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Dark Elegance

Novel By: betraylbytruth
Other



It was just one of those days when I had alot onmy mind and I just wanted to sit down, and write until I wasn't crying anymore. So I did..

Its basically about how while one smile can be gorgous and how one can look so happy, but right behind that smile, not far away and distant, but right there under the fakes yet most amazing laugh, well right there can be every secret, and eveyr lie, and all you know about what people say about you and who has done what to you, and theres this whole world inside you that can feel so dark when you know, they may have done serious shit to you, but your never going to fight back because your not that kindo of person. View table of contents...


Chapters:

1 2

Submitted:Feb 7, 2007    Reads: 136    Comments: 2    Likes: 0   


����������� In the darkest of nights far from city glow, to run down the old country road, long forgotten by all who would drive it, where you alone stand brilliant.� To be separate, to stand willingly against what you believe should be stood against, and to scream on this darkest of nights because it seems all those who constantly are around you, are blinded by fake out lights, and can't see the filth of reality, you see to run this road while other sleep their secrets away and forget that they have hurt you, oh this is a freedom divine.

����������� To sweep a presence among your crowd, barely acknowledged in your essence yet you know this is your place, and you are satisfied just with that, to be calm and to be quiet in the presence of noise.� To be the one who all run to for help, advice and support, but to never be seen in need, and to never once be seen with tears of any kind on your face.� To be the one who does not show emotion, yet feels more of it then anybody and doesn't say a word, oh this to be the sweetest of all solitudes.�

����������� However, grabbing what I did have to consume in the time given for all of the misguided students of our school to feed, I walked out the doors and headed for the place I always did, cozy little corner in the far back of the field… today, as many days, as I drew nearer the corner I couldn't help but say in the softest of whispers… "Wow.� There are so many memories…"� I continued this thought in my head …All the times I can think of, all the pictures I could print off, of me and… them.� Here.� Wow.� Basically what I'm trying to say is that there have been so many times, so many amazing times hiding out in this corner or just hanging out in this corner for various reasons.� Spirit board with "the itas", hanging out with Angela, being alone, so many people have cried here, so many people have been comforted here… wow.� And again, wow.� So many memories…� There is just no real explanation for how it feels, its like as I walk, I can feel myself pushing through all the events, the tears, the fears, the laughter, the echo's, and oh, the fading feeling as I walk still to the fence.

����������� I tipped my head so gracefully skyward once again becoming completely consumed in thought, surrendering to that which controlled me.� Forgetting where I was, and who I was supposed to be, yes, I tipped my face skyward and surrendered to forgetting everything.

����������� The bell rang, pronouncing the start of recess and the flow of eager students cascaded through the double doors.� Why were they always so eager for 15 minutes of pointless cruelty?� Always a wonder.

����������� To take the gesture as small as a smile and with it hide from the world every single numbing pain that you hold, and every fear you feel shudder within you, casting such a gloomy shadow in a place that nobody knows.� To put on your make up every day, and pull back your hair so gracefully, to wear the shortest skirt, and laugh with the fakest and yet most wonderful of laughs as you cry and scream inside.� Yes as you take this small gesture of a smile, and use it to hide yourself from the entire world, oh indeed, this is the unprotected dark elegance.�

����������� A nightmare can be so pleasant as you sleep, when you know what you face when you wake up, is always to be worse.� The screaming calls of haunts, daunting from the past, a laugh in friendship to ring in a nightmare, pronouncing what you've lost in becoming this nothing that you truly are.� To wake up, and not be a part of the laughter, but be bypassed by those who you laughed with, and laughed at by those who you once trusted, and to see the face of the "popular" girl and see still in it, your best friend.� To look in the mirror and hate what you see, for it is only showing strait through you, and what you are seeing is a loss of thought.� A fragment of a forgotten hopes… oh.� This can be the truest of pains to live this, to be this.� But don't forget your elegance, and hold your smile against the tide.��

��

����������� My name is Marmora, yet I go by Mora as close friends speak to me.� I only really ever talk to "close" friends so I basically could say I do go by Mora.� Have you ever noticed details of society that hold it together, and yet at that same time, rip it apart?� I see them all the time and there are days when it is like I am the only one who notices that they are happening and still, I see them.� They are real.� To real.�

����������� I am of course told I have issues, not true.� I see a reality that is harder then the one most choose to blindly accept as true, or at least they choose to accept it to save them some pain.�

