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| Pain in Beauty | |
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| Topic Started: July 15, 2015, 6:38 pm (140 Views) | |
| Marc | July 15, 2015, 6:38 pm Post #1 |
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Character: Icarus Date: March 13 Time: Early Morning Place: Utopia Utopia was truly a beautiful place. It was a particularly beautiful place early in the morning, with a light fog swaying in the ocean breeze, as the sun was rising and the birds were taking up their song. In the light of dawn, between the darkest night and the fresh light of the morning, right where black faded gradually through the blues, coloring the sky with an ever lightening brush, Josh felt cradled by the night still and yet, already warmed by the promise of another morning. Even as he was turning his face east, eyes closing in a lazy blink, Josh couldn’t help but wonder about the metaphor of how such warmth would have to remain only skin-deep, unable to penetrate to the depth of his heart. A heart that ached this morning. Ached for family. Ached for friends. Ached for himself even, though he tried denying himself that. It seemed selfish, to ache for oneself, when really, others had it just as bad, or worse. Self pity. He had been accused that it had been such that had driven him to his suicide attempts in the first place. He hoped that it wasn’t true, but sometimes, the personal bad character traits were the ones most easily missed. He stared at the rising sun until his eyes teared up with brightness. There was a symbol to be drawn from the light driving him to tears, of that he was certain, but right now, he didn’t even care to accumulate words and phrases for when he was creating his songs. All he was doing at the moment was admiring the beauty of creation, from a vantage point that clearly sold him on his near-avian features – on top of the highest, most remote cliff, there stood a high, most remote tree. It was there that Josh sat, wings folded tightly against his back, legs dangling before him. Thinking. Worrying. Wondering. And aching. Aching, in his heart, for those he cared about. Tags: open (though your character would have to be able and join him there) |
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| Marc | July 19, 2015, 5:45 am Post #2 |
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Character: Icarus Date: March 13 Time: Early Morning Place: Utopia There was a peace and tranquility to be had, hiding so far up and away from others, high in places most people could never think to reach. Even before his wings had come into their own, capable of supporting him in flight, Josh had sought sanctuary from bullying and beatings up on roofs or in trees. Heights had always called to him, offering him the freedom to step away from petty concerns and distance himself from the world. Allowing him to sort through his emotions. He knew that he felt too deeply, invested himself too much in those he cared about. It was who he was, what he was. Truth be told, he didn’t really want to see it changed either. Yes, it could hurt. Yes, it left him wide open for emotions that he sometimes felt like he was drowning in them. Yes, it sometimes led him down paths best described with the old word minne, a courtly kind of love, romantic yet celibate, pure. The kind of love one might choose to sing songs about, as the minstrels, the minnesingers of old had done. When it all came down to it though, he’d rather feel too much than too little. Even if his heart was currently, constantly, overflowing with deep sorrow, with aching concern, with boundless love, he would not truly have it any other way. To not feel like he was would mean to cut people from his heart, to not allow them the space he allocated them there right now. He doubted that he could ever do that. Bleeding heart was what he was, in more ways than one. And so, he sat high up in ‘his’ tree, balancing easily on the sturdy branch that might bend under another person’s weight but not his own, for his bones, his whole body, was light-weight as that of a large bird. His back against the bark of the tree trunk, he let the energy that lay inherent in the tree, in any tree, soak into him. He liked to think that it bolstered him, strengthened him, until he too would be strong enough always to bend but never to break in the storms of life. Storms of which he knew there would be many, many more than he had already faced. Many more than his family or those he called friends had faced already too. For himself, he would face these storms unflinchingly, or so he hoped. So he resolved. For friends and family, he ached at the thought of them getting buffeted by heavy winds, by getting pelted with icy rain, metaphorically speaking. If only he could, he would spread his wings over them, shelter them from what might come to hurt them, be the guardian angel he looked like. The truth of the matter was though that he was not a guardian angel. No one’s guardian angel. He hadn’t been Julia’s. He couldn’t be one to sad Ma, to strong Sam, to driven Paige, to sweet Liz, to searching Jeb, to gentle Mel, to quiet Lynn, to the rambunctious twins. To lost Joelle. Nor could he be such an angel to those he had been locked up with. For all that he loved his wings, he hated how people equated his looks with an angel right