oneshots by anne

Just random oneshots that I like well enough to post...
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The deepest wounds
Anne

Jamie looked over at the girl he loved, wondering what he was missing. She hadn’t spoken to him all day, and now that they were finally alone, she wasn’t moving. She was completely motionless, staring straight ahead at nothing at all, her hands clenched in her lap, her face set into an expression of independence. He knew what she was trying to say. She didn’t need help. She could handle this on her own. But she couldn’t. Jamie knew her better than he knew himself, and grief such as hers had to be let out.
Slowly, he got up, moving over to her. She didn’t acknowledge his presence, but he knew that she’d noticed him. Hesitantly, he put an arm around her shoulders. Her rigid posture didn’t change.

“Em?” he whispered, moving a little closer. “Em, you need to talk to me.”

She finally turned to look at him, and he was taken aback by the hardness in her golden eyes. “No I don’t.” It was a flat rebuttal, a refusal to take any of the comfort he had to offer.

Stung, he took his arm away, turning away slightly. She didn’t want him. She needed to talk, but she wouldn’t. He didn’t know how to get her to open up to him, so he sat there, looking anywhere but at her, wondering what to do.

He couldn’t have said how long they sat there, but, finally, he felt a change in her position. She had relaxed slightly, and her gaze had dropped to a rapt contemplation of her hands. With a start of amazement, Jamie realized that tears were rolling down her face. He couldn’t ever remember seeing her cry, and witnessing this rare moment of vulnerability endeared her to him even more.

“Em?” he asked, wondering if he was allowed in yet. She didn’t respond, but he felt her move infinitesimally towards him. Taking that as an invitation, he gently put his arm around her shoulder again. This time, she didn’t resist, and he wound his other arm around her form, drawing her closer.

She cried silently into his chest, letting out all of her grief in the least showy manner possible. He stroked her gently, feeling as though she were the most precious thing he’d ever touched. It wasn’t possible that she was the same person as the Em he knew. That Em was tough and wiry, able to take anything and bounce right back with a sharp, stinging rebuttal. This Em was fragile, delicate, precious. She was trusting him not to disdain her for showing her emotions, and he loved her all the more for it.

Finally, she sniffed once, looking up at him. Golden eyes met brown ones, and he loosened his hold on her shoulders. She sat up slightly, not looking away from him.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

“Can you talk about it?” he responded. “I know you don’t want to, but you have to.”

“Why?” It was a plea to the heavens more than to him. The heavens couldn’t answer her, though, and Jamie could. He had to.

“It helps,” he murmured. “I know you don’t think so, but it really does.”

“You’re sure?”

He nodded.

She sighed, then seemed to take control of herself again. He admitted her strength as much as he loved it. How many girls could take a blow like this and tell themselves that they would face it in all its horror? Most people would turn away, would try to dress it up with fluffy lies designed to make them feel better, but not Em. She was willing – no, she needed – to face it in its entirety. Jamie knew that Em was no more able to conceal unpleasant truths from herself than she was able to change them. They were what they were, and she was determined to see them that way.

“I… I can’t believe he’s gone,” she whispered at last. She was still holding Jamie’s gaze, but he could see her lip trembling slightly. He sympathized. Talking about grief was the hardest thing he’d ever done, and he’d hated his friends for making him do it. He winced at the thought of Em hating him, and swiftly returned to listening to her pour out her soul to him. “When I see other people, I always think that it’s him. I think of things I want to tell him, and then, when I remember that he’ll never hear them, it’s like all the joy leaves the world.”

There were tears running down her face again, but she didn’t seem to notice them. He didn’t dare move, didn’t dare do anything to bring her back to herself. He was seeing the side of her that she did her best to hide from the world, and he wanted as much of it as he could.

“I didn’t believe it at first,” she confided. “When they told me that… that he was dead. I thought that they were lying to me just to hurt me, and I hated them for a long time after that. When I finally realized the truth, I hated the world, not just them. Why did they take him from me? Why?”

Her voice broke on the last question, and she buried her face into Jamie’s shoulder again, drenching his shirt with her tears. He didn’t even notice.

“I don’t know,” he whispered, running his hands up and down her back, trying to draw some of her pain into himself. He couldn’t, though, and all he achieved was hitting his chin on her hair. She didn’t seem to notice it.

They sat there for a long time, her crying herself silently to a state in which she could face the world, he stroking her back and murmuring soothing nothings into her hair.

