aloyzia-x

[aloyzia-x]

I would have dealt with the broken heart

I would have dealt with the broken heart. Easily. But I can't cope with the pain, the false hopes, the expectations. I should have stuck to my decision, I should have put distance between us. Not because I don't love you, but because I do. I should have let myself appreciate you from afar, not being desperate for more, for a proof of your loving, for you. I should have complied. Understand we were not made for each other, that we would tear ourselves and each other apart. That I would hurt you, bring you hard times, and that it would destroy me. That I wouldn't fix you, and that you were unable to fix me as well. I should have noticed how the whole world was waiting for you, how you deserved so much better than that, than me. That all the love would never be enough, whether it be mine or yours. And I wish I had the power to change that. And you surely think I do. That I should just change me. My reactions, my feelings. My way of being. All that causes our despair. But I already lost so much trying to please you. How would I cope with losing myself too ? You would have been the queen, the friend I needed. Until I messed it all. I just dreamt it would work. That we would put so much in it, it would be impossible for it, for us, to fail. I genuinely thought I could heal my heart, my soul on you. That we would dive in each other's past, story, and horror. That we would be support, love, endearment. I never pictured my imperfect world to split down, I never thought you could make me better to take it all out. I used to know life was unfair, what I did not know was we are the ones bringing the unfairness to life. I imagined I would bring you happiness, hope, laughter, something at least. Something positive. And I brought any and everything but that. You're never gonna need me like I needed you. Like I always will. You're everywhere. All the faces, all the places. Your smell, your voice, your warmth. You're a part of me. Even if I wanted, I could not erase you. And God knows I tried. Many times already. But you keep coming back. More damaged, colder, more in pain. We are destined for self-destruction. I can neither have you nor forget you. What now ? Am I supposed to wander out waiting for life to move on without me ? Is it gonna rebuild itself around me ? Am I gonna have another second chance again ? Or are we just gonna look at each other like what we had never existed ? You have everything you need and I'm slowly dying inside. I'm just waiting for you to release the hold you have on me. Look what you made of me. I would have done even the unthinkable. I just can't even move right now. I'm barely breathing. I am the shadow of who I once was, the ghost of who I could have been, the ashes left of our whole relationship. And you're the world's sunshine.

[aloyzia-x]

Six Word Story

Six years, six months, six words or pages to live again.

I’ll always remember the day they called me. The day I learned I had lost it all. The day I learned my child was… The day I died. But that’s not the story of how I died. That’s the story of how I lived again…

She was screaming, crying, scratching her skin off. Her mind was blackened, her voice shattered, her heart broken. How do you tell a mother that her only child is dead ? That he was not kidnapped, killed, tortured, raped. That, only fate and disease had taken him away ? How was she supposed to put up with this ?

He was my baby. My poor baby and he left me.

You left me just before your seventh birthday. Anywhere I would have followed you. But how am I supposed to follow you there, into this world I cannot go. Maybe I am not brave enough. Maybe I am too strong. I don’t know. Let them say what they want, I just miss you.

It was the day of the burying. Three days had passed. This coffin, this white coffin was so small. The smallest coffins are the heaviest. They were all here. Teachers, family, friends. But, that would not bring him back. Nothing would, and nothing would erase the pain caused by his absence. Nothing.

It had been three months then. The pain didn’t go away. She would have to admit it had soothed, as horrible as it seemed. Was it forgetting ? She felt so guilty. The pain maybe had soothed, but she knew it wouldn’t ever leave her.

 I just can’t stop remembering him.

The phone started ringing. She could not pick it up though, she did not felt strong enough to talk, to face the world.

Then again three months after that. She was calling him almost everyday. He, with his bookstore, had time to listen to her. He had landed her some books, and she had found comfort in them. But the most comfort came from him, his dry but kind sense of humor, his gentleness, his enduring friendship. They had been friends for 18 years now. Three times 6 years. Three times the lifespan of her baby boy. And from then on, Mark had always been her best friend. But now more than ever, their brotherhood expressed itself through little attentions. It was bout the time she used to call him. She picked up the phone, and composed the number.

