Reads: 481  | Likes: 0  | Shelves: 0  | Comments: 0

  • Facebook
  • Twitter
  • Reddit
  • Pinterest
  • Invite

More Details
Status: Finished  |  Genre: Other  |  House: Booksie Classic
Some thoughts perhaps. Alternate account:

Submitted: October 26, 2015

A A A | A A A

Submitted: October 26, 2015



“Tell me my dear child, what is it that scares you most?”


“Is it the creatures that crawl beneath your bed at night? Is it the tightness in your chest as you stand in the face of righteousness?”


“Perhaps it is the loneliness you struggle against each night, as you hope and pray for someone to pull your head above the inky sludge that threatens to suffocate you, in the despair that is the oceans floor.”


A trembling whisper floats across the chamber.


“Yes, and no.”


“I fear each of these among the company of many others.”


“And yet, the thing I fear most seems at times, something that always falls between the cracks,” A quivering of the lips is barely noticeable. “Even so, I might go as far as to admit, I fear it more than death.”


The hooded figure waits silently, patiently.


He has done this before.


“I fear time.”


“Time running out, time passing too quickly, I am afraid that I will spend too much time doing nothing and too little finding my own purpose. I fear endlessly searching for true passions, only to find them just as my time is coming to an end; the inevitability that my prime has passed me and I will never be as much as I once could.”


“It is this fear of time that eats away at me, buzzing always in my thoughts, compelling a reaction- desperation, clawing at the seconds as they pass, needing each moment to last me but a moment longer.

Alas, time passes on as it always has - as it always will.

I trail behind forever struggling to catch up to the present, even as past mistakes and failures bind themselves to me, a crushing weight that forces my eyes closed, blinding me from the opportunities at my fingertips.”


“The type of blindness that would have me live in the moment,

But not to live for the moment.”


Her eyes are rimmed with the red sorrow of a passion, a need. That which is so strong, the world collapses around her feet.


“I fear time will slip through my fingertips, that the one I love will walk out of my life before I’ve yet walked into his.”


The cloaked one now understands. It is no longer a child that stands before him, but a young woman.


A young woman that has broken her soul into fragments before it has had enough time to become whole.


“You are in love.”


She inhales noiselessly, frozen in thought, carefully choosing her next words.


“I fear time has warped my perception into believing what I pursue is love, that my affections are truly naught but infatuation.”


“Aye, that may very well be the case.”


The figure leans forward upon his throne of icy marble.


The girls’ eyes harden as her eyelids slide shut; they have become too heavy to open in the face of such truth.


That the voice in her head was right all along as, all the while, her body struggles against this revelation; the most powerful feeling she has ever experienced being false.


The cloaked being looks on as she fights with herself; he knows the answer to it. He knows the truth behind her feelings.


He will not give her the answer, he cannot.


No, for that is hers to discover.


But even as he cannot give it, the old King has softened to the young girls plight, and decides he will point her in the right direction nonetheless.


“I can see this causes you great pain.”


Her eyes slowly blink open, round orbs swirling in a torrent of heartache and misery as her mind fights against her body.


Tears sweep down her rosy cheeks, her lips part,


“The greatest pain I have ever known.”


The king feels a sharp pang reverberate in his breast, something he has not felt in a long, long, time.


“What does your heart demand?” He utters.


“With every beat that passes through my chest, it cries that I may run to him.”


“What does your gut feel?”


“It fills with the sweet fluttering of hummingbird wings each time my beloved comes to mind.”


“What of your instinct my child?”




Her eyelids squeeze shut as the ghost of a smile, sweet as honey, begins to lift her features. She lowers her voice til it becomes soft as a summers breeze.


“My instinct would tell me that I love him more than I love life itself.”


“What of your head now?” He places an armored hand under his chin and leans into the arm of his throne.


The smile drops from her face and she is marble once more.


“It would tell me all else is not to be trusted,” Her eyes grow stormy. “It would make clear the fact that we are not seen in the same light.”


“Oh? Your mind seems to burdened by logic dear child.”


She cannot be sure, but to the adolescent it seems as if a smile is hidden behind the shrouded face before her.


“You must remember that there is no true logic in love.”

© Copyright 2020 Neroorfar. All rights reserved.

  • Facebook
  • Twitter
  • Reddit
  • Pinterest
  • Invite

Add Your Comments: