every day. And it was warm. To shake her hand, James stood to his feet. He stood about two inches taller than the woman.
"I'm James," he said to her as he shook her hand. "Pleasure to meet you."
"Yes, of course...the pleasure is mine," she said, looking him in the eye. "Right this way." She turned around and led him to an open area towards the middle of the room with a gray desk which had a chair on either side of it. The desk had a lamp on it, a tray stocked with tools for doing manicures, and a beautiful deep purple geode sitting atop a bowl of decorative stones. There was also a tiny stalk of green bamboo, shooting up out of a tiny square vase and surrounded by pebbles.
"Have you ever done this before?" Darla asked him, as she watched him examining the items on her desk. James looked back up at her and shook his head. Smile lines formed around her blue eyes as her mouth formed a barely detectable smile.
"Saw the sign?" she asked.
James nodded and looked away again.
Why am I so nervous about this, he wondered.
"Do we have to do this...like...out here in the open?" James asked, looking back at Darla. "I mean--isn't there a room or something. Isn't everyone going to be wondering what we're doing?"
Darla smiled, looking down and nodding.
"James, there's nothing to be ashamed of about looking into somebody's eyes. There's nothing wrong with it. Do you feel like there's something wrong with it?" Darla asked, her eyes inquiring and studying his face.
"Well...no," James said slowly. "But I think that...well it looks kind of weird."
"Why?" Darla asked.
"Well, because people don't do it everyday. It's...not normal."
Darla smiled. She took his hand in hers and looked into his eyes.
"It's not weird," she said. "It's normal. People are weird. Our culture is weird. But this--this is normal." She squeezed his hand.
James stared at the desk for a moment, in silence, affected by the profundity of her words. Then, slowly, he nodded.
"Okay," James said, and he looked back up at her. He smiled awkwardly. "So...what do we do?"
Darla placed her arms flat on the desk in front of them, bent at the elbows, her palms turned up.
"Have you heard of a Roman handshake? It's kind of like that. Just lay your arms on top of mine, grab my arms right below the elbow...here let me show you," she said. She reached out and grasped his sleeved forearm gently with her hand, and did the same thing with his other arm, then lowered their hands, together, down to rest on the desk.
"Just like that. Is this okay for you?" she inquired. James shrugged.
"Yeah, sure," he replied.
"Good. Okay. Now comes the hard part. It's hard because it's so simple. Just remember...it's hard for everyone at first, okay? So don't worry," Darla assured him.
"Um... oookay," responded James.
Darla smiled slightly at his answer. She lifted her arm out from under his, and punched a button on a timer next to them, then returned her hand to under his.
"This timer is set for 5 minutes and 30 seconds," Darla said. "The 30 seconds is to let us get settled, but it might take a little longer. Don't worry. They say when you look into someone's eyes, you can see their soul. That can be very personal. And that's okay. We're going to gaze into each other's eyes for 5 minutes. That's the goal." She paused for a moment to let all her words sink in. "Are you ready?"
"Sure," James said, looking into her blue eyes.
"Okay, we're starting right now," Darla said, looking back into his brown eyes. As if on cue, the timer beeped twice, indicating that the time to get settled had passed and the five minutes was starting.
The sound spooked him, and he looked back down at the timer.
"Oh...I'm sorry," James apologized.
"Shhhh...don't apologise, just look at me," Darla said.
He looked back into her eyes.
They were not light blue, they were somewhat darker, more vibrant. They held eye contact for about 10 seconds.
Suddenly he realized that his arms were probably getting sweaty. She could probably feel it. He felt like he was breathing loud. She could probably hear it. He suddenly felt the need to shift in his chair, but felt like he couldn't, because with them being connected, arms to arms, she would probably feel it. His nose itched. He felt trapped, all of a sudden. And he looked away. He pulled his arms off of Darla's, stood up, and turned around, so that his whole body was facing away from her, facing the back wall.
"I can't do this," James said, not turning around.
"I know. It's hard. But you can," she encouraged. "Just come sit back down and let's talk about it. What just happened here? What made you turn away?" She waited patiently for his answer.
What DID just happen here? James wondered, himself, and he was suddenly overcome by a burning curiosity to figure it out. He turned back to Darla and smiled a nervous half-smile. Then he walked back to the desk and sat down, looking at her, then squinting his eyes and focusing on a beam in the distance just beyond her head.
"I don't know--I just felt so... well, for one thing my nose itched." He latched onto the easier explaination. Darla laughed. James gazed at her smile and suddenly realized--it was really beautiful. Looking at it did something to his stomach, but he liked it.
Darla put her arms out on the desk again, inviting him to resume the pose. He placed his arms on top of hers.
"Be honest," she said. "Think about it. You felt afraid, didn't you? What were you afraid of? Rejection? Judgement?"
James thought about the sweaty arms worry, and the loud breathing, and the not wanting to move too much because she would be able to feel it. He breathed a sigh out. A sigh of confusion and frustration. He frowned at the desk.
"Yeah," he admitted. "I didn't want you to see me--doing anything. Moving around, having sweaty arms, breathing hard. You were watching me so closely, I just didn't want you to see me--" James continued.
"Shhhh...stop," Darla said holding up her hand. She took both his hands in hers, and squeezed them, looking deep into his brown eyes. "I see you, James. I see you, and I accept you. Completely. I don't care if your arms are sweaty, I don't care if you're breathing hard, I don't care if you move around, I don't care if you scratch your nose. You're okay. You're good. You're accepted. Fully accepted. Nothing you can do in front of me is wrong." She paused to let those words sink in. "Nothing you can do in front of me is wrong." she said again. "Okay?"
James was stunned. Darla's words flowed around him like a cool breeze. Like a clear brook.
He swallowed. He blinked a few times. Then he spoke.
"Ye-yeah. Okay," James stuttered. "But um... but..." He shook his head, not sure what he had been going to say. "Okay," he said again. He nodded. "Okay."
Darla nodded once and smiled a bright, shining smile. She loved this work. She loved it when someone got it. She loved it so much.
"Alright, let's try it again," she said, hitting the timer and slipping her arm under his, grasping his forearm.
Her eyes came in line with his, and they gazed into each others' eyes for what seemed like a long time. It reality it was only about 45 seconds before James looked away again. He didn't get out of the chair this time. He just turned his head, closing his eyes and shaking it.
"What happened?" Darla urged him. "What's going on?"
"No--it's just--" when he opened his eyes and turned back to look at her his eyes were glassy. "I've just never--"
Darla nodded knowingly.
"I know. It happens to everybody that really gets it. Don't worry about it. It's okay," she said, grinning at him. "It's perfectly okay." She laughed and wiped a tear away herself. She put her arms out again.
"Here. Let's go again," she said. She hit the timer again and clasped arms with James as they looked into each others' eyes. This time tears flowed down his face, and, in response, as they always did at this point, tears flowed down her cheeks as well. But, this time, he didn't look away.
That is amazing!! I love your writing
Thank you, Emo!! I was hoping you'd read it and tell me what you thought, so thanks! I was kind of wondering if anyone would "get" this because it's so unusual...like I was wondering if my obsession/fascination with soul gazing/eye gazing was something a little strange or if it is something that would make sense to...lol like...normal people? The average person. I mean, I've never done eye gazing but I would love to do it someday, there are videos about it...where people set up an event like that...and I think those videos are fascinating. Anyway thanks for reading this and letting me know!!!
(So, I entered a writing contest, an open letter sort of thing to my crush...I'm kinda proud of it, so I'd like to share with ya'll! And this is a true story. 
)
I had a chance with you, surprisingly. I don't know what it was that you saw in me. But somehow, you fell for me. But at that time, I hadn't fallen for you.
You were my friend. I'd known you since the fourth grade. We'd laughed together, played together, grown up together. I'd...friendzoned you. So when you finally worked up the courage to ask me out, I turned you down.
I realize now that I made a mistake.
I think it first hit me when prom came around. I had just gotten out of a guilt-tripped relationship. I was alone. There was no one for me to go with.
You and I still hung out. Something in me desperately hoped that you would ask me to the dance. As a last resort, of course. As friends, I told myself.
But then she walked in. You left my side. Went up to her. Asked her to the dance. I don't blame her for saying yes.
It was in that moment, I realized.
I minded.
Oh, how it tore at me. I had my chance with you, and I threw it away. And now this other girl - this girl that I could not hold a candle to - was the one hanging on your arm, her smile proudly screaming to the world: Look at me! Look at who I have!