“Wrong number, said a familiar voice. -If you do not want to talk to me, that’s fine Mark, but I won’t ever read a book before you chose to sell it again, she said with a smile. -I can hear that this threat is only what it is, a threat, Cat’.”

Only him would call her Cat’. No one else would. Catelyn, Cathy, Caty, but no one used to call her Cat’. It was his personal nickname.

They talked and talked during half an hour or so, sometimes interrupted by his clientele.

"Well today, I’m going to read for you, ok ? Meet me at 7 at Louis’, we’ll eat something quick and then go on a little road trip. -Are you taking me to camping ? Because I’m telling you it’s a no !”

Facing the nature was too hard for her. Alone, in the silence and the darkness, she was forced to look into herself, and confront her soul. She could not do it.

"Well, no, but we can just sit by the river and enjoy some great and refreshing literature. What do you think ? -It’s only for Louis’ cooking, but it’s a yes. -Great ! Do not forget Catelyn, 7 pm at Louis !”

How could she forget ? Lately he was the only thing grabbing her by the shoulder, shaking her, and putting her on a chair saying “Oi ! True life lies ahead ! Don’t become a ghost without no color ! Build something new from what you had, try again and move !”

Considering she was a curator and a exhibit creator, talking to her about the colors of life was daring ! That’s what she liked in him. He dared say everything that came to his mind. Whatever that was about, his job, people, shows, etc., he used to speak his mind freely. They exchanged a lot about the feelings they came upon for their work. Sometimes, a painting would inspire Mark to accept a book, or contrary-wise, Catelyn would read a book, and then recognize something from it in a painting and expose it.

They shared a lot of dear moments, but the best time was when they both went to Paris. France was an unaccessible dream, Paris a capital of art and expression. Some parts of the city were even alive, she was sure, and had their own consciousness. The boho neighborhoods with those chic cafés, the smell of paint, the lights and shapes of the buildings, the music, the strictness of some others, imposing political or theatrical places. It was her haven, her home. But now, even remembering Paris was painful, if she thought about this night.

She met a man in a bar. Handsome, he was for sure. But he was also so evanescent, just like a dream you catch by the skin of your teeth in the morning right when you wake up. He was a painter. An artist like she never had seen before, and like she won’t ever see again. He seemed hypnotized by the textures, the patterns, the colors. He knew exactly what she talked about when she told him rules were constraining the true form of Art, how creativity was a form of madness, and how sad it was that some painters got their mind made up by social expectations. They had drunk a lot, and this fair, blond man, those green eyes, took her home for a last drink.

Nine months later would be born her boy. As blond and green-eyed as him. As tanned as she was. The little man looking like a surfer, loving nature and freedom. The light shining over her life.

It was seven and she was just stepping out of the bus. Her auburn hair up in a crown braid, a small tank top and jeans paired with heels sandals and a leather jacket. Her glasses were up in her hair, as she always put them when she did not need them. The white circles were slightly moving as she increased her pace, almost running not to arrive too late.

"I almost waited, you know. -Oh, hush you book-head, let’s go and eat something, I am hungry !”

Hunger was something she had lost, and something she had regained. Slowly, but surely. Fruits, vegetables, fish, meat, then things a bit more elaborated. All, one by one, the aliments she used to like came back as new pleasures.

They ate and left Louis rather quickly. He drove his pastel yellow truck till the woods, and they walked to the river. It was still most of the time, but, when the weather allowed it, it was like a torrent, running fiercely through the rocks, splashing feet here and there. The perfect place to go and relax. Mark lit up a lantern, and put it on the floor. She sat beside him, eyes closed, as he began to read.

At first she was listening. But soon her mind wandered here and there.

