Original Fiction >> Romance
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Please see the Terms of Service for more information.
My apologies to all my
readers. I've been promising a new chapter of Twitch, Twitch forever. And shame on me for not having
given it. I'm afraid… the guy that I fell for, well, I didn't quite escape him or the effects
he has on me. And so, I've not full recovered, but more to say, that I limp along and wonder where I
am and what day it is, most times.
Either way, it's Christmas time (and Happy
Holidays, if you celebrate other things), and so, I thought I'd share a one-shot original story.
It's not so much a story, but a story with a lot of poetic tincture. In other words, I say things,
more like poetry then a regular story style. Twitch, Twitch was written in prose, which is not
normal speak either, but not quite poetry, but somewhere inbetween. This one is almost poetry. I'm
sure you'll see what I mean. And I suppose I could continue it, there's a lot of ways this could go,
but I think if I can straighten out my mind, I would rather continue Twitch, Twitch.
Please enjoy, and release your thoughts to
me, before you dissipate out the door…
~bows ever so politely to you~
I was cold now. I wished I
had thought to bring a jacket. But you know, then again, I had not expected to find myself out on
the beach, at this hour of the night, gathering foot-fulls of sand with each step closer towards the
edge of the black blue night, of ocean water. Towards which, I was heading, with the swift
calculated steps, of a female entangled in her own webs. I was dangling helpless and struggling, but
I'm just a caught thing, and I wait for but the final bite. With you… I've come to starkly
acknowledge… that anything was probable…
Why had I worn heels? What possessed me to actually strap on stilts? Who the hell had created these
fowl inventions? Didn't I have better sense then this? I guess not. They were green, these trappings of men, a gorgeous peacock thick green. They
had ribbons that wound around my ankles and calves, as snakes, and… they matched my dress.
Another of my rules broken for you. Dresses, I have pourings of them, spilling out of my closet,
edges of color, like dreams and nightmares only half remembered. I never wear them. They are colored
like ideals, and I lost them to sense, and the heat of time pressed burning against me. Ghostly
scars of wrinkled flesh, shouting that I am a damaged thing… Hanging in my closet, ever the
reminders, these facts. I can't afford to forget anymore. I had decided when I met you, I must learn
how to remember things. I never wished to accidentally forget…
And so I had chosen a dress that had no real memory's yet. Nothing strong and defined, just wishy
washy, inconsistent. I wanted you to think I was beautiful on this night. I wanted that this dress
would hold that for me, hold that adoration, and softly spoken words. I wanted it to hold your look
of `love of the Greek gods', gazing at me. And not through me, this time… It was far fetched, I hold my desires tightly anyways.
I had always loved this dress, it was `the one you never touch', because there is the element of
eternal reaches about it . I went through so much chaos to get my hands on it, to keep it from harm.
I've held it for eons of my life breaths now. It has made it, or maybe more I should say, that we
have. It is like the ocean and promises of drowning, in cascades of blending blues. Straps thin and
delicate, along moon pale shoulders, its delicacy so un-like me. And it is sheer and so thin, it is
lighter then spider silk. It swirls about my hips, like a lover's hands resting, before plunging
down to my ankles. I love long dresses, I adore the way they shift as I walk, swirling around
determined legs, but this one makes me seem pure liquid. I am fluid motion, and not human at all. I
infatuate by this dress. Just as I have dipped low to love you, my Jeremi. I want you to think I'm
beautiful, I want you to mistake me for Greek Goddesses. No, I want to be greater than them, for I
am real, and I am here. I want you to love me. I worry.
…It had been your mouth again.
A revolving cycle, we never quite escape. Maybe if we do, we'll be missing something. It could be
that's all there was to us, and minus this very important factor… `we' are dead. The space
between us cancer. It could be…
But I chose not to believe that. I love my poet.
And that's what started all of this… I love my poet…
``We'll go out.'' you had told me yesterday, turning in your computer chair towards me. Blinking
back at you, sprawled on a bed, and daydreaming on, instead of reading the book I had… I
hadn't really heard you. My mind had left the building, you see. I told it we would play later, and
it hadn't come back yet. ``Did you hear me?'' you pressed, sounding agitated with me already,
agitated that I space out, far more then I am ever here. You think I neglect you. You think that I
must not care, if I don`t always have my focus on you totally. You think I would not notice, if you
just didn't come home one day. You worry.
But you're wrong. And sometimes when you're sleeping, I wake up, just to check that you are still
there, that my dreams have not consumed me so whole, that even the deepest of my loves… is
but a wanton and desperate night dream I have sunk into, and lost all sense of reality past. I need
to check that you're breath is even, that your chest still rises and falls with all the consistency
of the sun. I photosynthesize by you, you see you see… And your temperature, is the heat I
hold against the underside of my wrist. Your 98.6 degrees, the balances of scales, my happiness and
despair weighted against one another… but it is ok, you are ok. You hold all my light, in the
tinest crease of your hand, I hear it laughing in your heart beat, I see it shining in your eyes.
You keep it safe… and I keep you safe…
``What did you say poet?'' I say slow and absently, my mind still hanging the `out' sign. Your
eyebrows scrunch together, like worm crashing sumo wrestlers, a tick of agitation in your cheek. You
don't say it, but I know a moment later… My eyes go wide as milk saucers. I don't say
anything either, hunching down, and getting ready to cover my ears, if you go off. You have before,
like a volanco of molten and heated blasts, and you make my ears bleed with ugliness. I don't want
them to bleed.
And you notice. You notice that I am waiting, the trepidation, a tremble of my lower lip…
just waiting for it. When you catch me off guard, with these eruptions of severe inner heat…
I don't fight back. I am, that animal in a corner, with a broken leg, whimpering against the
salivating hunger of your dripping canines. You know this. You don't know why I react this way, I
don't either. And I refuse to speculate. Your eyes close tightly to the woman on your bed, with
raised hairs. Your face scrunches tighter. You fighting the anger, your personal demons… and
me. Only to stop, sighing heavily and running a hand through your hair in a ferocity of quick
movement. Relaxing in the electrified air, you set your shoulders back and straighten, opening your
eyes to glance at me momentarily. Yes, you have my full attention now, I'm stiff as a board and
watching you like a frightened doe.
You turn your back to me, toss over your shoulder… ``We're going out tomorrow… Wear
something nice.'' You don't look back at me again, stand like an exclamation point and just walk
away. I can hear you mumbling and I know I don't want to know what you are saying…
That had transpired yesterday. You didn't tell me where we were going today. I didn't ask either.
You would not have told me, had I come to you with questions of a seeking thing, with pucker suction
cup hands, all needy. This was punishment. You know I don't like surprises, the not knowing. This
was punishment for calling you `poet'. ``I have
a name!'' you've snapped at me a million times, and in a million enharmonic tones. And you never
understand, listen to my own tone…
…I love my
The only one I call `my
poet' IS Jeremi.
Therefore… therefore, those two are interchangeable. Only that
me… of where I met you. You never understand this. I say it over and over, a conch shell
doomed to be but empty sound, Narcissus's sorry little `Echo' watching on. Or maybe I'm just broken.
You had taken to me to some party, another mindless passing of time, and humanity's stench of waste.