����������� Okay, okay, I'll stop rambling on now.� I'll get to the point of my writing this for you to read.� I don't know if it was a joke or what, but somebody randomly I guess suggested to me to just, write.� Sense I love to anyway, but this time they don't want me to write some sort of amazing fantasy with words that draw you into them and convince you they are real, no this time I have been asked to write how I see the world day by day.� To explain it, it being the way I see things, to write basically a journal you would say.� Like I said, it could have been a joke, all the same, it's a pretty good idea and so I shall follow it through.� I'll just I suppose begin to type what is actually going on in my mind… even if from the outside.�

��

����������� Their words flowed around me.� Flowed so solemnly around me as though it never would end.� Like a flow of blood they surrounded me, flowing oh so slowly in the thick, heavy essence that blood carries.� For it flows so dreadfully slow that you wish so deeply for it to go faster, to take away the pain.� Yet in those moments it will always flow much to quick for what it does take from me, my sanity, yes, my life.� Head bowed, motionless I stood alone surrounded by a number of people who knew absolutely nothing about me, and spoke as though they were my world.� They teased, taunted and called.� Their voices rang in my mind; their laughter flowed brightly in my darkest nightmare.�

����������� That was yesterday.�

����������� Today?� Read the above paragraph again.� It is like that; it is like this every day. �

����������� I let their words, their voices; their ideas flow through my head.� There is nothing I can do to stop it.� I don't even try anymore.� There is not enough of a point.� I was the outcast.� I am the outcast.� Somebody has to be the outcast, and for my lack of interest in finding a shade of nail polish other then black or white that would match everything, well, for that I had been selected and demoted to an outcast position in my elementary school population and community.� I suppose that really, there never has been, still isn't and never likely will be, a proper explanation for how it all works.� I just say thank god it is my last year in this hell pit, before its high school.� I strongly intend on a fresh start there, in a different secondary school then the one that the majority of my current classmates shall be attending.�

����������� I want to scream at them. They do not know anything, anything at all about me, about my personality and how I think.� They don't know a single thing about how I long some days, to just fit in.� No.� They just don't know a single thing about any of it.� Yet the way they speak, they throw words at me as carelessly as anything, and they say them as though they know them, say them as though they care, they say them as though they understand.� They're so painfully plastic, the lot of them!���

I look up now.� Slightly.� As they walk away.� Drift away, no second glances, none of them look back.� Accept one.� For a brief moment, her blonde hair is tossed over her shoulder and she sends me a backwards glance.� Her name is Abby.� We were best friends for three years.� I was a different person then, not really a different person, but I guess she must have seen a different person then, then the person that she sees these days.� I look at her face, I don't look her in the eye really, just look her in the face and in it still I see, my best friend.� I don't know what she saw in my face, or if she even saw me for that matter, maybe I don't really want to know what she saw.� But I know what I saw.�

The world can be so passive.� So amazingly brilliant and then, you blink.� That's all you have to do to loose absolutely everything is blink, or more often, all you have to do is blink and your standing on the cliff edge, lay down to sleep, and you feel yourself begin to fall, wake in the morning, and there is nothing left.

Just, nothing at all left to fight for.� Nothing left to dream about, not even anything to have nightmares about.� You wake up and you find, you had and you have, no good reason to open your eyes.� Ohh, how quickly everything tall can become so insignificant and how that ongoing breeze that rattles every bone and shakes all shudders can suddenly carry all that matters swiftly away.� Oh the days when life feels pointless.� But more the days when you are purely terrified that one more breath will blow the world away.

Just one more step and you'll fall through the ice.

Just one more word and you'll loose this game.

Just one more chance, and you'll officially fail.

Just one more failure, and you'll forget what it feels like to succeed.

Just one more success and you could hate yourself forever.

Just one more thing to hate and you could be consumed.

Just one… anything at all, and your world could be destroyed.

����������� Fear flows in me.� Its become so natural to be afraid, to worry and to fret for the smallest and minutest of details.� Every one of them, I long for the curiosity but have never possessed the wonder of what it is like to be truly afraid.� I don't need to wonder of the feeling; the feeling is all that I know.

����������� I wake each morning and I find that I am scared of it all.� I am afraid to open my eyes because when I open them I never know what I'm going to see.� I can assume, I can hope, I can pretend, yet when I open my eyes all dreams fade, all nightmares are banished until I sleep again, and I can pretend no longer.� When I open my eyes each morning, I stop breathing for the day in the light of its morn.