Baby boy. Six months. Six months already. I have been missing you from the bottom of my heart. I am so thankful for your uncle Mark to be here. He misses you too, of that I am sure, but he has overcome this already. I did not. Will I ever do ? I wish I was strong as your favorite superheroes, but your mamma is forced to admit she is human. I hope you are happy wherever you are sweetheart.

"Cat’. Cat’. CAT’ ! -Oh gosh, sorry Mark, I was off for a few minutes. -I noticed, yes. You know, if this book isn’t what you need, we can go home. -No, I’m sorry. I’d like to stay here a bit. It’s nice, warm, and I love the sound of the river.”

They kept talking, but she soon broke down. She was broken ever since, everything was just a mask. She tried to seem all ok, altogether, but she was not. He understood that. He understood everything. As always.

"Cat’, listen, you should not stay alone. Move in with me, I have a few spare rooms. They are empty, come, take them, and stay. Being alone has detained over you.”

It was the sixth month now. Not a day had she regretted it, even though she sometimes felt as an iron ball wrapped around his ankle. He closed the bookstore later though, because he wanted to let her some privacy. She would cook for him, and he would bring back new books that had been submitted for selling. She had never returned to her previous house. Why would she ? This was her home now. There was his smell, his stuff, everything. Here was only few plush toys, a desk and a bed, and some electronics. She preferred her room here. She had worked hard on it for days, after all. The wall color, the size and shape of the bed. She had chosen the most exposed. Plain South, so you receive all the sun rays as natural light. A few pictures, but mostly clothes all around the floor and contracts. She had returned to work, or at least was she doing her job at home. Meeting with new artists, exhibits dates, buying new paintings. She was back in game for this.

Sometimes she still had nightmares. Less and less frequently, but, every time as frightening, sad, worrying as the previous. She would wake up screaming, and he would come near her, reading her to sleep. She often fell asleep in his arms, and he would stay up all night to watch over her.

But one day, one little day like the others, a very small, so small she hadn’t noticed it, a small change happened. He brought her flowers. And then on. She would take more parts in his job, he more in hers. They would share breakfast in plus of dinner, they would go hike or bike somewhere on weekends, they would start to share a life.

He had taught her how to drive again, overcoming her panic attacks. He had took the time to guide her through the fog, lead her onto the good way.

And on this very day, at this very moment, six month after she came in, she was there, looking at him with all these emotions passing through her body. Thankfulness. Friendship. Gratitude. Love. She was looking at his lips moving to the rhythm of the words. Nothing was better than this. And with an endless love, she kissed him. She did so with the last bit of hope she could have constructed, with the last part of the heart she had saved, of everything he had build again in her. His lips tasted like orange and coffee, his woody perfume giving mystery to the scene. For once, she would not look at an artwork, she would feel, live it, create it herself. Not as if she felt nothing looking at artwork. It just felt so rewarding to be one. And it was better than kissing her child’s father, better than diving in a clear ocean, better than partying, than discovering a rare painting, better than Paris. It was her new capital of Art. A capital of Love. And he gave her back her kiss. Moderated at first, passion won over his heart for he had waited for that moment. He would have been hers if she had wanted him to. He always had believed in this genuine romanticism he had read, in this late love you discover on the edge of glory.

He was her late love, and she was his really first one.

Six years had passed now. And here she was, writing this book. She had somehow always been a bit disappointed finishing a book. No more link with the characters she wanted to know more about, no more feelings by proxy, no more invented life. Here was the truth. Only, whole truth. She had lost her baby boy. But this was, as horrible an experience as it was, a way to start a new life. Healthier, fuller, better. The pain had not left, who could she fool ? But she had stayed with Mark. No happy ending. Pain, nightmares. But a happy life. They had rested upon each other, and now, stronger, had raised their own little family. She would tell their children bedtime stories about this little baby boy, a superhero it seems, blond, tanned with green-eyes powerful enough to erase the monsters under their bed. They had nothing to fear, for he would stay forever with them, in their heart. Mark would go on the grave and talk to him, as he thought he ought to know first. How he proposed his mother, how they had their first child, this little girl, how she shone up their lives.