And to think that I could've been her.
Prom arrived. I showed up feeling flawless. Invincible. Gorgeous. But then I saw her hanging on your arm. I wasn't as pretty as her. She was ethereal; I was base.
I watched as you led her onto the dance floor. A strand of your hair fell into your eyes. Your tie was crooked, just like your smile. And oh, your laugh! I could hear it from my seat: clear and loud, a laugh that just begs everyone else to join in. I read once that when someone laughs, they look to the person they want to be closest to. You looked at her the whole time.
Months have passed since then. Nothing happened between you two; a huge surprise to me. She would've been so lucky to have you. I would've been lucky to have you.
So now, I'm sitting in the passenger seat of your car, on the way home from bowling with friends. We've been talking like we always have. Long, deep conversations that I've loved about our relationship. Golden light floods the car from time to time as we pass under the street lights. You've still got that crooked smile on your face as you talk.
Suddenly, we hit a question that yanks at my heart:
"What's your biggest regret?"
"In all honesty?" I stammer.
You nod. "In all honesty. What is said in this car stays in the car."
I feel the answer bloom to life, only to die and then be resurrected.
I only hope that you'll react graciously.
"Saying no to you."
)I had a chance with you, surprisingly. I don't know what it was that you saw in me. But somehow, you fell for me. But at that time, I hadn't fallen for you.
You were my friend. I'd known you since the fourth grade. We'd laughed together, played together, grown up together. I'd...friendzoned you. So when you finally worked up the courage to ask me out, I turned you down.
I realize now that I made a mistake.
I think it first hit me when prom came around. I had just gotten out of a guilt-tripped relationship. I was alone. There was no one for me to go with.
You and I still hung out. Something in me desperately hoped that you would ask me to the dance. As a last resort, of course. As friends, I told myself.
But then she walked in. You left my side. Went up to her. Asked her to the dance. I don't blame her for saying yes.
It was in that moment, I realized.
I minded.
Oh, how it tore at me. I had my chance with you, and I threw it away. And now this other girl - this girl that I could not hold a candle to - was the one hanging on your arm, her smile proudly screaming to the world: Look at me! Look at who I have!
And to think that I could've been her.
Prom arrived. I showed up feeling flawless. Invincible. Gorgeous. But then I saw her hanging on your arm. I wasn't as pretty as her. She was ethereal; I was base.
I watched as you led her onto the dance floor. A strand of your hair fell into your eyes. Your tie was crooked, just like your smile. And oh, your laugh! I could hear it from my seat: clear and loud, a laugh that just begs everyone else to join in. I read once that when someone laughs, they look to the person they want to be closest to. You looked at her the whole time.
Months have passed since then. Nothing happened between you two; a huge surprise to me. She would've been so lucky to have you. I would've been lucky to have you.
So now, I'm sitting in the passenger seat of your car, on the way home from bowling with friends. We've been talking like we always have. Long, deep conversations that I've loved about our relationship. Golden light floods the car from time to time as we pass under the street lights. You've still got that crooked smile on your face as you talk.
Suddenly, we hit a question that yanks at my heart:
"What's your biggest regret?"
"In all honesty?" I stammer.
You nod. "In all honesty. What is said in this car stays in the car."
I feel the answer bloom to life, only to die and then be resurrected.
I only hope that you'll react graciously.
"Saying no to you."
That's really good, Skrifa...I love it! And I'm like...what did he say??
Abigail_Austin wrote:
That's really good, Skrifa...I love it! And I'm like...what did he say??
....HE ASKED ME OUT IS WHAT HE DID!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! *squeals*
Oh my gosh! When did this happen?!?!
Yayyyy 
Today, actually. He dropped me off last week after bowling. He didn't really say much that night, and I freaked out, thinking I scared him off...in all honesty, I avoided him as much as possible this week. But today he was standing at my car after class let out, so I pretty much had to talk to him.
And then it got fluffy.
Like, this sort of thing should've happened in a fanfiction. Not real life. Cause he's this jock that everyone loves, and I'm the nerdy girl that's his best friend, and there's no way we should be together, but he freaking kissed me in front of the entire school and asked me out. LIKE THIS IS A FANFICTION MOMENT. ITS NOT RIGHT BUT I'M SUPER GRATEFUL AND REALLY HONESTLY GIDDY AND I'm gonna shut up now.... 
And then it got fluffy.
Like, this sort of thing should've happened in a fanfiction. Not real life. Cause he's this jock that everyone loves, and I'm the nerdy girl that's his best friend, and there's no way we should be together, but he freaking kissed me in front of the entire school and asked me out. LIKE THIS IS A FANFICTION MOMENT. ITS NOT RIGHT BUT I'M SUPER GRATEFUL AND REALLY HONESTLY GIDDY AND I'm gonna shut up now....
*smiles from ear to ear*
Congratulations my friend!
Congratulations my friend!
Skrifa wrote:
Today, actually. He dropped me off last week after bowling. He didn't really say much that night, and I freaked out, thinking I scared him off...in all honesty, I avoided him as much as possible this week. But today he was standing at my car after class let out, so I pretty much had to talk to him.
And then it got fluffy. Like, this sort of thing should've happened in a fanfiction. Not real life. Cause he's this jock that everyone loves, and I'm the nerdy girl that's his best friend, and there's no way we should be together, but he freaking kissed me in front of the entire school and asked me out. LIKE THIS IS A FANFICTION MOMENT. ITS NOT RIGHT BUT I'M SUPER GRATEFUL AND REALLY HONESTLY GIDDY AND I'm gonna shut up now....
And then it got fluffy.
Like, this sort of thing should've happened in a fanfiction. Not real life. Cause he's this jock that everyone loves, and I'm the nerdy girl that's his best friend, and there's no way we should be together, but he freaking kissed me in front of the entire school and asked me out. LIKE THIS IS A FANFICTION MOMENT. ITS NOT RIGHT BUT I'M SUPER GRATEFUL AND REALLY HONESTLY GIDDY AND I'm gonna shut up now.... Well THAT is pretty damn awesome Skrifa! A smart fella him! He knows a gem when it is right there!
Dunedain-Ranger wrote:
Well THAT is pretty damn awesome Skrifa! A smart fella him! He knows a gem when it is right there!
Haha, thanks!
The Stranger At the Well ....a short story -- but Trigger Warning for Pleasurable Pain and Slightly Erotic Implications and Imagery. ;)
She wandered into the woods she had been warned not to enter. But...she was curious. The tales...there was something about them. As other young maidens shivered in fear to hear of the things that allegedly happened in the woods, Cassidy listened with rapt attention, enamored of the place, for reasons she could not explain.
"Yes, that sounds awful!" she agreed when the storytellers or friends pressed her for a reaction. "What a dreadful place!"
But something in her longed to go there. Something in the tales called to her. She found her breath quickening and her heart beating faster when the Teller's rising voices reached the climax of the story, and the rest of the audience gasped in horror, Cassidy remained completely still, her intense, brown-eyed gaze never leaving the Teller's eyes, waiting hungrily for more words and more details. More specific details. There were never enough details.
The stories that were designed to keep children and naive, young women away from the woods instead drew her toward them. Little did the old men and women in charge of corraling their younger kinfolk know.
I have to see it for myself, Cassidy thought. I'm going into the Woods of Agony and Travail, and no one's going to stop me.
So presently she wandered, as everyone else slept, through the outer edge of the Woods of Travail, lighting the way through the underbrush with the dim light spilling from the small lantern in her hand. The dim rays of yellow light lit the ground just enough for her to see her very next step, then they were quickly absorbed in the eerie darkness of the vast, hidden woods all around her.
Reaching limbs of saplings caught on her locks of long brown hair, and she had to stop, and untangle them periodically, as she wandered deeper. Thorns growing in the underbrush scratched holes in her stockings and, with the stockings thus penetrated, ever more sharp thorns dragged themselves across the bare skin of her ankles and lower calves, stinging and leaving tiny red scratches scattered all across the tender flesh visible below her swaying satin skirt.
She heard the sound of a babbling brook in the distance, and Cassidy headed in that direction. She was getting a bit thirsty from the hike and if it was flowing, the water was probably naturally filtered and good for drinking.
But before she came to the brook, she stumbled upon a well. This is the well I've heard about, she thought, with anticipation. Those who drank from the well, the story went, were always greeted by a stranger--the guardian of the well--and had to pay a price for the water they had drunk. The price was always different.