***

I sit in math.� My mind wanders to worlds that I create, I can control.� My mind it lets me fly, my writing lets me dream, lets me breathe.� I see just behind the folds of transparent white silk that divide us from our imagination, oh I see just behind those folds of silk, a world, a world where I breath all the time, for the sake of drawing air.� A world where I am known for my personality, honestly, not for my looks or for my mind and my writing, just for my personality and it is like people actually give a damn.� Oh what lies, beyond the white silken folds… just beyond, just unreachable.� Just…

Wouldn't it be nice, if one could choose, could choose to live in a world that was one in which each individual could be free in.� One where chains of hatred do not restrict us because acceptance had become such a difficulty among the surrounded and the surrounding, oh it could be so wonderful.
����������� For a moment I snap back to math class, to the world I do live in against my imagination.� I quickly complete the work on the bored, page 270 numbers 1 through 7.� Not to difficult at all, only fractions. �Having that completed I open my notebook.� I never go anywhere's without my notebook.� Never.� My mind is always thinking up new ideas, story lines, characters, names, and quotes.� I need my notebook or I would fail to remember much at all.� Quickly scrawling my thoughts of the moment carefully across the page, somewhat watching printing neatness, more watching wording, and above all, making sure I portray it so I will slip back into telling it later, when I have time on the computer.

�Perfection �Is it something real?� You see the shows and the magazines that include footage and pictures of models, tall and then, short and thin, either way, always thin.� Graceful, hair up, make up done exotically by the professionals who make the models who they are supposed to be.� Who are they though?� Make up gives them a certain details to obtain the correct look, and the clothing portraying the world in the minds eye of its creator.� Fashion is like writing that way, showing a little ways into the world of its creator.� But the models… who they think that young girls should aspire to look like and to be like, how can they expect that?� These are people who sit in chairs and are made into who they are supposed to be, not girls who get up in the morning and make themselves into who they are.� They don't pick their own outfits, or food, or hair style colour and length, they don't do they're own make up and are always working to get manicures and pedicures and I'm really wondering… how can they call themselves real? What do they see when they look in the mirror, do they see something different then what they show on the run way??� I'm hoping so.� For the sake of them, they're friends and family, because on the run way… they're all the same.�

��������� The bell rang.� Announcing that it was lunchtime.� I began slowly to pull myself out of deep thought, while the hoards of students around me clumsily collapsed their binders and zipped them up, scrunching everything inside so that it fit, damage done to reports and notebooks did not matter, it was time to socialize.� I was the last one to drag myself out of the classroom.� I always was.

����������� I headed, with less enthusiasm then the crowds to my locker and leaned with annoyance against the apposing wall in waiting for people to move out of the way, giving enough space for me to get my food from my locker.� Quick enough I suppose they all cleared off to classrooms and lunch spots with clans of friends following their every move.� I was left basically alone.� I looked out the set of near by doors; it was early June, warm and sunny.� I would be able to eat outside today.� I was so glad for the ending of the cold winter, in winter it was to cold to sit and eat outside, however, early June was serving well for eating outside.

����������� I didn't really have food; I had a large bottle that used to contain some sort of sports drink, but now contained citrus iced tea, and a few bits of candy.� I never liked eating all to much… don t know why, just never have favored eating.��

����������� However, grabbing what I did have to consume in the time given for all of the misguided students of our school to feed, I walked out the doors and headed for the place I always did, cozy little corner in the far back of the field… today, as many days, as I drew nearer the corner I couldn't help but say in the softest of whispers… "Wow.� There are so many memories…"� I continued this thought in my head …All the times I can think of, all the pictures I could print off, of me and… them.� Here.� Wow.� Basically what I'm trying to say is that there have been so many times, so many amazing times hiding out in this corner or just hanging out in this corner for various reasons.� Spirit board with "the itas", hanging out with Angela, being alone, so many people have cried here, so many people have been comforted here… wow.� And again, wow.� So many memories…� There is just no real explanation for how it feels, its like as I walk, I can feel myself pushing through all the events, the tears, the fears, the laughter, the echo's, and oh, the fading feeling as I walk still to the fence.

����������� I tipped my head so gracefully skyward once again becoming completely consumed in thought, surrendering to that which controlled me.� Forgetting where I was, and who I was supposed to be, yes, I tipped my face skyward and surrendered to forgetting everything.

����������� The bell rang, pronouncing the start of recess and the flow of eager students cascaded through the double doors.� Why were they always so eager for 15 minutes of pointless cruelty?� Always a wonder.������





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