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It doesn't pack a hit. Maybe it could with a good twist, but right now - nothing. It's... boring. It's was designed to be aery fairy, to have some sort of whimsical feel to it. But it's BORING!!!! I need to make this interesting and fast.
Or... I could start anew. I could write something out there and strange and absurd. Something like Gravity BUT MORE. But I remember thinking, "it's an arts school, everybody's gonna try to be weird and out there. Don't try too hard. Be yourself. Write like you would."
So I'm gonna continue with Phthisis. Haha, the panic is over.
Anyways, I've decided to post what I have of my best work here, so everybody can read it. Please please please please please give feedback! Tell me if I should ditch it or go on!!!! I don't even know how I'm going to end it. But it would mean the world to me if you read it and critiqued it. Comment if you want to help me out a bit :)
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Prologue: Dust
There’s a bridge that connects Dorothy
Point and Saint Fellers, although it’s pretty useless. Actually, I’m pretty
sure the only reason why it’s even had contact with anything other than dust is
for its solitude. There’s a quiet breeze that hovers over the bridge. If you
listen closely, you can hear slight whispers, secrets travelled all the way
from Norway. I never understand them and I only ever hear so many, but I should
learn Norwegian. I’m very curious. Nothing really ever happens to raise this
dust though; no cars, no gang wars or any wild encounters – only lonely people
wisping unnoticed. They linger in and long for this place because it’s one to
think. It’s a place for the judged to be relieved of shame and for the quiet to
be quiet – to have quiet. I was only ever there once. And it was beautiful. It’s a useless bridge, but from time to
restless time, it was someone’s saviour. For me, the bridge was the centre of
my universe, the singularity of my very being and the meeting place of all my
ghosts. It was sanctuary.
THE PHTHISIS OF
THE APPLE
Part One: The Rocking
Train
The
ride is routine, mundane but so absolutely, and painfully, necessary. Every
morning I ride to the city on these terribly rickety trains and I know. I know
that such is life and we all go through the trivial to find something amazing –
something worth living for. But every single morning I wake up dreading, and
how, in any sense, could that be considered living?
It’s always two blocks after
Bluevine, the beautiful purple face that’s painted on the back of an apartment
building. The face wasn’t ever completed, but it was a perfect outline. It held
the most mesmerising gaze, made with eyes that held onto nothingness and yet
held everything surrounding them. Over time, a little hedge had overgrown in
front of it, and the face became hidden. It shuddered away from onlookers like
myself, but I can still see it and feel it. I will always see it and I will
always feel it. I’ve never really found a name for her, just- things to call
her. ‘The violet lady’ – a popular choice these past few weeks. The train can
only zoom past her. She is only seen for two seconds, and yet it is in these
seconds that we have the most wonderful conversations, travelled at light
speeds – a million words exchanged in one breath.
“Does your hair flow behind the
wall, Violet Lady?”
“Are you happy, Violet Lady?”
“Were you ever married, Violet
Lady?”
“Will you ever come out, Violet
Lady?”
She answers every time, every
question, and her voice is so soft and yet it’s so unbelievably powerful. Her
lips never move in the process and yet, I feel as if she’s the most clever and
beautiful woman I’ve ever spoken to. But, when she answers, I sometimes don’t
believe her. I never tell her this, but I can never believe that she’s truly
happy. And I can’t understand how she can live to let her hair flow so voluptuously
behind a brick wall, never seeing, only believing that it exists.
“Will you ever forgive me, Violet
Lady?”
Help, I’ve gone insane. I speak
to a piece of graffiti every morning and she helps me feel less alone.
The train’s rocking slowed and I
braced myself for the slight push that came upon arrival. It’s a very heavy
push – those unfamiliar would fall forward and their cheeks would become bright
red. The doors had slid open and there, coming into view with direct sunlight
was Blue Vine’s busy landscape. The people left and right of me who had been
waiting anxiously to hurry off to wherever they were hurrying off to pushed and
pushed and pushed into and through their lives. I never really pushed; I always
let them carry me to work. But this time, I felt like a heavy column holding up
a pier, pushed and yet not affected by the waves that crashed into me. I
proceeded to hold onto the leather strap that hung above me and after the
carriage had emptied, I stayed standing. My vision became empty and before I
knew it, the doors were sliding back into place.
I
missed my stop.
The carriage seemed so much
lighter, like the train was under much less stress and the rocking – the
rocking had stopped. It didn’t make sense but it happened. I could have sworn
the rocking stopped. The rocking train had no longer cradled my inhibitions and
yet I felt so safe. I rode the train all the way to the end of the line that
day, and then I rode it all the way back home.
Part Two: Which way
is right?
I rode the rocking train down to
Wynona Beach today. I missed the sun and the salt and the blue and tan that
raided my senses. My thongs were hanging from my fingers as I waded through the
shallow seas. The water kissed the bottom of my legs, just under where I had
stopped rolling up my jeans. And under that, I could feel my toes sinking
slowly, finding solace within the sand that had crept between them.
I swear
I’ve never been so frequently impulsive before. The most I had been before the
train incident was back in high school when I truanted and got lost in the
beautiful greenery that spread all the way along the river. I found myself
chasing nymphs along the creek and they were so beautiful and they told me that
if I was one with nature, I’d be just like them. So I buried myself in the
bushes and leaves and sunk into the earth. And in the greenery, I met a boy who
said he’d never met a single soul in his life. He told me I was pretty and that
those nymphs didn’t know what beauty was if it ate them alive. He told me all
his secrets, saying that he had to. He’d stored them up over so many years and
he had to talk to somebody. So I told him mine and we laughed for ages. I had
never felt so happy before and it was in the midst of our playing about that I
was pulled from the leaves. A man in dull blue clothes dragged me home. The
creek became so dark and lit by only torches of the adults I knew. I found my
mother crying after I had a bath and then I wasn’t allowed to watch TV for a
month after that. I did as I was told ever since. I guess it was in fear of
seeing my mother cry again or never watching Danky Duck in the mornings.
That
day at the beach, I stared into the distant ocean ends and I had this odd
yearning, deep in my stomach. I stepped forward towards the horizon and though
the cuffs of my jeans were dampened I headed deeper into the seas. I waded,
unsure of what I was doing or why I needed to. I had had dreams of Neptune
finding my soul and telling me that I did well. I had dreamt of becoming the
foam that rode up onto the seashores. I dreamed of being pulled down by the
seaweed. I had dreams of finding Atlantis and being accepted as one with the
ocean, but every single time I did, I woke up and I found myself drowning in
bed sheets. So I walked as the tide climbed my hips, up to my waist, past my
chest and until it took in my chin. I was merely part of a head peeking out of
the blue. I closed my eyes and dreamed again. But this time I did not wake to
be interrupted by the world. This time, I found myself in a deep spell. And
when I opened my eyes, the sky had blackened and yet the water glowed. It
glowed a light, neon blue and it lit up the sky, casting shadows on rainclouds.
That day or night or whatever it was, gave sight to the most beautiful things I
had ever seen. And like a dream come true, I was pulled down into the depths by
an unknown force. Perhaps it was the seaweed. I lost the air in my lungs
quickly – they ran away in their bubbles, away from me. I was being dragged
viciously towards the centre of the Earth and when it had stopped and I was
steadily floating in an almost empty ocean, I found myself in front of the boy
from the bushes again.
He gave me breath and told me I
had grown so much. He said I smelled like salt and happiness and he touched my
cheek. He slid his hand down the side of my face and told me I was beautiful. I
was here again. I found my way back. He was just as mesmerising as the first
time we met. I held onto him so tightly, and we talked about how our lives had
been. I didn’t have much to share, but he had a whole world’s worth of stories
of his adventures travelling through the silhouettes of city benches and
walking bikini babes. I listened for aeons to the sweetness that felt like a
cascade of blossoms would look or a warm bath in winter would feel. He had
grown so much since we last met and I had a peculiar thought. I grabbed his
hand and I pushed myself towards the surface. I could see the sun beam through
the water and yet as I tried to rise towards it, I was yanked back into the
depths until I found myself falling, as if off a chair, and into the hard, dry
sand of Wynona. I choked out the last few cups of seawater. The boys in red and
yellow told me I was alright, and that I shouldn’t have gone out so far. How
far I had gone out, I still don’t know. All I know was that I met an old friend
and I was so happy that day at the beach.