Her hands shaking a little with fear despite the tantilizing excitement she felt at the same time, the lanky, brown-haired girl in the satin skirt and shirt, who looked like she had no business being in the woods at night reached out her hand, grasping the cold metal of the pulley handle, and begin to turn it. After a while, she balanced her lantern on the wide-lipped rim of the well, and pulled with both hands.
Trembling, yet determined, she drew the heavy, water-filled bucket up to the top of the well. Cassidy looked around into the darkness. She listened. She heard the brook babbling and an owl softly hooting in a nearby tree. Nothing yet, she thought. Maybe it's just a myth. Then she turned around and, cupping her hand, reached down into the bucketful of cool water. She brought a small sip up to her mouth and drank it. It was cool on her tongue and on the way down her throat, and she helped herself to another sip, and then another.
With her realizing, the same thorny vines that had scratched up her ankles began to grow underneath her, at a decidedly unnatural rate. The vines spread and grew around her shoes, and then crept up her legs and wrapped themselves around her ankles. They were very stealthy, but when a single thorn punctured the skin on her calf, Cassidy finally glanced down at her lower half, and screamed.
Instinctively, she tried to lift her feet to simply walk away, but she realized instantly that they wouldn't move, so tightly they were restrained with dozens and dozens of thorny vines.
She reached down and tried to pull them off her feet and lower legs, and then tried to tear them off, but neither worked. As she struggled, she began to lose her balance, so she quickly grasped the edge of the stone well again to keep from falling over. She watched helplessly as the fast-growing thorny vines grew, reached, and intertwined all around her calves, then up around her tender thighs, then around her waist, and then around her stomach.
"Noooooo!" Cassidy cried out. "Somebody help me!"
But, of course, no one could hear Cassidy so far out in the woods. Her voice echoed through the still night, but she was now miles away from the village of her people.
Throns were digging into every piece of flesh on her body that was exposed, which included her ankles, most of her legs, (for the vines had efforlessly found their way underneath her satin skirt) and, somehow, the vines had even managed to wander underneath the hemline of her blouse and wrap themselves tightly around her waist, the needle-sharp thorns pressing lightly but oh-so persistently into the tender flesh of her stomach. She was thoroughly trapped.
"Ugh!" Cassidy complained. "Help! This wasn't what was supposed to happen! None of the stories mentioned this!" She listened for an answer, or footsteps through the leaves, but heard only the natural, non-human sounds of the woods.
Cassidy whimpered, the realization of her solitude fully hitting her.
She writhed and wriggled around within the tangle of prickly vines and as she did so the sharp thorns needled her in a thousand places. The sharp points pressed against her flesh, creating new landscapes of pain that she hadn't realized were possible, the thorns digging into all the sensitive spots on her body. Any writhing she did caused her more pain, and more scrapes and more sharp, stinging, needle-thin punctures and so finally she figured this out, and learned to move as little as possible.
Then she had an idea. I will burn them off, Cassidy thought. She reached for her lantern, which she had balanced on the rim of the well. But, not being able to turn properly, her hand grabbed it at the wrong angle, and, instead of picking it up, she accidentally knocked it over into the well.
Cassidy gasped as she realized what she had done and she winced as she heard the lantern splash into the water at the bottom of the well. All went dark for a moment and tears finally filled Cassidy's eyes, although she had been brave up until now. Slowly the darkness faded as her eyes adjusted to the moonlight and starlight alone and then she blinked, for she thought she saw someone standing in front of her, but there couldn't be, for she had not heard anyone approach. She blinked her eyes several times, then looked at the apparition again.
It was a man, clad in black with a black hat atop his head. Cassidy screamed.
The man waited patiently for her to stop, and then he tipped his hat to her. He had a chiseled jaw and a prominent adam's apple, as well as dark hair, stubble, and an intense gaze. She could tell little else. In the darkness she could not tell the color of his eyes. His face was mostly in shadow due to the brim of his hat, but she caught a glimpse of his eyes as he tipped his hat to her.
"You're the stranger at the well," Cassidy whispered.
"Call me what you like," the man said, his voice gravelly, and he smiled slightly. Cassidy noted how handsome he was but resolved to hate him unless he let her go.
"It does no good to scream, by the way, m'lady. We are alone here," the stranger said, smiling amusedly.
"Get me out of these thorns," Cassidy demanded. "And then I won't have to scream."
The man laughed. He took a little too long to laugh, and Cassidy found herself increasingly annoyed with him.
"Don't you know?" the man asked her. "The vines are mine. The well is mine. You drank the water from my well, and now...you have to pay the price."
Something about his voice filled her with excitement and anticipation, despite her earlier vow to hate him. She looked up at him and kept her eyes locked on his eyes, watching carefully to see what he might do next.
He stepped forward and reached out his hand towards her face. He ran his index finger gently down the side of her pale cheek and then across her jawline. His light touch tickled the sensitive skin there. Despite herself, Cassidy felt goosebumps rise on her arms and chills run through her body. Embarrassed, she blushed and turned away.
The stranger reached his hand out and placed it, warm, against Cassidy's cheek, turning her face back towards him and looking down into her eyes. The intensity of his gaze made Cassidy's breath catch in her throat.
"Look at me," he ordered her. "Don't look away." Slowly, she nodded her head and was suddenly aware of her own breathing, and his breathing. His face was so close to hers.
Cassidy could still feel the thorns all around her legs and waist digging into her, painfully, but the sensations faded into the background, somehow suddenly only adding a rush of endorphins and adrenaline and heightening all her senses as she gazed into the eyes of this stranger who was suddenly, somehow, in control of her completely. This was what she had come for. This moment. This stranger.
The stranger continued to hold her eyes in his gaze.
"Can you move?" he asked her.
"No," she whispered.
"Good," he said.
"Are you scared?" he asked her.
"No," she whispered.
"Good."
He leaned forward, and kissed her lips with an absurd amount of gentleness. A wave of heat ran through her from the top of her head to the tips of her toes, and she writhed unconsciously in her torturous bonds, causing a cascade of delicious pain to spread through the lower half of her body and, moaning softly, she passionately kissed him back.
She wandered into the woods she had been warned not to enter. But...she was curious. The tales...there was something about them. As other young maidens shivered in fear to hear of the things that allegedly happened in the woods, Cassidy listened with rapt attention, enamored of the place, for reasons she could not explain.
"Yes, that sounds awful!" she agreed when the storytellers or friends pressed her for a reaction. "What a dreadful place!"
But something in her longed to go there. Something in the tales called to her. She found her breath quickening and her heart beating faster when the Teller's rising voices reached the climax of the story, and the rest of the audience gasped in horror, Cassidy remained completely still, her intense, brown-eyed gaze never leaving the Teller's eyes, waiting hungrily for more words and more details. More specific details. There were never enough details.
The stories that were designed to keep children and naive, young women away from the woods instead drew her toward them. Little did the old men and women in charge of corraling their younger kinfolk know.
I have to see it for myself, Cassidy thought. I'm going into the Woods of Agony and Travail, and no one's going to stop me.
So presently she wandered, as everyone else slept, through the outer edge of the Woods of Travail, lighting the way through the underbrush with the dim light spilling from the small lantern in her hand. The dim rays of yellow light lit the ground just enough for her to see her very next step, then they were quickly absorbed in the eerie darkness of the vast, hidden woods all around her.
Reaching limbs of saplings caught on her locks of long brown hair, and she had to stop, and untangle them periodically, as she wandered deeper. Thorns growing in the underbrush scratched holes in her stockings and, with the stockings thus penetrated, ever more sharp thorns dragged themselves across the bare skin of her ankles and lower calves, stinging and leaving tiny red scratches scattered all across the tender flesh visible below her swaying satin skirt.
She heard the sound of a babbling brook in the distance, and Cassidy headed in that direction. She was getting a bit thirsty from the hike and if it was flowing, the water was probably naturally filtered and good for drinking.
But before she came to the brook, she stumbled upon a well. This is the well I've heard about, she thought, with anticipation. Those who drank from the well, the story went, were always greeted by a stranger--the guardian of the well--and had to pay a price for the water they had drunk. The price was always different.
Her hands shaking a little with fear despite the tantilizing excitement she felt at the same time, the lanky, brown-haired girl in the satin skirt and shirt, who looked like she had no business being in the woods at night reached out her hand, grasping the cold metal of the pulley handle, and begin to turn it. After a while, she balanced her lantern on the wide-lipped rim of the well, and pulled with both hands.