This was not a dream, but this was as close as it could be.

As I am putting the last word on the last page of this, I wanted to let you all know that Mark had his first painting exposed today. With no little help from me. I wanted to tell you that, as difficult as it may appear, there is light. There is light, there is hope. And most important, somewhere between those lost pages, there is you.

Take care of yourselves, Catelyn B.

[aloyzia-x]

He was seeing them all. With their distorted faces, running as fast as the light. He was holding on to every frictions of their bodies against the air, understanding the threat they represented.

He waited for them to enter the next wagon, and grabbed his bag. Inside was what resemble a simple silver stick, but it could be divided in two parts, each one with a very sharp knife at the end. And it was not silver. It was white gold and platinum. He also looked at the gun and at the decoy. A false hand, sending them waves, to attract them. Well hidden under a coat, he was sure to get their attention, so that he could sneak behind them and finish them.

He never really knew what those creatures were until college. Civil engineering, always building security or classified building or basements, always working and trying to improve his thinking. One of the best of his promotion, he had everything. Good at hockey, friends, a girlfriend. They had no family, but they has each other. Until the day he realized she had lied. Family she had. As he bursted at her, searching answers, her face revealed who she really was. Or what. He had seized a knife, and as she ran into him, she ended impaled on it. A wound that would have killed anyone. But not her. Her face, even more marked now with the pain, was giving him the worst hate look he has ever seen.

Someone broke through the door. Killed her. For good. They spent the next few months, years, training him. Secret organization they said. People with a gift. With a curse. He would never be happy, but how could it matter ? He lost every hope, his only family. And had found a new one.

Since that day, he swore to protect each one of them, but also the innocents, who couldn’t see the truth for what it was. Who could not bear it. Those who had closed their minds when adolescence came, no longer standing the presence of monsters.

And today on this train… Today was the day he could avenge his broken hopes. He was tracking down her family.

He knew this city by heart. Once at the station, they would not escape. Trapped in this train, he could not act. Not with all those witnesses, not with the risk of hurting any one of them. They got out of the train. They were four, tall, dark haired men. Long fingers and short hair, white shirts and suit trousers. They were all so alike. He put his hood back on. Only the logo on the side could give a clue about who he was. Not personally but about where he belonged. His head started spinning. He caught the two about to get off just in time, and sliced their throats. He left the two bodies in the compartment behind him. He did not let the two others any time to understand the situation. He was pointing his knives against they back, so that any movement from them would kill them, except walking forward. Adrenaline was rushing in his blood, everywhere in veins, but he had to stay perfectly focused. One wrong move would bring their death too soon. He needed them to talk, to reveal the truth. The maximum.

She smelled the daisies. Black hair, slim girl. Always nicely dressed. Elegant, kind, strong as the wind blows, but so gentle. Caring, funny. When he thought about it again, of course, she was too perfect. But he was blinded by love. Not of her qualities, but of every single one of her flaws. She was hot-blooded, stubborn, exigent, rigorous. It could be advantaging, but it turned some of their days into a nightmare. She could be a pain in the ass.

"Really ? You, here ? What a surprise !"

He would not reveal his emotions, so he chose sarcasm as the answer.

"Is that so ? I thought I would be at least expected." He was talking to her father and brother. Seeing they wanted to go all the way into the bad vaudeville jokes, he strengthen his grip on the knives and started twisting the points in their back. Those guys, or whatever, had killed people.

Her body was lying on the floor. Her face would never recover its human form. Death had brought their true nature outside for everyone to see. Well, not everyone.

Nicholas, her brother, tried to turn back and attack him. As expected., the blade hurt him before he could do anything. Nate slashed his back, and his hand drew a circle, slashing his torso, right over the lungs. He knocked off them both, and called for backup. He would have his revenge. Soon enough, but not today.