The Mind of Angelic Ones
Posted: Wed Oct 03, 2018 4:14 am
((Continued from Friday Night by Candlelight))
I used to think I could live forever....
She stared up at the endless black sky with miserable, hopeless eyes; deep blue orbs brimming with hot tears that glisten and sparkle in the dull glow emanating from the full moon. Each salty teardrop slowly makes its way down her despondent face, leaving behind it a damp trail of liquid pain, blending in with the seemingly thousands before it. They also were unintentional; she was not prepared for them either.
She pulled her shaky knees up to her chest and she wraped her thin, trembling arms around them in an attempt to make herself feel protected, secure.
But, of course, it didn't work.
She simply buried her heavy head in her knees. Feeling the nausea slowly ebbing away. Feeling the beating pulse of the excruciating pain fade into a dull, annoying pang of less-than-demanding existence. It does not command her full attention anymore, so she is free to think. She is free to wish to rid herself of the sick taste in her mouth, free to wish that she wasn't in an enormous amount of pain, and free to feel vindictive anger racing through her veins with such a speed that she fears she might explode.
She wished desperately that she could hide away from the world forever. Hide away from their adoring, hopeful eyes. Away from their fictitious stares.
From everything.
But she couldn't.
When the dark night, with it's calming cool breeze and starry sky, ends and she is forced to go back inside, to her own personal hell once again, the fight begins. And she always loses.
Always priding herself on being strong, untouchable, unbreakable, she fears the latest string of events, if it is repeated, will eventually break her to an unrepairable extent. She tries to promise herself that it will never happen, but nothing in her life is ever certain. She knows she will never be the same, and yet she yearns to return to the time when she was strong, when it wasn't necessary to put up a disgustingly fake facade of smiles and hollow laughs to fool them.
Fooling them to think that the depression, the sadness and the resentful, malevolent anger is not ever present, dominating her world.
No one seems to notice. Either she's just that great an actress, or they're just that dumb.
She really didn't care either way. This life has not broken her. It has made her stronger. She no longer cares what they think of her, but she cares what she thinks of herself and she most certainly cares for all of the missing pieces that she can never put back together. She doesn't understand life. She doesn't understand why everything hurts. She doesn't understand why... She doesn't understand anything.
She can remember once, from a long, long time ago, as if from another distant lifetime, that she came out here with her mother, hand in hand. She can remember how safe and protected and content she felt, as if it had only been yesterday. A far-off, distant, longing-for-the-past kind of yesterday. And yet it is so vivid in her mind's eye.
She can vaguely call up to memory that one blissful time when she comfortably sat in her mother's lap, listening to her gently hum the beautiful song of a lullaby that now, seems to have slipped her mind. But she can faintly hear the lost music being carried through the breeze, taunting her unintentionally, riding high above the wind, then disappearing without a trace.
It can stay in the dark, unknown crevices of her mind, mocking her, but it will never come back out into the open. She knows she cannot ever get it back.
From somewhere beside her, somewhere inside the now dark, unforgiving woods where she used to play as a child, under the multicolored canopy of trees with the bright sun dappling down, she hears an indistinct sound. She looks up through wide, bright eyes. Her long lashes sweep down, and she glances in the general vicinity of the noise. Then it comes again and the colorful leaves rustle softly, as if giving her a warning. Time to leave. Time to save herself. It is the slightest sound, but she knows something is there, and she can almost guarantee that it knows she is there, too.
The leaves rustle again, and a twig snaps.
Did she really hear a growl, or was that her imagination?
She can feel fear flood through her veins all at once, and the panic nearly makes her head swim, but she stays.
Go ahead, come and kill me, She thinks audaciously, her eyes narrowing with unconcealed, vindictive fury. Go right ahead.
She is silently daring it to come, daring it to prove to her that she really doesn't care either way, if she lives another day or not.
Or maybe by some chance she's just waiting for something to nearly kill her, to nearly catch her; make her think differently about life. Make her value it. Think of what she'll be missing if she's permanently erased from the face of the earth.
She waits and nothing happens.
"Fuck you," She hisses angrily, instantly getting to her feet, her long, raven black hair whipping harshly around her angry face from the wind. It hurts to walk, as if she is a massive ball of pain that might fall apart at any given second, but she pushes through it without a second thought. What other choice is there? What else has she ever done?
She goes slowly, deliberately back to her beach sanctuary, as if to prove to herself, that she is fully capable of still walking. Though her entire body is unbearably and dizzyingly sore, she will not falter. She hates being weak. Vulnerability is a luxury she cannot afford.
Never again.
She relishes the feeling of blatant, unrestrained fear as she waits for something unknown to pounce on her from behind. The feeling of apprehension almost makes her turn around to check her back.
Almost.
And when she makes it to the beach unscathed, she turns back and stares out into the night, her eyes sparkling with hatred towards something in particular, wishing desperately that she could slowly ebb into nothingness and disappear forever, with nothing left to tie her down to the nightmare she calls her life.
But things are never just that easy, are they?
She steps onto the sands noiselessly, feeling unsettled and fatigued, both physically and emotionally. She longs for the silent, comforting sound of nothingness. Melodious nothingness.
Serenity Halos felt herself fall onto the sands softly, the scars under her sleeves pounding with seething agony. She knew the feeling of pain wouldn't disappear, and yet that made her slightly happy.
It lets me know I'm alive...
