146Replies: 2 / 4 years 122 days 6 hours 20 minutes 1 seconds
- [Allowed] NiraHayaine
[font "Times New Roman" [center [size24 you meet by accident.]]]
[font "Times New Roman" [right It's someplace mundane and normal. You would never expect to see her doing something so... [i human.]]
[font "Times New Roman" You spill your coffee on her. For a moment, you're afraid she's going to kill you. For a moment, she considers it, then decides not to. You owe her. She looks like she could kill you.]
[font "Times New Roman" [center [size24 you almost spill coffee on her three more times.]]]
[font "Times New Roman" [right She indulges you in the conversation you strike up. You just want more and more, and she smiles at you as if in encouragement.]]
[font "Times New Roman" The first time you fuck, you must realize how much you need her.]
[font "Times New Roman" [center [size24 she says the poets are her favorites.]]]
[font "Times New Roman" [right You just want to impress her. You want to make something beautiful, something tragically and breathtakingly beautiful that reminds you of her, and she is the perfect muse. Fuck, she's just perfect. You keep making more and more, you're so damn inspired. You think your body will fall apart. You haven't slept in 32 hours.]]
[font "Times New Roman" She does not tell you she loves you back when you say it. You spend nights in her bed, but she won't let you cuddle her. And when you ask her about her life, she doesn't have anything to say.]
[font "Times New Roman" [center [size24 you need need need her]]]
[font "Times New Roman" [right Your name is on billboards. Magazines. Job offers. It means nothing to you.]]
[font "Times New Roman" You crave her drug and she won't give it to you.]
[font "Times New Roman" [center [size24 and finally, it kills you.]]
[font "Times New Roman" [right Or rather, you kill yourself.]]
[font "Times New Roman" She does not attend the funeral. She moves on.]
[center [pic http://airquipinc.com/wp-content/uploads/2014/03/Separator_line-01-01.png]]
[font "courier new" [center The tale of a leanan sidhe and her latest feed: you. Mature and literate. Please do not hesitate to PM me with questions regarding details. Thank you.]]
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It had seems like a lifetime that I have spent on this plane.
While I was always one to enjoy travelling the world, I have never quite been able to stomach the sheer fear of being packed into an airplane full of screaming children and grumbling adults.
There was no beauty there, and beauty is something I must have to survive.
I have known my entire life that people like myself are a dying breed, many no longer want to study the art of literature or the divinity of artwork. [i Artists] are dying out with every advance that technology leaps.
I have spent the last fourteen months in Florence, the most beautiful city in the entire world. Oh how I had thrived sitting on bridges and indulging my every sense.
The smell, the touch, the taste, the sound.
Yet as I find myself watching the runway come close I cannot decipher the feeling within the pits of my stomach.
Am I happy to be returning to this dreadful country?
Am I happy to be returning to my estranged family?
I could think of nothing more I wanted than to simply buy a ticket to onto the first plane leaving this country built on war.
There was no beauty in modern war. Beauty in death does not exist there.
And it never will.
I ensure my headphones are desperately shoved into my ears as I rise from my seat, the symphony of Wolfgang Mozart’s Requiem ensures I do not need to listen to mother’s demanding their children to shut up and stand still.
Nor the flight attendant hurriedly rushing everyone out of the plane to ensure that they are able to clean the cabin perfectly before the next loathsome pile of waste climbs aboard.
It takes more than a few moments for my brain to remember that Latin is not a language spoken here and to thank the woman standing at the door in English.
I had spent the last fourteen months speaking nothing but Latin, for the scholars of the great buildings would not converse in any other language.
I had been taught the language by a much elder scholar who had taken pity on me the moment I had told him I was American.
Oh how he’s teachings of not just Latin but the world would breathe air into my mind till my dying day.
Latin was another thing that would soon cease to exist, the overpopulation of the world and the spreading of Western communities had brought English to be the native tongue for most.
What a world this shall be when we all finally die out, the old culture ceasing to exist.
I do not want to live in that world.
The plane touched down at precisely five a.m yet I do not manage to get my hands on my luggage and my beloved poems till five-thirty.
Efficiency was never a trait many people in this country had.
Finally by five forty-five I was sat in the back of the bright yellow taxi, speaking the directions to my favourite coffee house quietly.
I removed the glasses from my face, rubbing a hand over my bloodshot eyes. I have not slept a wink in the last two days and I can feel my body beginning to shut down.
My hair is unruly and the sleeves of my button up shirt are rolled to my elbows.
I barely look half the man I was when I left Florence.
It takes over two hours for me finally to reach my destination, muttering a thankyou before taking my single bag in my hand and placing my beloved writing journal under my left arm.
The city is wide awake and simply crossing the road to get to the entrance of the coffee shop is a mission in itself.
I almost walk into the door as I stumble in, I must look at least half deranged.
Making my way to the counter I order a double shot black coffee, smiling at the woman behind the teller.
I stand to the side, my bag still in one hand as I await the almost black liquid that will surely keep me awake long enough to make it back to my apartment before I crash to sleep finally.