Finally, she looked up again. “Thank you,” she said softly.

He smiled slightly. “You needed it,” he told her. “I know how hard it is.”

“Still,” she insisted. “Thank you.”

He started to move away, aware that she might not want him anymore, but she stopped him.

“Please. Don’t. Not yet. I… I still need your strength.”

Aware of how much that admission must have cost her, he scooted back, pulling her as close as he could. He didn’t say anything, and neither did she. The time for words was over, and now silence reigned. After a long, timeless moment, her eyelids drooped and she fell into a deep, healing sleep, still leaning against him. He didn’t move, holding her as she slept the pain away, aware of just how precious she was.

He smiled as he watched her chest rise and fall. She would heal. It wouldn’t be soon, but it would happen eventually. Even the deepest wounds heal, and she would move on with her life. He intended to be there for her every step of the way.

Still smiling, he ghosted a kiss onto her forehead, brushing away the strands of hair as he did so. All would be well, in time.

amazing... I love it!! ^^

i dont agree that the deepest wounds heal though

but still,

i love it anne!! ^^

thanks!

i don't know if they do either, but i was in a weird mood when i wrote it. *shrug*

thanks again!

^^ it was great!!

He wouldn’t stop watching her. No matter where she went, he was always there, always watching. She would feel herself go red at the intensity of his gaze, and the embarrassment would cause her to stumble or to drop things. She acquired the label of clumsy and stupid, simply because of him. Clumsy, she who had been the most graceful girl in the ballet academy as a child. Stupid, she who had once been the star of any classroom she entered. All of that was gone now. All because of him.

Yet she couldn’t hate him for it. She couldn’t wish that he would just go away, couldn’t just wish that he would leave her alone. At least when he watched her she knew he cared. At least as his hazel eyed bored into her, she knew that he acknowledged her existence. It was all she could wish for, and she couldn’t think of how to give it up.

They had never spoken, had never exchanged so much as a nod in the halls. She’d given up expecting him to even look straight into her eyes. Once, when she was much younger, she would cry into her pillow at night and pray that he would notice her enough to speak. He never had, and she had learned to be content with his gaze. It was enough. It had to be. It was all she had.

She wondered sometimes if he knew the power he had over her. A single glance would make her forget what she was saying, and single laugh would make her drop what she was holding. The others laughed at her, and, as her face flamed, she knew that she deserved it. Why did he do this to her? Why did he torment her so; why did he go out of his way to make her look foolish? Yet she wouldn’t give it up. Not even when she knew that he only watched her for the pleasure of seeing her stumble and make a fool of herself, not even when she knew that his laughter was all scorn and no genuine affection. Even knowing that, she would never give it up. It was too precious, too rare to be wasted. And even if he watched her simply to see her fall, even if he stayed near her merely to make fun of her, at least he was there. At least he cared enough to watch. With that she would have to be content.

She made her way down the corridor, her head spinning with thoughts of him, not looking where she was going. He had spoken to her at last! It was only one word, two single syllables, nothing more. But it had been a word, and it had been her name. She shivered to herself as she heard him say it yet again. She loved how he said it, loved how his voice caressed the syllables and spat them out with the utmost delicacy. No one else spoke her name like that, no one else sent such shivers of agonizing bliss up her as they said it. She was used to hearing her name shouted in impatience or consternation, not treated as though it were something precious worth taking time over. And yet he, he who had never spoken to her before, he who had always watched her, he for whom she had shed so many fruitless tears, he had said her name in that manner. He had spoken it as though it were a gift he were giving her, and she knew she would never look at the hated name in the same way.

So intent was she on her thoughts that she never noticed the step that she missed. As she fell, her mind still ran with thought of him. She saw his hazel eyes watching her and, at last, she reached out to him. Her hand closed on air as her head hit the ground, and her eyes closed on his form. One word. He had spoken one word to her. One word that changed her life. One word that ended it.
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He couldn’t stop watching her. He didn’t know why, and it frightened him. Did she know she had such power over him? She didn’t seem to, didn’t seem to realize that she held him transfixed with her every move. Yet he couldn’t tear his eyes away from her whenever she was in the room, couldn’t keep his mind off her when she moved. What was wrong with him? There were countless others who were prettier than she, innumerable others who were cleverer. So why did she draw him like a starving bee to a spring flower?

None of the others understood. How could they? He didn’t understand it himself. He had given up fighting it, had given up trying to understand. He simply accepted it for what it was and didn’t try to find answers. Yet he couldn’t help thinking about it. He couldn’t help wondering, glancing at her from behind his books and watching as she read on her own, just what it was about her that called to him. Was it the way she was outcast from the other girls, always alone and never letting on that she cared? Was it the way she blushed when he looked at her, the way she emitted a slight squeak every time he came up on her from behind? Was it the slight curve of her hips, barely visible under the clothes she wore yet perfectly plain to him? Was it her long hair that swung behind her, always down, always slightly tangled and unkempt? Was it her blue eyes, so deep and compelling, the eyes that had never met his? He didn’t know, and he’d learned not to ask.

He didn’t know what had made him do it. He hadn’t intended to, hadn’t ever meant to break the barrier of silence that separated them. He was too conscious of what his friends would say if he spoke to her to attempt, and he hated it even as he accepted it. Yet, on that night, watching her fight back tears over the cruel comments of the other girls, he felt such compassion fill him that he couldn’t keep silent any longer. As she made her way out of the room, he reached out slightly, not touching her, but enough to attract her attention. She paused and looked at him, her eyes meeting his for the first time. His breath caught as he looked into her gaze. Her blue eyes captivated him, drawing him out of himself and into her. He couldn’t tear himself away, couldn’t even think of looking away. The contact was only help for an instant, but, to him, it seemed to be for an eternity. He was lost in her, and nothing could get him out.

Moments later, she blinked and the spell lifted partially. She still hadn’t moved, still stood there quivering like a deer caught in the headlights of a car, transfixed and paralyzed. And he spoke to her then, a single, simple word, but more than he ever had before. It was only her name, a halting pair of syllables that were wrenched out of him without his consent, but it was enough. He saw her face change, saw her eyes light up as she heard him. She said nothing in return, only hurried out of the room, her gait slightly lighter than it had been before, her head held fractionally higher. He watched her go, still unmoving, and knew that this was only the beginning.
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He sat with the rest of the students in the garden, watching as they lowered her body into the Earth. Her hair had been combed out properly for the first time in his memory, the tear streaks washed off her face by the gentle hands of people who never cared about her when she’d been alive. He felt the pain and anger swell within him as he wept inwardly bitter tears. It was over before it had even had a chance to begin.

He cried out silently to the ones who had tended the body. Why had they done it? Why had they pretended to care even when he knew that they hated her? He should have been the one to do it, should have been the one to comb out her hair and wash her face, should have been the one standing with her now. But he hadn’t been. No one had thought to ask him. No one knew what he himself had only discovered hours before. How could they? He had never said anything to her, had never publicly acknowledged her until that night. Until that single word had been forced out of him by forces beyond his control.

One word. They had exchanged one word, that was all. One word that had changed his life. One word that had ended hers. It would never be enough, yet it was all he had. He closed his eyes, holding that word close inside his heart. He saw her in his mind, saw her smile at him as she never had when she was alive, and knew that she knew. She knew that it was not enough, and he knew that she had thought the same. The thought calmed him, gave him the strength to face the world again. He opened his eyes once more, knowing that he would never be as truly at peace as he was now, as he watched them throw the warm brown earth over the corpse of the one girl he loved. The one with whom one word could change history. The one with whom one word was enough to guarantee both peace and pain. The one who had stolen his heart and soul and the one who, now, was returning them to him. He would move on, would find another. She would not have wanted him to grieve forever. And, next time, he would exchange far more than one single word, of that he was certain.

Not bad anne. i liked it.

thank you!

no problems, your a great writer!!

thanks again! so are you!

i suck, but you are great!!

no you don't! you are very good!

*snorts in disbelief*

it's the truth! *shakes head* why does no one believe they have talent??

Because thats just the way that we are., lolz.

indeed.

lolz ^_^

.

^_^

okay, this is a scene from my book. let me know what you think!
oh yeah, and the people talking are winged horses...
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A third being lay awake, looking at the stars. His love lay at his side, gazing not at the stars, but at him. He was acutely aware of her presence, just as he was painfully conscious of the need to leave her soon. She knew this as well as he did, yet she clung to him, rejected his feeble attempts to leave her, saying that she would rather die than be separated from him. He feared that that would be exactly what happened.

“How long?” she whispered, her voice low so as not to disturb the stillness around them.

He shook his head, making his mane swish silently. “I don’t know.”

“Why must you leave?” she asked, just as she had asked so many times before. Just as before, he had no answer for her.

“I must.”

She did not move away from his side, but he sensed her displeasure. “That is not at answer,” she complained.

“It is all the answer I have for you. I must go.”

She sighed. “He will not be happy about it.”

“He is already unhappy with me. My leaving cannot hurt things any more.”

“Are you certain?” she asked. “You have not heard him as I have, Wind Runner. You do not know what he truly thinks.”

“If he wished me to know what he thought, he would tell me himself,” he said stiffly. “Why are we speaking of this yet again, Shining Star?”

“Because you refuse to see the truth,” she told him, perhaps more sharply than necessary.

“I see as much of the truth as I must,” he assured her. “If he wishes to speak with me, he may do so himself.”

Her tail batted the air in impatient exasperation. “Don’t you see?” she pleaded, her voice rising in pitch despite herself. “He’s just as stubborn as you are. He will not forgive you unless you ask him to.”

“And I will not ask him to unless he offers,” he finished. “I know.”

“Then why do you insist upon leaving?” she cried, her voice ringing sharp and clear through the dead night air.

His tail moved to wrap around hers, and she allowed herself to be calmed by his touch. Her eyes stayed hard and unsatisfied, though, and he knew he would have to explain himself properly. He sighed, thinking it would be far easier if he knew himself just why he had to go.

“Would you believe me if I told you the Gods had granted me a vision?” he began hesitantly.

“Perhaps,” she admitted grudgingly. “What vision?”

He detailed his dream to her, speaking of mysterious strangers and long journeys. He told her of danger and of adventure, and of the strange summons he had received at the end of his dream. “The Gods spoke to me,” he told her. “They told me I must go with these strangers. They told me my life would be forever altered if I went with them.”

“In what way?”

“They did not tell me that.”

She sighed, the hard look in her eyes melting slightly. “They did not tell you. Yet you leave with these strangers anyway? Maybe your life will be altered for the worse. Maybe…” her voice broke, and she paused, looking away as she regained control of herself. “Maybe you will not return.”

His insides clenched at the thought, but he did his best to hide his sudden uneasiness from her. “I will return,” he said confidently. “I will return and we will be wed, just as we swore.”

“And until that time?”

He did not answer her, perhaps because he had no answer to give. There was no possible answer to her question. He did not know, and she knew that very well.

“You are determined?” she asked at last.

He nodded. “I must,” he repeated.

“Take me with you.”

He blinked, taken aback by the suddenness of the request. “I cannot.”

Her tone was angry and she moved away from him slightly, untangling her tale from his. “Why not? Why are you the only one allowed to have adventures? Do you not love me?”

“Of course I love you,” he assured her, seeking halfheartedly to regain contact. She eluded him, truly angry now.

“Then why will you not take me with you? Is there something wrong with me? Am I unsuited to travel with you?”

“You are perfect,” he said, and he meant every word from the bottom of his heart.

“Then why won’t you let me go with you?” she asked, tears of frustration evident in her voice, though she tried to hide them.

“I cannot,” he said again. “You have a life to live here, in the forest.”

“And you do not?” she retorted. “You belong with me, not off having adventures with strangers.”

Once again, he was silent. Finally, he spoke, his voice no louder than the softest whisper. “Yes. I belong only to you. I leave you my heart. Take care of it until I return.”

“I want all of you, not just your heart,” she protested, but she knew it was fruitless. His mind was made up, and she could do nothing to dissuade him.

“I will return to you,” he insisted. “And then we will never again be parted.”

“You promise?” she whispered, moving close to him once again. He leaned his head against her shoulder in answer, a promise without words.

She let the air out of her lungs slowly, accepting his promise. They lay together, watching the stars, saying nothing, savoring the time they had together. As his eyes closed, she watched him, trying to fend off the growing sense that she would never see him again after he left on his journey.

wow...

you write stories about winged horses too??

yeah. it took me forever to figure out that that's what they were, though. *shakes head* i kept trying to invent a creature, and it didn't work out too well .

lolz, i wrote one like that in year 6.

yeah. *sigh*

sigh?

i don't even remember. probably something about the annoyance of my story. i'm not liking it much right now. especially my #$%@ main character. *muttermutter* she's wicked and evil and i CANNOT work with her and... and... *muttermutter*