Part Three: We Are
But Merely Human
I
didn’t think I’d ever see him again. I dreamed of him often. But I don’t think
I will again. I know how to find him, or, at least I think I do. But I will
miss the times we had in my sleep. I remember this one time, when we stood at a
hilltop in Taiwan. It was around midnight, but the lights of homes were still
brightly lit. The lights were separated, shining like star signs and they added
a tint of blue to the green of the land and the black of the dark. It was
beautiful. We stood and we watched. I didn’t see his face in that dream but I
knew it was him because who else could I just stand and watch and enjoy
midnight Taiwan with other than him? I ask that question every day.
Part Four: Chronicles
I'm so absolutely afraid of growing old.
And so, because of this fear, I've divided my life choices into several
outcomes and actions. I could either,
a) Die young,
b) Face my fears
or
c) Achieve
immortality
I've been striving for the third option but it's been proving itself to
be quite impossible. I tried dying young once. It was terrifying. Ever since
I've been rolling the same question in my head. Did I find it more terrifying
than the idea of growing old? It rolls incessantly, and it will continue
rolling until I die - whether it’ll be soon or later.
I feel like a will-o'-wisp, floating through life. I feel completely
weightless, as if I have no effect on the earth at all, and the earth has no
effect on me. I'm filled with absolute glee right now. This can only last so
long.
Part Five: Lost
I lost
my job today. They told me my position in the company was no longer available.
I would’ve fought. But I was never really a fighter. I wasn’t a lover either. I
was just lost – all the time. But this time, the feeling was different. The
area underneath my eyes swelled for a few seconds and if I had any notion of
letting go, I would’ve broken down right then and right there. But instead, I
sat across from my manager and avoided eye contact. That moment was one of the
lowest points of my life. If you had been sitting where my manager was, you
would’ve seen the look on my face. The look of bottled-up pain and neglect and
tears and anger and tiredness, all choked back. I was a mess, zip locked and
ready to shrivel and burst and shrivel and burst.
My
manager, not sure how to deal with the situation, pushed a small box of Kleenex
towards my way. I looked at the box, then at a paperweight at the other end of
the desk and then back at the box. And like spit and slobber rushing out of his
mouth, a waterfall of insidious, repeated lies spewed onto my very sad life.
All this talk about severance and the opportunities that await me. And then
came the quotes, “When one door closes, another one opens.” And so, I clenched
my fists and my teeth started grinding. For the first time in my life, I was
angry. And it worried me and like an avalanche, I was piled under a vast array
of emotions that went from fear of my emotions to fear of what I might do. And within
that second, my manager was everything that was wrong to the world – my world.
I looked straight into his eyes and pierced right through them. From
rabbit-heart to that of a lion, I grew fierce. I was ready to pounce and-
“Are you okay?”
He finally asked me if I was okay. I let out a small, broken
breath from the back of my throat and quickly sucked it back in. I settled
down. I asked him if he needed anything else from me and then I left – so
quietly and calmly. I never wanted to be that person again. I cried in the
women’s room and cleaned myself up with toilet paper. And then I walked through
the streets of Bluevine Central and got lost.
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That's all I have so far. I was thinking of ending it almost sad but with closure? Maybe she realises that the boy is detrimental to the way she perceives the world? That everything that's happened to her in her life has been detrimental to that? I'm not sure yet haha I'm actually writing as I go without a real plan so we'll see.
Side note: I wrote the norwegian stuff long before I met Bao. I don't know why, I just feel like I had to clarify. It felt unique and hip at the time LOL
Anyways, please give me feedback so I know whether to continue with this or to start anew! Thanks! Au revoir.
I really like this.
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