When it Rings Will You Answer?

One and One and One is Three

Archive for July 2012

Sketch Artist Composite Part II: An Honest Response

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It has recently come to my attention that since we parted ways you have been on a scorched earth, revisionist campaign, disparaging all that we may have shared. Liquid courage was never your friend. You have made claim that I am an empty and soulless vessel, here only to feed on the hearts of the innocent. Batting your big puppy dog eyes at any person silly enough to buy into your fabricated love of all things sad and broken. You have the nerve to accuse me of faking two years. You said you loved me. I said I loved you back. It is now clear that our definition of what constitutes the love between two friends greatly differs. Not once did I ever say anything untrue to you. What is becoming clear is that you may have been found the liar. What person cries love and spits venom?

I need you to understand that I am not wired like you. You crave love. You require complete and total devotion. You are so desperate for a soulmate that you look past every single flaw of any person who smiles in your direction. It was something that at first drew me to you. You made me feel as though I could do no wrong. You built me up. You romanticized every second we spent together beyond comprehension. The pressure to be the person you expected me to be was far too great. I broke. I let you down. You had no right to put me in that position.

The second I slipped from the pedestal you had placed me, you could no longer see me for me. You saw a horrible disappointment. A terrible waste of what you thought I should be. That is not on me. It was the most unfair thing you could have ever done. You hurt me on a level I cannot not even describe. Your reaction and subsequent actions brought you to me in an entirely new light. A light that was not appealing on any level. You scratched and you clawed. You tossed blame around. You became an anchor, a poison, a drain. I was not willing to let you drag me down to your depth. You left me no choice but to end things. I am not sorry for making the choices I made. I am sorry that you are hurting. Our story may yet have pages to be written but understand at this point there is nothing left to say.

In short, I chose to leave, but you seem to have chosen to destroy. If you truly meant a word you said during our time together, be happy, love and care for yourself. Respect what we had and remember me fondly. It is what I hope to do. Please don’t take that from me. Please don’t take it from yourself. Remember to breathe and that the world still spins.

Godspeed.

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Written by josiahh

July 21, 2012 at 9:05 PM

Posted in Creative Writing

Tagged with

Sketch Artist Composite

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“She wasn’t born with a soul. She was born an empty shell, but she has learned to adapt. You were not the first and you won’t be the last. She lives, she survives by her perfectly faked smile. It distracts from her cold and unfeeling eyes. She saps the life from those foolish enough to get close. I think you know this. I think you KNEW this. You were a willing participant in the whole charade for two years. You felt that you were becoming weaker the longer it went on. The weaker you felt, the more you fought to pull her close. You were a goddamn junkie.

When she saw this, she knew she had taken everything she could from you. You were no longer vital to her survival. In fact, you had become a competing vacuous vessel. She was finished. When she walked away you were left as she was born, an empty, soulless shell. You know this to be true. It was cold. It was callous. It was expected.

There is good news though, friend. You are not dead. You are very much alive. You may think the world has ended. You may feel that there is no hope left, but friend, with every new breath you take in there is new hope. With every exhalation you will feel less pain. You may not believe me at this very moment so I say, for the time being, it is better to feel pain and sorrow than to feel nothing at all. For pain and sorrow pass, I promise you that. To feel nothing is to be numb, and friend, to be numb is a fate far worse than you’d imagine. Do not let her emptiness consume you. I need to know you are still in there. Your heart still beats the same kind and compassionate blood it always has. Your soul, though battered, still shines. Light comes from within, so shine, like I know you can, friend.”

 

Written by josiahh

July 19, 2012 at 11:27 AM

Posted in Creative Writing

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Dancing Shoes

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She couldn’t remember the last time she had left her house without her dancing shoes tied firmly on her feet. She never wanted to be caught without them. This was due to the fact that she believed at any moment a cool breeze might take the lead and waltz her through the park. She loved to dance. It didn’t matter the hour. It didn’t matter the place. It didn’t even matter if she was the only one who heard the music. She danced to school. She danced to work. She danced to church on Sundays and back home again. They might stare and they might judge. They might look down their noses and they might even point and laugh. She didn’t care. If she felt like dancing, there was nothing that could stop her.

Written by josiahh

July 16, 2012 at 4:17 PM

Beneath the Pale Streetlight

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She stood alone in the rain, angel wings attached, no umbrella in hand, beneath the pale streetlight. Ignoring each passing car and the rare pedestrian’s offer of help. She wasn’t sure if she needed help. She wasn’t sure why she was there. A small puddle had developed to her left. Her inner child screamed for her to jump and splash the next lonely soul to pass her by. She was certain they’d laugh. Perhaps they’d find a puddle themselves and pay it forward. But as the rain beat down, each drop pelted her with a bigger dose of reality than the last. She was surer now that were she to splash someone, they’d yell and call her a fool. Oh, how she longed to be a fool, but a fool in the rain is no fool she thought. No, the bitter hearts that would hold her back, those were the true fools. She merely was. She existed. This much she knew. But why was she here, in this spot, in this moment? What had brought her out into the rain? She did not have the answers to those particular questions.

At that moment she noticed a small cat, malnourished and soaking wet crossing the street. She felt a terrible pang in her stomach, though she herself was soaked to the bone, she felt worse for this poor animal. Was it empathy or was it pity? She was out here by choice, though still unaware as to why she made that choice; it was her choice. This poor animal had been abandoned and left to fend for itself, and that was a pain that felt familiar to her. Was that why she had come to this lamppost? Had she been abandoned here? Loneliness seemed to feel like home. Home felt incomplete. Impossible, she thought, who in their right mind would abandon an angel?

She kicked the base of the streetlight with her pink rubber boots. Were lightening to strike she knew her boots would keep her grounded and safe. She flapped her wings. Nothing. Perhaps she was not an angel but a butterfly instead. She remembered reading that once wet or touched, a butterfly’s wings became flightless. Maybe she was a moth. It seemed fitting that she had been drawn to this light, as dim as it may be. She did not know. She only knew her wings did not want to work. Hoping it a temporary situation she looked out across the street.

There stood a boy about the same age, beneath a streetlight, no umbrella in hand, angel wings attached. Suddenly she knew why she was there. She hadn’t been abandoned. She wasn’t alone. Home wasn’t empty. She kept her glance steadily on the boy, just waiting for him to glance up. He did, and when he did, she saw a smile that she was certain would stop the rain in its place. As cliché as it might have been, she hoped it would, and that a rainbow as bright as the sun itself would illuminate the sky. She stood there a moment longer, and when the boy began to walk towards her; she began to walk towards him. It was clear they had both spotted the same puddle in the middle of the empty street. The slow steady walk turned to a brisk pace, turned to an all out sprint; it was a race to see who would claim the glory of first splash.

They arrived at the puddle at the same time and both stopped. Looking directly into the eyes of one another, an agreement was reached with a smile. They leaped at the same time, coming down as fast and strong as possible. The splash that occurred seemed a splash from a puddle at least ten times the size. They laughed. They smiled. They felt they’d found something the world could never steal. The world would never even know or understand how important it was. Oh they were fools, but not the sort of sad fools who’d shun this act of childlike glee. Hand in hand, wing in wing; they walked. The rain had stopped, but they secretly hoped it would begin again. Longing for bigger puddles, they’d found what they were searching for without ever knowing they were looking; all beneath a pale streetlight.

***Courtesy Jenna Gregory http://www.eyecreatures.com***

Written by josiahh

July 5, 2012 at 5:25 PM