Trembling, yet determined, she drew the heavy, water-filled bucket up to the top of the well. Cassidy looked around into the darkness. She listened. She heard the brook babbling and an owl softly hooting in a nearby tree. Nothing yet, she thought. Maybe it's just a myth. Then she turned around and, cupping her hand, reached down into the bucketful of cool water. She brought a small sip up to her mouth and drank it. It was cool on her tongue and on the way down her throat, and she helped herself to another sip, and then another.
With her realizing, the same thorny vines that had scratched up her ankles began to grow underneath her, at a decidedly unnatural rate. The vines spread and grew around her shoes, and then crept up her legs and wrapped themselves around her ankles. They were very stealthy, but when a single thorn punctured the skin on her calf, Cassidy finally glanced down at her lower half, and screamed.
Instinctively, she tried to lift her feet to simply walk away, but she realized instantly that they wouldn't move, so tightly they were restrained with dozens and dozens of thorny vines.
She reached down and tried to pull them off her feet and lower legs, and then tried to tear them off, but neither worked. As she struggled, she began to lose her balance, so she quickly grasped the edge of the stone well again to keep from falling over. She watched helplessly as the fast-growing thorny vines grew, reached, and intertwined all around her calves, then up around her tender thighs, then around her waist, and then around her stomach.
"Noooooo!" Cassidy cried out. "Somebody help me!"
But, of course, no one could hear Cassidy so far out in the woods. Her voice echoed through the still night, but she was now miles away from the village of her people.
Throns were digging into every piece of flesh on her body that was exposed, which included her ankles, most of her legs, (for the vines had efforlessly found their way underneath her satin skirt) and, somehow, the vines had even managed to wander underneath the hemline of her blouse and wrap themselves tightly around her waist, the needle-sharp thorns pressing lightly but oh-so persistently into the tender flesh of her stomach. She was thoroughly trapped.
"Ugh!" Cassidy complained. "Help! This wasn't what was supposed to happen! None of the stories mentioned this!" She listened for an answer, or footsteps through the leaves, but heard only the natural, non-human sounds of the woods.
Cassidy whimpered, the realization of her solitude fully hitting her.
She writhed and wriggled around within the tangle of prickly vines and as she did so the sharp thorns needled her in a thousand places. The sharp points pressed against her flesh, creating new landscapes of pain that she hadn't realized were possible, the thorns digging into all the sensitive spots on her body. Any writhing she did caused her more pain, and more scrapes and more sharp, stinging, needle-thin punctures and so finally she figured this out, and learned to move as little as possible.
Then she had an idea. I will burn them off, Cassidy thought. She reached for her lantern, which she had balanced on the rim of the well. But, not being able to turn properly, her hand grabbed it at the wrong angle, and, instead of picking it up, she accidentally knocked it over into the well.
Cassidy gasped as she realized what she had done and she winced as she heard the lantern splash into the water at the bottom of the well. All went dark for a moment and tears finally filled Cassidy's eyes, although she had been brave up until now. Slowly the darkness faded as her eyes adjusted to the moonlight and starlight alone and then she blinked, for she thought she saw someone standing in front of her, but there couldn't be, for she had not heard anyone approach. She blinked her eyes several times, then looked at the apparition again.
It was a man, clad in black with a black hat atop his head. Cassidy screamed.
The man waited patiently for her to stop, and then he tipped his hat to her. He had a chiseled jaw and a prominent adam's apple, as well as dark hair, stubble, and an intense gaze. She could tell little else. In the darkness she could not tell the color of his eyes. His face was mostly in shadow due to the brim of his hat, but she caught a glimpse of his eyes as he tipped his hat to her.
"You're the stranger at the well," Cassidy whispered.
"Call me what you like," the man said, his voice gravelly, and he smiled slightly. Cassidy noted how handsome he was but resolved to hate him unless he let her go.
"It does no good to scream, by the way, m'lady. We are alone here," the stranger said, smiling amusedly.
"Get me out of these thorns," Cassidy demanded. "And then I won't have to scream."
The man laughed. He took a little too long to laugh, and Cassidy found herself increasingly annoyed with him.
"Don't you know?" the man asked her. "The vines are mine. The well is mine. You drank the water from my well, and now...you have to pay the price."
Something about his voice filled her with excitement and anticipation, despite her earlier vow to hate him. She looked up at him and kept her eyes locked on his eyes, watching carefully to see what he might do next.
He stepped forward and reached out his hand towards her face. He ran his index finger gently down the side of her pale cheek and then across her jawline. His light touch tickled the sensitive skin there. Despite herself, Cassidy felt goosebumps rise on her arms and chills run through her body. Embarrassed, she blushed and turned away.
The stranger reached his hand out and placed it, warm, against Cassidy's cheek, turning her face back towards him and looking down into her eyes. The intensity of his gaze made Cassidy's breath catch in her throat.
"Look at me," he ordered her. "Don't look away." Slowly, she nodded her head and was suddenly aware of her own breathing, and his breathing. His face was so close to hers.
Cassidy could still feel the thorns all around her legs and waist digging into her, painfully, but the sensations faded into the background, somehow suddenly only adding a rush of endorphins and adrenaline and heightening all her senses as she gazed into the eyes of this stranger who was suddenly, somehow, in control of her completely. This was what she had come for. This moment. This stranger.
The stranger continued to hold her eyes in his gaze.
"Can you move?" he asked her.
"No," she whispered.
"Good," he said.
"Are you scared?" he asked her.
"No," she whispered.
"Good."
He leaned forward, and kissed her lips with an absurd amount of gentleness. A wave of heat ran through her from the top of her head to the tips of her toes, and she writhed unconsciously in her torturous bonds, causing a cascade of delicious pain to spread through the lower half of her body and, moaning softly, she passionately kissed him back.
a particularly angsty piece that i wrote in regards to my character Venus' encounter with her father who she had thought was dead, as she hadn't seen him in nineteen years. things get juicy, oof. lots of resentment and tears, yes yes.
collapsing for length, booyah
“Veronica,” he breathed, cupping her face in his calloused hands, “It’s me...Papa.”
She stood trembling under her father’s touch, tears threatening to spill from her widened eyes. Strong fingers brushed away the locks of hair that had fallen astray from her face, and then pulled her closer to his burly form, as if his embrace could wash away the pain and neglect of being abandoned for nineteen years. As if it could hide the never-ending fear and emptiness that had lingered in her heart, a gaping hole that could never be filled again.
It wasn’t supposed to be this way. This wasn’t what she wanted- not here, not now, not ever.
“I-I don’t...I don’t get it,” she whimpered, a hiccuping sob escaping her throat. “She told m-me… that you were dead. It’s n-not fair! You don’t get to just show up! Y-you left me...you left me alone! Where were you? Where were you w-when she ####ing died!?”
It was coming out, now. The hurt that she had stored deep in the throes of the darkest corners of her mind, dormant but not forgotten- a forever reminder of all that never was and never would be, a creeping, desperate loneliness that consumed both body and soul. Her chest heaved in agony as another choking cry wheezed its way past her lips, and her fists came down in futile blows against the man who would never deserve the title of ‘Father.’ Not after he had disappeared without a trace from her life, leaving not even a single memory of what could have been in his place.
He was the source of all the nightmares that haunted her dreams, the years that she had spent fending for herself on the streets, the isolated hours she had spent with only the bitter taste of cheap alcohol to ward off the growing longing for death that plagued the void in her head. If only he had been there, she could have had a normal life, a normal family without the broken lives and the resentments against her for ruining the way things had been. If only...if only he had loved her enough to stay.
“You don’t understand, querida. I did what I did to protect you and y-”
“Bullshit!” she screamed, throwing his arms away from her and shoving him back. Those tears that had valiantly been held back now flowed freely, staining her cheeks with trails of painful hatred. “You never loved me! You would have stayed if you did! Why? Was I not enough for you? I never even knew you! You never knew me or what I went through because of you!”
A tense silence lingered in the air, broken only by the quiet, ragged sobs that came from her. No comforting touch came to relieve the betrayal from her, only the stinging chill of the frigid breeze as it struck her wet features.
“We could have been...we could have been a family,” she wheezed, clutching her arms tightly around her aching chest. “I c-could’ve been your daughter, a-and you could’ve been my f-father, and we could’ve all been...happy.”