My name is called and I move forward, taking the coffee and leaving a small tip.
I turn to quickly and bump into a lady who was, in my opinion, standing too close behind me.
The coffee spills from over the lip of the cup and onto her, horror strikes my face as I quickly grab napkins to offer an apology.
It is only now that I look at her properly and freeze.
She is the most beautiful woman I have ever laid eyes upon.
And she is staring at me.
It seems that no warmth is to meet her eyes, her gaze is murderous and piercing into my very soul.
I have never seen such a gaze before in my life.
In a sudden urge, all inspirtation that I was sure I had left behind in Florence swells within my mind.
Words forming themselves into sentences and then into stanzas.
The poem forms itself in the very depths of my mind.
Finally she speaks, and it is like the bells of the wonderful churches sounding themselves.
Although her words were not kind ones and promised the threat of something much more sinister, I cannot tear my eyes away from the beauty the beholds me.
[Font “times” [b “I do apologize most sincerely, bella,”]] the words finally leave my shaking lips, [font “times” [b “It is entirely my own fault; I am beyond over tired. I am awfully sorry, truly I am. I have just flown back from Florence, so please do understand I hardly have a well functioning cell in my body right now.”]] I attempt to smile at her as an apology yet it does not seem to accomplish much at all.
After a few more moments of silence I bow my head as an apology once more and return to the counter to order another coffee.
As hard as I try I cannot keep my eyes off her figure near me, taking my fresh coffee I turn my back on the figure of a woman I will surely never see the likes of again.
Finding myself a seat near the window in the corner, I place my bag down and take the book from under my arm.
A pen from my pocket meets with paper as those words that had formed within my mind finally become something beautiful.
I spent another half an hour writing a poem with the likes of which would bring a tear to the eye of the reader.
A poem of tragic beauty in a failing society. It is one of my best pieces of work yet.
It is now that it dawns on me, I must see this woman again.
[font "Times New Roman" I do not know if I am the most forgiving person that has ever existed, but I have allowed humanity to coexist with me thus far, so I think I must have some ounce of patience.]
[font "Times New Roman" Their persistence is annoying. I often find myself comparing it to a gnat. I would say wasp, but humanity's idea of 'spirit' exhausts itself until it is no longer harmful.]
[font "Times New Roman" These are my thoughts at 7:49 in the morning. They plague me as they usually do most days when I am going through the motions. The irritation of traffic, the noise on the radio, the sound of leather seats, it's all so... boring. [i Human.]]
[font "Times New Roman" I insist on getting my coffee alone. I go into the city on the way to my office and pick some nothing place, nowhere too busy because that will usually warrant interaction. Sometimes people recognize me. Their desperation is positively delicious.]
[font "Times New Roman" The naivete of the average human never ceases to catch my attention. My last feed, Elena Haefeli, was one of those kinds of people. The ones who look for the best in people naturally and constantly insist there is an order to the world that declares things will all end up good. She had a lot of spirit in her, and her madness was one of the most beautiful I've ever seen. She was a dancer. Ballet has always been so beautiful to me, and her, with her tired eyes and loose limbs, showed me something I was rare to witness. I thanked her for it.]
[font "Times New Roman" Then I moved on.]
[font "Times New Roman" She will not be long now. The spiral is getting deeper. I have to find someone new.]
[font "Times New Roman" That is never the difficult part. Everyone is eager to get their Big Shot. They want to be famous, they want the fans, they want all the publicity. The selfishness and egocentrism knows no bounds when fame is on the line. I've brought up some of the best--especially considering the dwindling idea of what is deemed "good" these days.]
[font "Times New Roman" I will admit, the new world has managed to vex me. I do not understand the fascination with English. Even in its mother country, its birth was nothing one would call attention-grabbing.]
[font "Times New Roman" But Latin... that was a real language. Now it is something old and frail. A masterpiece hidden away and seldom seen. I cannot say I am outright appalled, but I am slightly hurt. Of all the languages I know, Latin has remained my favorite.]
[font "Times New Roman" But I digress.]
[font "Times New Roman" Yes, the coffee. It is an average human ritual to grab coffee before work. I decide to partake. I take it black with no dilution of any kind. The sweetness distracts from the sharp bite and I will not let that seep into any aspect of my life.]
[font "Times New Roman" They have named the coffee house Cuppa Joseph. I feel a laugh starting in the pit of my stomach, but it catches in my throat and I leave it there.]
[font "Times New Roman" I am standing around waiting for my coffee when it happens.]
[font "Times New Roman" [i Him.]]
[font "Times New Roman" It isn't possible that he was watching where he was going. I won't even consider it. Because if he had been looking at all, he would have seen me. My jaw clenches strong enough to make my teeth ache. The coffee burns, but I just stand there. My brain restarts.]
[font "Times New Roman" [+maroon "Excuse me,"] I manage to grind between my teeth. My dress costs more than everything on him put together and doubled. I do not have spare clothes. [+maroon "Is it not too early to already begin making enemies?"]]
[font "Times New Roman" I smile at him. I want to rip his eyes out.]
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