FINE! HERE! GOSH!

So, my lil blog crush, Adri, (who’s probably blushing already since I called him my blog crush again) he’s been insisting that he get to see something that I’ve written, since I’ve been bugging him relentlessly about his own writing and he finally caved and posted excerpts. At which time I totally wanted to hide because OMG he’s good, and I can’t ever hope to compare with THAT… AND he’s actually submitted something that is under consideration and holy wow.

*Inhales*

So. Because he asked so nicely (cough) and insisted, and even offered to read my bits of fluff that is totally not his usual style and offer crits for me if I could ever manage the guts to send him AbO and have him look it over… I shall relent and post a little ditty I wrote one day after seeing a sparrow – I think. I don’t remember why it came, it just did. Likewise, I dunno where it was headed, if it was going anywhere, or if it was simply all told in the 500 or so words that I pounded out one day last year. All I know was it was a story to be told, so I told it. Sorta. *g* He wants to read a bit of my first person memoirs of memories not my own… so… after the cut!

Be kind. (Rewind. hahah!)

Sparrow
(c)EAM – 02-12-07

I could spend hours just looking at her. Never speaking, never lifting a hand to touch her, never moving for fear that I would break the spell that seemed woven tightly around her soul. She terrified me, and thrilled me all at the same time.

She had always been beautiful. She had the ethereal beauty that gave her strength and a fragility that always made me nervous. I was not the only one affected by her, though she never seemed to notice any of us – she remained completely oblivious of her impact on the student body.

She was thin, almost painfully so. One could see the bones pushing at her skin, in sharp relief of otherwise smooth contours. Her features were at once strong and sharp, while remaining fragile and breakable. Her hair was pale blond, so pale it seemed luminescent, and cut sharply along her jaw, where it curled against her neck in a caress that gave us all reason to live.

It was this, the line of her jaw where it flowed into the smooth line of her neck, that fascinated me the most. I could see her pulse flutter there, proof of the life that flowed through her veins, proof there was something so achingly human about her despite all evidence to the contrary.

Her hands, as well, often captured my attention. Long, slender fingers, with nails neither too long nor too short, never painted the garish colors her classmates adored. She wore a diamond engagement ring on her left hand, a ring we endlessly fantasized about. It was loose, and she often spun it round with her thumb, a habit that gave insight to the flightiness of our bird. We wondered who had given her the ring, and if it was for an engagement, it’s designed reason for existence. We had never seen her with another person, let alone a man, so the questions raised and rumors born were unforgiving.

Questions she never answered. And would never answer, even if we dared ask them out loud.

For all of that, however – the pale translucence of her skin, the fragile bone structure barely hidden and contained, the fair hair and breakable countenance – it was her eyes that caused my heart to stop, and my breath to catch somewhere in my throat. They were pale, as pale as her skin, so pale the color within seemed more of a suggestion then actual pigment. Most times the color hinted at under the clouds of her vision was blue, other times it hinted more at green, and still others, a gold speckled hazel. No matter the color, however, one fact always remained constant. Her eyes, as told by legends, were windows to her soul, and to look too deeply within was to risk one’s own damnation.

I loved her. From the moment I first caught a glimpse of her fragile beauty, I loved her and wanted nothing more then to risk damnation, and discover the secrets held within her gaze. I wanted to hold her, protect her, and strip away the sadness that lingered, unexplained, around her being. I wanted to see beyond the layers of sadness, of pain, and teach the caged beauty to sing.

Her name was Sparrow, and the blood on her hands was mine.