She stood trembling under her father’s touch, tears threatening to spill from her widened eyes. Strong fingers brushed away the locks of hair that had fallen astray from her face, and then pulled her closer to his burly form, as if his embrace could wash away the pain and neglect of being abandoned for nineteen years. As if it could hide the never-ending fear and emptiness that had lingered in her heart, a gaping hole that could never be filled again.
It wasn’t supposed to be this way. This wasn’t what she wanted- not here, not now, not ever.
“I-I don’t...I don’t get it,” she whimpered, a hiccuping sob escaping her throat. “She told m-me… that you were dead. It’s n-not fair! You don’t get to just show up! Y-you left me...you left me alone! Where were you? Where were you w-when she ####ing died!?”
It was coming out, now. The hurt that she had stored deep in the throes of the darkest corners of her mind, dormant but not forgotten- a forever reminder of all that never was and never would be, a creeping, desperate loneliness that consumed both body and soul. Her chest heaved in agony as another choking cry wheezed its way past her lips, and her fists came down in futile blows against the man who would never deserve the title of ‘Father.’ Not after he had disappeared without a trace from her life, leaving not even a single memory of what could have been in his place.
He was the source of all the nightmares that haunted her dreams, the years that she had spent fending for herself on the streets, the isolated hours she had spent with only the bitter taste of cheap alcohol to ward off the growing longing for death that plagued the void in her head. If only he had been there, she could have had a normal life, a normal family without the broken lives and the resentments against her for ruining the way things had been. If only...if only he had loved her enough to stay.
“You don’t understand, querida. I did what I did to protect you and y-”
“Bullshit!” she screamed, throwing his arms away from her and shoving him back. Those tears that had valiantly been held back now flowed freely, staining her cheeks with trails of painful hatred. “You never loved me! You would have stayed if you did! Why? Was I not enough for you? I never even knew you! You never knew me or what I went through because of you!”
A tense silence lingered in the air, broken only by the quiet, ragged sobs that came from her. No comforting touch came to relieve the betrayal from her, only the stinging chill of the frigid breeze as it struck her wet features.
“We could have been...we could have been a family,” she wheezed, clutching her arms tightly around her aching chest. “I c-could’ve been your daughter, a-and you could’ve been my f-father, and we could’ve all been...happy.”
nineforalostgod wrote:
a particularly angsty piece that i wrote in regards to my character Venus' encounter with her father who she had thought was dead, as she hadn't seen him in nineteen years. things get juicy, oof. lots of resentment and tears, yes yes.
collapsing for length, booyah
“Veronica,” he breathed, cupping her face in his calloused hands, “It’s me...Papa.”
She stood trembling under her father’s touch, tears threatening to spill from her widened eyes. Strong fingers brushed away the locks of hair that had fallen astray from her face, and then pulled her closer to his burly form, as if his embrace could wash away the pain and neglect of being abandoned for nineteen years. As if it could hide the never-ending fear and emptiness that had lingered in her heart, a gaping hole that could never be filled again.
It wasn’t supposed to be this way. This wasn’t what she wanted- not here, not now, not ever.
“I-I don’t...I don’t get it,” she whimpered, a hiccuping sob escaping her throat. “She told m-me… that you were dead. It’s n-not fair! You don’t get to just show up! Y-you left me...you left me alone! Where were you? Where were you w-when she ####ing died!?”
It was coming out, now. The hurt that she had stored deep in the throes of the darkest corners of her mind, dormant but not forgotten- a forever reminder of all that never was and never would be, a creeping, desperate loneliness that consumed both body and soul. Her chest heaved in agony as another choking cry wheezed its way past her lips, and her fists came down in futile blows against the man who would never deserve the title of ‘Father.’ Not after he had disappeared without a trace from her life, leaving not even a single memory of what could have been in his place.
He was the source of all the nightmares that haunted her dreams, the years that she had spent fending for herself on the streets, the isolated hours she had spent with only the bitter taste of cheap alcohol to ward off the growing longing for death that plagued the void in her head. If only he had been there, she could have had a normal life, a normal family without the broken lives and the resentments against her for ruining the way things had been. If only...if only he had loved her enough to stay.
“You don’t understand, querida. I did what I did to protect you and y-”
“Bullshit!” she screamed, throwing his arms away from her and shoving him back. Those tears that had valiantly been held back now flowed freely, staining her cheeks with trails of painful hatred. “You never loved me! You would have stayed if you did! Why? Was I not enough for you? I never even knew you! You never knew me or what I went through because of you!”
A tense silence lingered in the air, broken only by the quiet, ragged sobs that came from her. No comforting touch came to relieve the betrayal from her, only the stinging chill of the frigid breeze as it struck her wet features.
“We could have been...we could have been a family,” she wheezed, clutching her arms tightly around her aching chest. “I c-could’ve been your daughter, a-and you could’ve been my f-father, and we could’ve all been...happy.”
She stood trembling under her father’s touch, tears threatening to spill from her widened eyes. Strong fingers brushed away the locks of hair that had fallen astray from her face, and then pulled her closer to his burly form, as if his embrace could wash away the pain and neglect of being abandoned for nineteen years. As if it could hide the never-ending fear and emptiness that had lingered in her heart, a gaping hole that could never be filled again.
It wasn’t supposed to be this way. This wasn’t what she wanted- not here, not now, not ever.
“I-I don’t...I don’t get it,” she whimpered, a hiccuping sob escaping her throat. “She told m-me… that you were dead. It’s n-not fair! You don’t get to just show up! Y-you left me...you left me alone! Where were you? Where were you w-when she ####ing died!?”
It was coming out, now. The hurt that she had stored deep in the throes of the darkest corners of her mind, dormant but not forgotten- a forever reminder of all that never was and never would be, a creeping, desperate loneliness that consumed both body and soul. Her chest heaved in agony as another choking cry wheezed its way past her lips, and her fists came down in futile blows against the man who would never deserve the title of ‘Father.’ Not after he had disappeared without a trace from her life, leaving not even a single memory of what could have been in his place.
He was the source of all the nightmares that haunted her dreams, the years that she had spent fending for herself on the streets, the isolated hours she had spent with only the bitter taste of cheap alcohol to ward off the growing longing for death that plagued the void in her head. If only he had been there, she could have had a normal life, a normal family without the broken lives and the resentments against her for ruining the way things had been. If only...if only he had loved her enough to stay.
“You don’t understand, querida. I did what I did to protect you and y-”
“Bullshit!” she screamed, throwing his arms away from her and shoving him back. Those tears that had valiantly been held back now flowed freely, staining her cheeks with trails of painful hatred. “You never loved me! You would have stayed if you did! Why? Was I not enough for you? I never even knew you! You never knew me or what I went through because of you!”
A tense silence lingered in the air, broken only by the quiet, ragged sobs that came from her. No comforting touch came to relieve the betrayal from her, only the stinging chill of the frigid breeze as it struck her wet features.
“We could have been...we could have been a family,” she wheezed, clutching her arms tightly around her aching chest. “I c-could’ve been your daughter, a-and you could’ve been my f-father, and we could’ve all been...happy.”
Awwwwwwwwwwwwwww
Yes that is very well written angst.
Now I wanna see them make up and the hurt/comfort scene that would be..
Lol. Love.
Abigail_Austin wrote:
Awwwwwwwwwwwwwww
Yes that is very well written angst.
Now I wanna see them make up and the hurt/comfort scene that would be..
Lol. Love.
Yes that is very well written angst.
Now I wanna see them make up and the hurt/comfort scene that would be..
Lol. Love.
ahh, thank you! unfortunately for these two, there isn't a happy ending lmao. though writing a possibility of what could have been sounds fun~
nineforalostgod wrote:
Abigail_Austin wrote:
Awwwwwwwwwwwwwww
Yes that is very well written angst.
Now I wanna see them make up and the hurt/comfort scene that would be..
Lol. Love.
Yes that is very well written angst.
Now I wanna see them make up and the hurt/comfort scene that would be..
Lol. Love.
ahh, thank you! unfortunately for these two, there isn't a happy ending lmao. though writing a possibility of what could have been sounds fun~
Alas, well, endings cannot always be happy.
If you ever write hurt/comfort story I'd read it. I like how you describe things.
Well, perhaps I should put some trigger warning in here - no idea how delicate these matters are handled... swearing and some violence ahead...
Short Story or Drabble based on the Prompt: "you keep pointing that gun at me...." (modern crime verse version of Hou Xin)
“You keep pointing that gun at me and blabbering on about how much you´ve been wanting to kill me. - I´m actually starting to doubt your commitment… what is it, afraid to see this whole thing through after all?”