Now I find myself waiting for the sky to crack...
((Open to anyone))
I used to think I could live forever....
She stared up at the endless black sky with miserable, hopeless eyes; deep blue orbs brimming with hot tears that glisten and sparkle in the dull glow emanating from the full moon. Each salty teardrop slowly makes its way down her despondent face, leaving behind it a damp trail of liquid pain, blending in with the seemingly thousands before it. They also were unintentional; she was not prepared for them either.
She pulled her shaky knees up to her chest and she wraped her thin, trembling arms around them in an attempt to make herself feel protected, secure.
But, of course, it didn't work.
She simply buried her heavy head in her knees. Feeling the nausea slowly ebbing away. Feeling the beating pulse of the excruciating pain fade into a dull, annoying pang of less-than-demanding existence. It does not command her full attention anymore, so she is free to think. She is free to wish to rid herself of the sick taste in her mouth, free to wish that she wasn't in an enormous amount of pain, and free to feel vindictive anger racing through her veins with such a speed that she fears she might explode.
She wished desperately that she could hide away from the world forever. Hide away from their adoring, hopeful eyes. Away from their fictitious stares.
From everything.
But she couldn't.
When the dark night, with it's calming cool breeze and starry sky, ends and she is forced to go back inside, to her own personal hell once again, the fight begins. And she always loses.
Always priding herself on being strong, untouchable, unbreakable, she fears the latest string of events, if it is repeated, will eventually break her to an unrepairable extent. She tries to promise herself that it will never happen, but nothing in her life is ever certain. She knows she will never be the same, and yet she yearns to return to the time when she was strong, when it wasn't necessary to put up a disgustingly fake facade of smiles and hollow laughs to fool them.
Fooling them to think that the depression, the sadness and the resentful, malevolent anger is not ever present, dominating her world.
No one seems to notice. Either she's just that great an actress, or they're just that dumb.
She really didn't care either way. This life has not broken her. It has made her stronger. She no longer cares what they think of her, but she cares what she thinks of herself and she most certainly cares for all of the missing pieces that she can never put back together. She doesn't understand life. She doesn't understand why everything hurts. She doesn't understand why... She doesn't understand anything.
She can remember once, from a long, long time ago, as if from another distant lifetime, that she came out here with her mother, hand in hand. She can remember how safe and protected and content she felt, as if it had only been yesterday. A far-off, distant, longing-for-the-past kind of yesterday. And yet it is so vivid in her mind's eye.
She can vaguely call up to memory that one blissful time when she comfortably sat in her mother's lap, listening to her gently hum the beautiful song of a lullaby that now, seems to have slipped her mind. But she can faintly hear the lost music being carried through the breeze, taunting her unintentionally, riding high above the wind, then disappearing without a trace.
It can stay in the dark, unknown crevices of her mind, mocking her, but it will never come back out into the open. She knows she cannot ever get it back.
From somewhere beside her, somewhere inside the now dark, unforgiving woods where she used to play as a child, under the multicolored canopy of trees with the bright sun dappling down, she hears an indistinct sound. She looks up through wide, bright eyes. Her long lashes sweep down, and she glances in the general vicinity of the noise. Then it comes again and the colorful leaves rustle softly, as if giving her a warning. Time to leave. Time to save herself. It is the slightest sound, but she knows something is there, and she can almost guarantee that it knows she is there, too.
The leaves rustle again, and a twig snaps.
Did she really hear a growl, or was that her imagination?
She can feel fear flood through her veins all at once, and the panic nearly makes her head swim, but she stays.
Go ahead, come and kill me, She thinks audaciously, her eyes narrowing with unconcealed, vindictive fury. Go right ahead.
She is silently daring it to come, daring it to prove to her that she really doesn't care either way, if she lives another day or not.
Or maybe by some chance she's just waiting for something to nearly kill her, to nearly catch her; make her think differently about life. Make her value it. Think of what she'll be missing if she's permanently erased from the face of the earth.
She waits and nothing happens.
"Fuck you," She hisses angrily, instantly getting to her feet, her long, raven black hair whipping harshly around her angry face from the wind. It hurts to walk, as if she is a massive ball of pain that might fall apart at any given second, but she pushes through it without a second thought. What other choice is there? What else has she ever done?
She goes slowly, deliberately back to her beach sanctuary, as if to prove to herself, that she is fully capable of still walking. Though her entire body is unbearably and dizzyingly sore, she will not falter. She hates being weak. Vulnerability is a luxury she cannot afford.
Never again.
She relishes the feeling of blatant, unrestrained fear as she waits for something unknown to pounce on her from behind. The feeling of apprehension almost makes her turn around to check her back.
Almost.
And when she makes it to the beach unscathed, she turns back and stares out into the night, her eyes sparkling with hatred towards something in particular, wishing desperately that she could slowly ebb into nothingness and disappear forever, with nothing left to tie her down to the nightmare she calls her life.
But things are never just that easy, are they?
She steps onto the sands noiselessly, feeling unsettled and fatigued, both physically and emotionally. She longs for the silent, comforting sound of nothingness. Melodious nothingness.
Serenity Halos felt herself fall onto the sands softly, the scars under her sleeves pounding with seething agony. She knew the feeling of pain wouldn't disappear, and yet that made her slightly happy.
It lets me know I'm alive...
Now I find myself waiting for the sky to crack...
((Open to anyone))