Someone you knew from somewhere. I never ask anymore. I know I won't know who you're talking about
anyways. I've probably never seen them. This is you, and your world. Yours and mine crosses, but
never seems to utterly saturate. There are lines of separation. This is one of many of our lines in
I am over dressed. I'm over dressed, and you did not tell me, just let me walk out the door as I
was. And now I feel foolish. Foolish cascading water, with my long gold red hair, of tainted Inca
treasure, straight down, let loose. It hangs to my waist, winds my arms, like your privately paid
sentitials. I'm a siren, a beacon flashing outwards. I stick out like a red jelly bean, on a white
counter. I bow my head down, let my hair fall forward to cover my face, and I nearly walk right into
``You look beautiful.'' you tell me, retrieving my face from Earth's ground capture, a cupping of
your hands. I look into your eyes, past my dreams. I look for you and my wishes on stars, in the
heaven in your mind I'm striving to reach… but this is placation, this is not love. This is
not my memories wanted, to saturate this dress by. These are dry words, and a casual attempt to
soothe me still. You don't understand `my drama'. I keep explaining the fall of my fears…
…I may never drift
in your sky…
You mingle in the crowds. You're bright like diamonds in lazar light, drawing attention easily. So
do I, but I hate it. I shrink back from your side, and you pause in your conversation of this
moment, your eyes sliding my way. But I am looking in another direction, this is me on the silent
withdrawal of the physical world, and you don't have the patience to ground me. This is your sigh,
hard and hissed, and you continue where you had left off, your current audience catching nothing.
I slip back further and further. I don't like the women here. They are loud and rude, or snide and
vicious. Neither suits me. Everyone is staring at the woman in liquid, with waist length of stolen
Inca blood hair, reflecting in silver jewerly, not gold like everyone else. I hear their comments of
unconcealed whisper, and I hear the mocking and jealousy. My nerves are shot with bb gun pellets,
holey and aired. I try to shrink as small as possible, so no one sees me. I will not smile.
I evaporate from your side, but politics keeps you heated, and my cold is no longer felt…
Finding a table all the way in the back, I am a spider attracted. No one sits there because the
lighting is bad, it is nearly completely shadowed. I like it immediately, choosing the darkest spot
of the corner. Laying my head on my arms, on the table of white world glass and plastic, I daydream,
bored to tears. The minutes slink in by, like the snail that is slowing making it's way up the wall
near by me. I watch it compulsively, the shiny slime marking its path, even in the shroud of late
On my other side, another kind of slime, was making it's way towards me. Though unfortunately, not
nearly as slow. He sat on my other side, without a word of concurrence or acquiesce on my part,
blocking me in. Why was I so stupid, to sit in the corner? But he smiles at me with floss string
thin lips, this guy nearly twice my age. Thick headed, thick waisted and sweaty, I recoiled back
from this monstrosity of dinosaur stupid male, but there was no where to go. ``Hello. I'm Dan. Why
is such an exquisite woman sulky in the corner?'' he says, his words drooling like misused vowels,
that pool on the floor of our feet. I do not answer. I know this game, it doesn't matter what I
He laughs, undaunted by my stark silence. His kind I know, he thinks it's all a big game. And I'm
`in season' for today. I have no doubts, he's considering me playing coy. But I'm not playing
anything. I'm checking which of my nails are shrill and long. Where his pulse points are, and how
easy it is to manoeuvre to use them. And lastly… I stare at his neck, the low part, his
precious wind box. Just the right pressure… and he'll asphyxiate… and die. But I don't
want to hurt him, I just want to be left alone.
`Dan' knows nothing of this, senses nothing. I could strike him with my building violence, like a
mack truck, and he may feel nothing of it, even then. As he continues to talk about himself and his
money… `Yes, I should touch him and kiss him and want him because he's rich.' This is what he
is hinting at. Like that means anything to me. Getting close and heavy with some guy is getting
close and heavy with some guy, rich guys feel the same as any other. I'm not some stupid female, and
if he bothered to gaze into my face, he'd noticed the danger of my pointed eyes. But he
IS just another
stupid male… his fingers edging closer and closer. While I'm… pressed as far back in
my chair, as I can go. If he touches me… if he touches me… I'll have to hurt him…
I keep pressing back…
``Dan, I see you've met my lovely wife. How nice of you to keep her company for me…'' comes
the deep silky jaguar purr of your voice. Your eyes scan me momentarily, checking that everything is
in place, as you set the wine glasses you were holding roughly down, with enough force to make them
chink. Your eyes lock with his, and though there is a smile on your face in friendliness, the
sparking glint in your eyes says something else entirely…
My love, my
poet. I nearly choke in
relief. `Dan' takes a moment, to absorb it in, ruffles with recognition, then settles to a salesman
smile ``Ah yes, she is quite fascinating. You should bring her by for dinner sometime, to meet my
own lovely wife Katrina.''
You ease into the other chair next to me, your hair falling forward, to catch at your cheek. I ache
to reach forward and brush it back… I do not move. ``Yeah, we'll do that sometime…''
you state, a tone flat and dismissive. The conversation is over. He's stepped on your territory, and
your asserting your claim, with barely concealed fang. You lean back casually in the chair, legs
apart and hands locked and resting on your chest. You raise your gaze slow and baiting, to meet his.
I say nothing, just watch you. I think you're beautiful. I like to watch the way you move.
`Dan' gets the picture. I'm not worth it. I didn't think I would be. He already has a `bi^^h' at
home. I was just meant to be a mint for the night. He makes his excuses and leaves, the air smelling
cleaner in his absence. I'm a blow up doll… deflated. This is me in your shadow, this is
me… safe. But you… You're still staring in the empty space that `Dan' was in, you not
acknowledging my presence. Your face is tight… I see that tick. You are biting your tongue
This will be an argument for later. The same one we've had before. About `putting myself' in bad
positions, of not screaming for you. You don't understand this sliver of my personality, you don't
understand the glitch. The need to retreat back, and stay out of sight. And you never believe me,
but I could have protected myself, if I had to…
You sit up straight suddenly, a side long glance at me, of the blood freezing type, picking up one
of the glasses of wine, and pouring it back in one gulp. You set it down, looking ablaze, and meet
my scattered look ``Having fun playing bait and hook?'' My eyes space and dilate wide in surprise. I
glance away narrowing my own gaze, to pin points of disappointments, quick and distant. That was
cold, uncalled for… pure insensitivity. I take a deep breath slowly, before a response ``Of
course, you've not gotten you're nose broken in awhile. You've been a little bored. Thought I'd
round up some playmates for you. Though the last was clearly not your speed.'' I am bitter. My
adrenaline is rushing my blood, making my hands shake. I don't drink. But I decide tonight I shall
make an exception…
I grab the second glass and try to imitate you, to drink it all at once. But I get one taste and
burn and choke, the air stolen. Nearly do I drop the glass, as I try to set it down, suffering.
``You little fool! That's vodka, and that was mine!'' you snap, though you couldn't quite hide the
look of worry, that mingled and danced within you. I'd tell you to shut the f^^k up…
if I could only
breath. My neck burns, my
ears burn, my cheeks burn… with the way I feel, my hair must be on fire. You go to snatch the
`wine' glass from my reach, but I see you and reach faster, not allowing you to treat me like a
But unlike you, I am
My fingertips touch, but do not grasp the glass and it tips- tetters- and spills all over you. You
try to move back out of the way, but you're just not fast enough. The table smells drunk in its
puddles, drooling over the sides. Standing up swiftly, you dash at the liquid already seeped in,
cursing in several languages… your voice hauling a^^ for miles. Most of the place
stops… to look… My poor ears bleed down in torrents…
My eyes are caves drowned in ocean, as I stare at my ribboned feet…
This is not me. This is not
here. I am not here. My feet are not here. My dress is not here. No… We are not
I flee the probing and invasive eyes… and the white heat of vicious lipped anger…
Out the back gate I am, leading to the beach behind, shoved it wide and jumping through. I nearly
trip on the steps I didn't see. Catch, wobble and tetter on the edge, in these stupid beautiful
shoes. Shoes the color of your eyes. Shoes now scuffed and damaged as me. My balancing act is
atrocious, I would have died in a circus. I grab the rail, and stumble my way down, my eyes blurring
and making the effort more strenuous. I don't look back, I hear the drum of chatter still behind
that gate. I hit the sand… and sink in, nearly twisting my ankle. The tears a leaking faucet.
I can't even run. This stupid stupid dress, and it's tangle of engagement to my legs, threads I wove
myself, now binding me. I just wanted him to think I was beautiful. I wanted him to love me. Or
even… just to notice I am here, let me have his attention tonight…
Taking the shoes off, I leave them where they lay, the sand their final resting place. They were
sorrow, to have known me. Stumbling forwards towards the water. I walk and walk. It is empty here.
It is quiet as concentration camp nightmares, and equally final. My
poet would yell
at me for `putting myself in these positions' yet again. But he is not here. No, I am alone….
Just like I've worried, I'd be…
Walking for 10 minutes of purgatory's rejection, I've hardly gotten anywhere, nor do I know where I
am. This is dark wet sand, and dark lapped water, and my feet. Houses are yellow and distance,
intentionally refused. But I realize that it doesn't matter… because I have no where to go.
poet… Jeremi, he
does not want me. I'm nothing but problems, that's always the way it is. I sink my nails in my palms
of creases where I can not keep him, as he keeps me, countering pain with pain. It is not enough.
Turning to face the ocean, white blue with moonlight, along the edges… I
``This is an odd place to chose to skinny dip.'' comes the tavern deep of a voice, I know better
then my own… I'm frozen in the lake of your presence. I never heard your approach, and you
were now so very close behind me. I shivered involuntarily, not turning to look at you. Everything
blurs again, against the feel of much needed heat. I am so very cold. Why didn't I think to bring a
jacket? Why didn't I think? You do not say anything further. Your words had been laced. You know
where my mind wanders.
Gathering my fists in determination, I spun to face you. To retaliate for the humiliation and
neglect you've given me tonight. I want to smack you so hard, you'll feel it in the morning. I want
to call you ever dirty name I can think of, including ones I make up. But your face is stoic,
unreadable, and I'm lost in your intense focus. I'm just a dot, against your universe. I don't know
what you want from me. My arms falling down ineffective. You've made me feel like a errant child,
stupid and futile.
I wanted to scream at you that I hurt. That I hurt and why can't you hold me? Why can't you stroke
back my hair and tell me that it'll be ok, that you'll make it better? Why won't you crush me in,
and push everything else out?
But, of course… I can't get the words past my lips. They won't come, they are frozen solid.
If I try to force them, my voice would only crack and break, tears cliches of sheen on our feet. I
am silenced, this binding by my fears, tightens and cinches off my air. I'm fighting it now, staring
up at you, all liquid and pain. And you look back at me, eyes dark and unfathomable as the heart of
a forest. I want to reach up and rest my hand on your cheek. I want to check to see if you are still
real. I want to check your temperature and make sure you're still alright.
But there are oceans between us now, as you stand in profound impenetration, to my probes of seeking
balance. I am off kilter, looking for the place to hold you by, solidness I am never sure of. I
cannot find it, I can't remember if I ever did. My hand is a movie still of non-contact, just before
the ever last of your skin. My cells are screaming, but I don't feel that I'll ever be able to stand
on my tippy toes, and reach high enough to touch you, my universe. My soul is a gift, I fed you for
dessert one day, and I want to be inside you with it. No, I don't think I ever will.
I hope I'm wrong though. I
really hope I'm wrong…
I hope this was able to entertain you, but
whether you liked it or you didn't, always feel free to tell me exactly how you feel. Or your
thoughts on anything really.
It's funny though, isn't it? That I never
seen to quite get away from using this male personality type. I wonder why that is? Have a nice
holiday (which ever one it is).
~hands you candy canes and chocolates on
your way out~
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The preceeding was a work of fiction. Any statements regarding any person, place, or other entity (real or imaginary) is the sole responibility of the author of this work of fiction. Fan Works Inc. takes no responsibility for the content of user submitted stories. All stories based on real people are works of fiction and do not necessarily reflect on the nature of the individuals featured. All stories based on other copyrighted works are written with authors knowing that these works violate copyright laws.
Please see the Terms of Service for more information.