Hou Xin slurred before swallowing down another spate of iron tasting liquid still oozing from a huge and hurting gash on the inside of his cheek.
“Cannot wait to get released from your pitiful state, can you?” The voice answering was heavy with spite and a sadistic hint of joy. “Don´t you worry, you´ll get what you deserve soon enough – just let me savour the moment a little longer. – I mean, how long have I been waiting for that… - seeing you like this, the smug grin whipped off your ugly mug for good, kneeling, struggling. – Hard to believe but this very moment you bring me a lot of joy, Húndán (asshole).”
Gloating chuckling followed.
“In that case you are apparently one to be satisfied rather easily…. – not sure who is more pitiful here…”
Hou Xin went on determined to keep up the unwavering attitude to not grant the other even more reason for malice; head held high as far as possible, one and a half eyes set straight and defiantly on the gunman.
“… especially as you needed the help of at least three lackeys to get me down here like that…- not quiet the achievement if you ask me… - but then a fair fight never was something too highly regarded by you, wasn´t it, Li Bao?”
The pistol grip met hard with Hou Xin´s right temple and sent him tumbling down to the ground. Blackness streaked with flashings of bright light took over his view for a few moments while he fought unconsciousness until the dirty concrete of the basement floor returned, blurred though.
He did not bother to try and get up but instead remained lying curled up into an almost fetal position. His chuckling though gave away that he was far from defeated or broken.
“Shí (Yes), that is how I remember you… beating the defenseless... – what a man you are….”
His words and breath were taken away when a hard, boot-clad kick met his stomach.
“Shut up you haughty shmuck… everything I am is due to you…”
It was somewhat between wet painful coughing and a fit of snarky laughter which came in return.
“Everything you are is your own doing, Li Bao… that´s all on your own cowardly head and yours alone….”
“You betrayed me… we were like brothers… we swore…”
“… We swore to back each other and be there for each other… yes, I remember… but that was before you decided to try your luck with the bad guys….”
By now Hou Xing had worked himself back up again into at least a cowering position, his arms supportingly slung round his chest and belly.
“Oh shut up Mr Self-righteous… - as if you´d handled it better…” was the spiteful return.
“In fact I did…”
Another kick sent the mangled younger of the two men back into the dust, for good this time…
“SHUT UP!! – YOU ARE NOT ONE BIT BETTER!”
Pure, unconcealed hatred and anger were pouring out now, were shouted towards the bloody and battered bundle of a man on the ground.
Somewhere in the back a rusty metal door protested with a screech when pushed open… then an earsplitting shot rang before silence settled once again… a few specs of dust danced forlornly in the greyish tristesse of a stray ray of sunshine.
A groan... rasping…. “What took you so long?”…
“You keep pointing that gun at me and blabbering on about how much you´ve been wanting to kill me. - I´m actually starting to doubt your commitment… what is it, afraid to see this whole thing through after all?”
Hou Xin slurred before swallowing down another spate of iron tasting liquid still oozing from a huge and hurting gash on the inside of his cheek.
“Cannot wait to get released from your pitiful state, can you?” The voice answering was heavy with spite and a sadistic hint of joy. “Don´t you worry, you´ll get what you deserve soon enough – just let me savour the moment a little longer. – I mean, how long have I been waiting for that… - seeing you like this, the smug grin whipped off your ugly mug for good, kneeling, struggling. – Hard to believe but this very moment you bring me a lot of joy, Húndán (asshole).”
Gloating chuckling followed.
“In that case you are apparently one to be satisfied rather easily…. – not sure who is more pitiful here…”
Hou Xin went on determined to keep up the unwavering attitude to not grant the other even more reason for malice; head held high as far as possible, one and a half eyes set straight and defiantly on the gunman.
“… especially as you needed the help of at least three lackeys to get me down here like that…- not quiet the achievement if you ask me… - but then a fair fight never was something too highly regarded by you, wasn´t it, Li Bao?”
The pistol grip met hard with Hou Xin´s right temple and sent him tumbling down to the ground. Blackness streaked with flashings of bright light took over his view for a few moments while he fought unconsciousness until the dirty concrete of the basement floor returned, blurred though.
He did not bother to try and get up but instead remained lying curled up into an almost fetal position. His chuckling though gave away that he was far from defeated or broken.
“Shí (Yes), that is how I remember you… beating the defenseless... – what a man you are….”
His words and breath were taken away when a hard, boot-clad kick met his stomach.
“Shut up you haughty shmuck… everything I am is due to you…”
It was somewhat between wet painful coughing and a fit of snarky laughter which came in return.
“Everything you are is your own doing, Li Bao… that´s all on your own cowardly head and yours alone….”
“You betrayed me… we were like brothers… we swore…”
“… We swore to back each other and be there for each other… yes, I remember… but that was before you decided to try your luck with the bad guys….”
By now Hou Xing had worked himself back up again into at least a cowering position, his arms supportingly slung round his chest and belly.
“Oh shut up Mr Self-righteous… - as if you´d handled it better…” was the spiteful return.
“In fact I did…”
Another kick sent the mangled younger of the two men back into the dust, for good this time…
“SHUT UP!! – YOU ARE NOT ONE BIT BETTER!”
Pure, unconcealed hatred and anger were pouring out now, were shouted towards the bloody and battered bundle of a man on the ground.
Somewhere in the back a rusty metal door protested with a screech when pushed open… then an earsplitting shot rang before silence settled once again… a few specs of dust danced forlornly in the greyish tristesse of a stray ray of sunshine.
A groan... rasping…. “What took you so long?”…
A Sith is Betrayal
Every moment was agony. Again and again she forces me to continue these exercises. My lungs are burning, every breath I take like hot lead pouring down my throat, yet I suck each one in, desperate for another. She watches as I move, her dark eyes assessing every step I take, searching- only ever searching, for a weakness, one mistake she can punish me for. I don’t make one. I’ve already learned that lesson. But still she pushes me, one more drill, one more lap, one more flip. I do each of these without hesitation, without complaint. That is the point of course, to push me until I do what I’m told. To obey without thought. Without fear.
For that is what it means to be Sith.
We control the dark, it does not control us.
“Again.” she says.
And I do it. Because she would kill me if I didn’t. I’m twelve cycles old, no higher than her chest in height, but even then I understand this. What I don’t yet know is that I’m only a pawn in the game she’s devised. I am not the first apprentice she’s trained, and I won’t be the last. Only a number, a faceless body on her path toward destiny. In the years to come I will serve her faithfully with no regard to my own person, to my own ambitions and hopes, seeking only to see her placed in the spotlight, a terrible power unleashed upon an unsuspecting galaxy. And I am content. I hate her for every pain, for every insult, but yes...I am content.
Perhaps that is why I didn’t see it coming. The betrayal all Sith know is inevitable. I am sixteen when it comes, the first signs of womanhood upon me in gentle curves and swaying hips. I know the beauty that is mine and the power it holds over the men as we pass by. I don’t see this as entertainment however, I see it as a weapon. A weapon she no longer has with the ever deepening lines upon her pale face and the ever deepening slope of her breast. She is old, and while still a powerful practitioner of the dark side, I know the day approaches when I will be her better in a duel of blades. I see the growing knowledge of this in her eyes as she watches me, but I’m far too young to recognize it.
I fight a little harder in my drills, my flips a little more tight and graceful, in my missions I’m all the more brutal. In my own way of self preservation, I think this pleases her, that it will remove that glint of suspicion and threat in her black eyes. And I’m puzzled when it does the opposite. My beatings increase, the long bouts of lightning destroying the gloss and lustre in my dark hair, leaving deep shadows around my eyes and along my spine. When she tells me we are going on a holiday after all our hard work, I am no longer the young woman I was. I’m not afraid, no. I am incapable of this, but I am desperate to have things return to how they were before. To be the young student and she the confident and masterful artist in the shaping of my life. So much so that I agree to the trip and find myself looking forward to it.
We land on a small moon, the planet of Jaguada looming large above the jungle in the night sky. It seemed an odd place to vacation, given that it was no longer inhabited. I turned to question my Master, thinking she too had disembarked from the ship. I find her not beside me, but still at the top of the ship’s ramp. Her face was cold, more void of expression than normal.
“I have no use for pretty, mindless things.” she says, her lips spreading into an unsettling grin.
The stream of lightning hit me full force in the chest. I’d raised my defenses too late, and though I’d blocked my core from the current(and thus saved my life) the electricity took it’s toll on the rest of my body. I flew back, landing with a thud in the dirt and twitching uncontrollably. I could only smell burning hair and charred skin, I’d bit my tongue, the warm metallic tang of blood filling my mouth and trickling down my chin. I could hear her laughing, though my vision blurred. I knew then what I should have known. I should have seen it coming, but I didn’t. Somewhere close by, the sound of a ramp’s compressors went off with a hiss as it closed and I recognized the loud noise of landing pads lifting off, followed shortly thereafter by ion engines firing. She’d left me to die. Alone, amongst the ruins of a long dead empire.
If only I had.
For that is what it means to be Sith.
We control the dark, it does not control us.
“Again.” she says.
And I do it. Because she would kill me if I didn’t. I’m twelve cycles old, no higher than her chest in height, but even then I understand this. What I don’t yet know is that I’m only a pawn in the game she’s devised. I am not the first apprentice she’s trained, and I won’t be the last. Only a number, a faceless body on her path toward destiny. In the years to come I will serve her faithfully with no regard to my own person, to my own ambitions and hopes, seeking only to see her placed in the spotlight, a terrible power unleashed upon an unsuspecting galaxy. And I am content. I hate her for every pain, for every insult, but yes...I am content.
Perhaps that is why I didn’t see it coming. The betrayal all Sith know is inevitable. I am sixteen when it comes, the first signs of womanhood upon me in gentle curves and swaying hips. I know the beauty that is mine and the power it holds over the men as we pass by. I don’t see this as entertainment however, I see it as a weapon. A weapon she no longer has with the ever deepening lines upon her pale face and the ever deepening slope of her breast. She is old, and while still a powerful practitioner of the dark side, I know the day approaches when I will be her better in a duel of blades. I see the growing knowledge of this in her eyes as she watches me, but I’m far too young to recognize it.
I fight a little harder in my drills, my flips a little more tight and graceful, in my missions I’m all the more brutal. In my own way of self preservation, I think this pleases her, that it will remove that glint of suspicion and threat in her black eyes. And I’m puzzled when it does the opposite. My beatings increase, the long bouts of lightning destroying the gloss and lustre in my dark hair, leaving deep shadows around my eyes and along my spine. When she tells me we are going on a holiday after all our hard work, I am no longer the young woman I was. I’m not afraid, no. I am incapable of this, but I am desperate to have things return to how they were before. To be the young student and she the confident and masterful artist in the shaping of my life. So much so that I agree to the trip and find myself looking forward to it.
We land on a small moon, the planet of Jaguada looming large above the jungle in the night sky. It seemed an odd place to vacation, given that it was no longer inhabited. I turned to question my Master, thinking she too had disembarked from the ship. I find her not beside me, but still at the top of the ship’s ramp. Her face was cold, more void of expression than normal.
“I have no use for pretty, mindless things.” she says, her lips spreading into an unsettling grin.
The stream of lightning hit me full force in the chest. I’d raised my defenses too late, and though I’d blocked my core from the current(and thus saved my life) the electricity took it’s toll on the rest of my body. I flew back, landing with a thud in the dirt and twitching uncontrollably. I could only smell burning hair and charred skin, I’d bit my tongue, the warm metallic tang of blood filling my mouth and trickling down my chin. I could hear her laughing, though my vision blurred. I knew then what I should have known. I should have seen it coming, but I didn’t. Somewhere close by, the sound of a ramp’s compressors went off with a hiss as it closed and I recognized the loud noise of landing pads lifting off, followed shortly thereafter by ion engines firing. She’d left me to die. Alone, amongst the ruins of a long dead empire.
If only I had.
Discordia wrote:
A Sith is Betrayal
Every moment was agony. Again and again she forces me to continue these exercises. My lungs are burning, every breath I take like hot lead pouring down my throat, yet I suck each one in, desperate for another. She watches as I move, her dark eyes assessing every step I take, searching- only ever searching, for a weakness, one mistake she can punish me for. I don’t make one. I’ve already learned that lesson. But still she pushes me, one more drill, one more lap, one more flip. I do each of these without hesitation, without complaint. That is the point of course, to push me until I do what I’m told. To obey without thought. Without fear.
For that is what it means to be Sith.
We control the dark, it does not control us.
“Again.” she says.
And I do it. Because she would kill me if I didn’t. I’m twelve cycles old, no higher than her chest in height, but even then I understand this. What I don’t yet know is that I’m only a pawn in the game she’s devised. I am not the first apprentice she’s trained, and I won’t be the last. Only a number, a faceless body on her path toward destiny. In the years to come I will serve her faithfully with no regard to my own person, to my own ambitions and hopes, seeking only to see her placed in the spotlight, a terrible power unleashed upon an unsuspecting galaxy. And I am content. I hate her for every pain, for every insult, but yes...I am content.
Perhaps that is why I didn’t see it coming. The betrayal all Sith know is inevitable. I am sixteen when it comes, the first signs of womanhood upon me in gentle curves and swaying hips. I know the beauty that is mine and the power it holds over the men as we pass by. I don’t see this as entertainment however, I see it as a weapon. A weapon she no longer has with the ever deepening lines upon her pale face and the ever deepening slope of her breast. She is old, and while still a powerful practitioner of the dark side, I know the day approaches when I will be her better in a duel of blades. I see the growing knowledge of this in her eyes as she watches me, but I’m far too young to recognize it.
I fight a little harder in my drills, my flips a little more tight and graceful, in my missions I’m all the more brutal. In my own way of self preservation, I think this pleases her, that it will remove that glint of suspicion and threat in her black eyes. And I’m puzzled when it does the opposite. My beatings increase, the long bouts of lightning destroying the gloss and lustre in my dark hair, leaving deep shadows around my eyes and along my spine. When she tells me we are going on a holiday after all our hard work, I am no longer the young woman I was. I’m not afraid, no. I am incapable of this, but I am desperate to have things return to how they were before. To be the young student and she the confident and masterful artist in the shaping of my life. So much so that I agree to the trip and find myself looking forward to it.
We land on a small moon, the planet of Jaguada looming large above the jungle in the night sky. It seemed an odd place to vacation, given that it was no longer inhabited. I turned to question my Master, thinking she too had disembarked from the ship. I find her not beside me, but still at the top of the ship’s ramp. Her face was cold, more void of expression than normal.
“I have no use for pretty, mindless things.” she says, her lips spreading into an unsettling grin.
The stream of lightning hit me full force in the chest. I’d raised my defenses too late, and though I’d blocked my core from the current(and thus saved my life) the electricity took it’s toll on the rest of my body. I flew back, landing with a thud in the dirt and twitching uncontrollably. I could only smell burning hair and charred skin, I’d bit my tongue, the warm metallic tang of blood filling my mouth and trickling down my chin. I could hear her laughing, though my vision blurred. I knew then what I should have known. I should have seen it coming, but I didn’t. Somewhere close by, the sound of a ramp’s compressors went off with a hiss as it closed and I recognized the loud noise of landing pads lifting off, followed shortly thereafter by ion engines firing. She’d left me to die. Alone, amongst the ruins of a long dead empire.
If only I had.
For that is what it means to be Sith.
We control the dark, it does not control us.
“Again.” she says.
And I do it. Because she would kill me if I didn’t. I’m twelve cycles old, no higher than her chest in height, but even then I understand this. What I don’t yet know is that I’m only a pawn in the game she’s devised. I am not the first apprentice she’s trained, and I won’t be the last. Only a number, a faceless body on her path toward destiny. In the years to come I will serve her faithfully with no regard to my own person, to my own ambitions and hopes, seeking only to see her placed in the spotlight, a terrible power unleashed upon an unsuspecting galaxy. And I am content. I hate her for every pain, for every insult, but yes...I am content.
Perhaps that is why I didn’t see it coming. The betrayal all Sith know is inevitable. I am sixteen when it comes, the first signs of womanhood upon me in gentle curves and swaying hips. I know the beauty that is mine and the power it holds over the men as we pass by. I don’t see this as entertainment however, I see it as a weapon. A weapon she no longer has with the ever deepening lines upon her pale face and the ever deepening slope of her breast. She is old, and while still a powerful practitioner of the dark side, I know the day approaches when I will be her better in a duel of blades. I see the growing knowledge of this in her eyes as she watches me, but I’m far too young to recognize it.
I fight a little harder in my drills, my flips a little more tight and graceful, in my missions I’m all the more brutal. In my own way of self preservation, I think this pleases her, that it will remove that glint of suspicion and threat in her black eyes. And I’m puzzled when it does the opposite. My beatings increase, the long bouts of lightning destroying the gloss and lustre in my dark hair, leaving deep shadows around my eyes and along my spine. When she tells me we are going on a holiday after all our hard work, I am no longer the young woman I was. I’m not afraid, no. I am incapable of this, but I am desperate to have things return to how they were before. To be the young student and she the confident and masterful artist in the shaping of my life. So much so that I agree to the trip and find myself looking forward to it.
We land on a small moon, the planet of Jaguada looming large above the jungle in the night sky. It seemed an odd place to vacation, given that it was no longer inhabited. I turned to question my Master, thinking she too had disembarked from the ship. I find her not beside me, but still at the top of the ship’s ramp. Her face was cold, more void of expression than normal.
“I have no use for pretty, mindless things.” she says, her lips spreading into an unsettling grin.
The stream of lightning hit me full force in the chest. I’d raised my defenses too late, and though I’d blocked my core from the current(and thus saved my life) the electricity took it’s toll on the rest of my body. I flew back, landing with a thud in the dirt and twitching uncontrollably. I could only smell burning hair and charred skin, I’d bit my tongue, the warm metallic tang of blood filling my mouth and trickling down my chin. I could hear her laughing, though my vision blurred. I knew then what I should have known. I should have seen it coming, but I didn’t. Somewhere close by, the sound of a ramp’s compressors went off with a hiss as it closed and I recognized the loud noise of landing pads lifting off, followed shortly thereafter by ion engines firing. She’d left me to die. Alone, amongst the ruins of a long dead empire.
If only I had.
I LOVE. As a Star Wars nerd and grammar geek, this is brilliant! I love this so much! Keep up the brilliant work!
Skrifa wrote:
Discordia wrote:
A Sith is Betrayal
Every moment was agony. Again and again she forces me to continue these exercises. My lungs are burning, every breath I take like hot lead pouring down my throat, yet I suck each one in, desperate for another. She watches as I move, her dark eyes assessing every step I take, searching- only ever searching, for a weakness, one mistake she can punish me for. I don’t make one. I’ve already learned that lesson. But still she pushes me, one more drill, one more lap, one more flip. I do each of these without hesitation, without complaint. That is the point of course, to push me until I do what I’m told. To obey without thought. Without fear.
For that is what it means to be Sith.
We control the dark, it does not control us.
“Again.” she says.
And I do it. Because she would kill me if I didn’t. I’m twelve cycles old, no higher than her chest in height, but even then I understand this. What I don’t yet know is that I’m only a pawn in the game she’s devised. I am not the first apprentice she’s trained, and I won’t be the last. Only a number, a faceless body on her path toward destiny. In the years to come I will serve her faithfully with no regard to my own person, to my own ambitions and hopes, seeking only to see her placed in the spotlight, a terrible power unleashed upon an unsuspecting galaxy. And I am content. I hate her for every pain, for every insult, but yes...I am content.
Perhaps that is why I didn’t see it coming. The betrayal all Sith know is inevitable. I am sixteen when it comes, the first signs of womanhood upon me in gentle curves and swaying hips. I know the beauty that is mine and the power it holds over the men as we pass by. I don’t see this as entertainment however, I see it as a weapon. A weapon she no longer has with the ever deepening lines upon her pale face and the ever deepening slope of her breast. She is old, and while still a powerful practitioner of the dark side, I know the day approaches when I will be her better in a duel of blades. I see the growing knowledge of this in her eyes as she watches me, but I’m far too young to recognize it.
I fight a little harder in my drills, my flips a little more tight and graceful, in my missions I’m all the more brutal. In my own way of self preservation, I think this pleases her, that it will remove that glint of suspicion and threat in her black eyes. And I’m puzzled when it does the opposite. My beatings increase, the long bouts of lightning destroying the gloss and lustre in my dark hair, leaving deep shadows around my eyes and along my spine. When she tells me we are going on a holiday after all our hard work, I am no longer the young woman I was. I’m not afraid, no. I am incapable of this, but I am desperate to have things return to how they were before. To be the young student and she the confident and masterful artist in the shaping of my life. So much so that I agree to the trip and find myself looking forward to it.
We land on a small moon, the planet of Jaguada looming large above the jungle in the night sky. It seemed an odd place to vacation, given that it was no longer inhabited. I turned to question my Master, thinking she too had disembarked from the ship. I find her not beside me, but still at the top of the ship’s ramp. Her face was cold, more void of expression than normal.
“I have no use for pretty, mindless things.” she says, her lips spreading into an unsettling grin.
The stream of lightning hit me full force in the chest. I’d raised my defenses too late, and though I’d blocked my core from the current(and thus saved my life) the electricity took it’s toll on the rest of my body. I flew back, landing with a thud in the dirt and twitching uncontrollably. I could only smell burning hair and charred skin, I’d bit my tongue, the warm metallic tang of blood filling my mouth and trickling down my chin. I could hear her laughing, though my vision blurred. I knew then what I should have known. I should have seen it coming, but I didn’t. Somewhere close by, the sound of a ramp’s compressors went off with a hiss as it closed and I recognized the loud noise of landing pads lifting off, followed shortly thereafter by ion engines firing. She’d left me to die. Alone, amongst the ruins of a long dead empire.
If only I had.
For that is what it means to be Sith.
We control the dark, it does not control us.
“Again.” she says.
And I do it. Because she would kill me if I didn’t. I’m twelve cycles old, no higher than her chest in height, but even then I understand this. What I don’t yet know is that I’m only a pawn in the game she’s devised. I am not the first apprentice she’s trained, and I won’t be the last. Only a number, a faceless body on her path toward destiny. In the years to come I will serve her faithfully with no regard to my own person, to my own ambitions and hopes, seeking only to see her placed in the spotlight, a terrible power unleashed upon an unsuspecting galaxy. And I am content. I hate her for every pain, for every insult, but yes...I am content.
Perhaps that is why I didn’t see it coming. The betrayal all Sith know is inevitable. I am sixteen when it comes, the first signs of womanhood upon me in gentle curves and swaying hips. I know the beauty that is mine and the power it holds over the men as we pass by. I don’t see this as entertainment however, I see it as a weapon. A weapon she no longer has with the ever deepening lines upon her pale face and the ever deepening slope of her breast. She is old, and while still a powerful practitioner of the dark side, I know the day approaches when I will be her better in a duel of blades. I see the growing knowledge of this in her eyes as she watches me, but I’m far too young to recognize it.
I fight a little harder in my drills, my flips a little more tight and graceful, in my missions I’m all the more brutal. In my own way of self preservation, I think this pleases her, that it will remove that glint of suspicion and threat in her black eyes. And I’m puzzled when it does the opposite. My beatings increase, the long bouts of lightning destroying the gloss and lustre in my dark hair, leaving deep shadows around my eyes and along my spine. When she tells me we are going on a holiday after all our hard work, I am no longer the young woman I was. I’m not afraid, no. I am incapable of this, but I am desperate to have things return to how they were before. To be the young student and she the confident and masterful artist in the shaping of my life. So much so that I agree to the trip and find myself looking forward to it.
We land on a small moon, the planet of Jaguada looming large above the jungle in the night sky. It seemed an odd place to vacation, given that it was no longer inhabited. I turned to question my Master, thinking she too had disembarked from the ship. I find her not beside me, but still at the top of the ship’s ramp. Her face was cold, more void of expression than normal.
“I have no use for pretty, mindless things.” she says, her lips spreading into an unsettling grin.
The stream of lightning hit me full force in the chest. I’d raised my defenses too late, and though I’d blocked my core from the current(and thus saved my life) the electricity took it’s toll on the rest of my body. I flew back, landing with a thud in the dirt and twitching uncontrollably. I could only smell burning hair and charred skin, I’d bit my tongue, the warm metallic tang of blood filling my mouth and trickling down my chin. I could hear her laughing, though my vision blurred. I knew then what I should have known. I should have seen it coming, but I didn’t. Somewhere close by, the sound of a ramp’s compressors went off with a hiss as it closed and I recognized the loud noise of landing pads lifting off, followed shortly thereafter by ion engines firing. She’d left me to die. Alone, amongst the ruins of a long dead empire.
If only I had.
I LOVE. As a Star Wars nerd and grammar geek, this is brilliant! I love this so much! Keep up the brilliant work!
Thank you so much for your feedback
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