away. He was far inadequate to be considered such. It was painful for him, just had badly he felt short of that mark time and time again. How little he fulfilled people’s immediate expectations and associations when they saw him. His thoughts wandered to the words Kurt had left him with that night, after they had arrived on Utopia. The man who might have reasons to resent him for his looks, the man who likely ached terribly for being seen as a demon by so many, had nevertheless called Josh his friend. Had reached out to him and given him words of such gentle wisdom that Josh still felt humbled by their deep insight. Felt gently rebuked now even, for considering himself far from worthy to be looking an angel’s part. Had his healing created a rift between himself and the world at large? Had he lost the understanding necessary to see them in their pain, accept them even as they hurt? Did his wish to protect them from pain stem from the fact that pain confused him these days? He wondered. He hoped that was not the case for he felt that he did understand pain, emotional pain. He even was no stranger to physical pain, for injuries still hurt like they had before, they only healed faster. Every suicide attempt had put him through agony, agony he had welcomed and cherished and hoped would lead to his end. It never had, but still .. he was no stranger to physical pain. And he most certainly was no stranger to emotional torment, crippling as it stole one’s breath away, stabbing one’s heart until it felt that it must surely be bleeding out in one’s chest. And then Kurt had stated, so very astutely, that healing hurt. Except .. Josh wasn’t sure he knew anymore how to differentiate the pain that came from injuries dealt from the pain healing these injuries caused. For so long, he had hurt, was hurting, his heart bleeding invisibly. His wounds no longer scarred, the only scar on his otherwise unmarred body the one where his first attempt at suicide had failed. It was fittingly symbolic that it should sit almost on top of his heart. Reminding him that he was not done bleeding yet inside, and likely would never be done. That too, Kurt had seen. Had called him, them both, messes inside. Josh knew that the other man had been immediately referring to what they had experienced while the FoH had held them, but that didn’t make it any less true generally for Josh. Nor for Kurt either, it had seemed. And while they were both carrying themselves mostly well, head up high, shoulders squared, that did not negate that inside, they remained great big messes. Perhaps he had truly helped Kurt that night, by allowing him to lance at least one of the boils the other man ailed from, hidden away deep inside his own heart. And perhaps, Josh too might find such help one day, might find someone willing to .. no, not lance in his case, but perhaps, begin sewing up the fissures that were bleeding his heart dry. Perhaps .. perhaps Kurt’s words had been the thread, his gentleness the needle that had been needed to start that process that would, oh so very slowly, mend his torn heart. And while Kurt’s wish, for Josh’s sleep to be dreamless and quiet, had not come true, rest had still been achieved – some at least, which was more than Josh had truly expected to manage. He smiled to himself. Yes, maybe Kurt’s words had begun a healing process that no psychologist, no medication, no suicide watch had ever set in motion. How fitting was it that, when his new Utopian phone beeped and vibrated to indicate a message, it should be Kurt interrupting his musings. Josh’s smile broadened some more. Flicking to the right screen, Josh read the email and chuckled. Kurt was trying to make a perfect sales pitch for why the simulation would be the perfect training exercise but it was beyond obvious that his friend was merely excited about the swashbuckling adventure that awaited them. Before his inner eye, Josh could already see the blue-furred mutant, wielding sword and dagger, his powers of teleportation making him a whirlwind on any battlefield, taking him behind enemy lines and back to safety before the foe even knew what hit them. It was with that image in mind that Josh dug into his pocket, then drew his legs up and folding them criss-cross before him, resting a dog-eared, smudged piece of paper (that he clearly never went anywhere without) on his knee, chewing on the back of a pencil (which, while still fairly new, had already seen better unchewed days). He was inspired to create a song, a song foremost about pirates and the sea, but really, a song about bravery, about camaraderie, about standing tall in the wind and using it to bolster one’s progress rather than allowing it to hold one down. Darkest day and brightest night, burning stars and seagull’s flight -- clouds obscuring, though ne’r for long. All made seen by winds so strong. Waves crest high, forge valleys deep, time it is not yet to sleep. Brave lone man the wheel will hold, does not abandon to the fold of Neptune’s embrace what men he’s brought out to the Sea, so danger-wrought. Sun has long set, the night’s still long, hope seems to flee, all prayer wrong. Time, time again, destruction’s near, he knows, should it come, they’d disappear. Nigh passing mem’ry will remain of the passion that set their hearts aflame. “Fly on now, fly!” to ship he calls as e’r she falters but not yet falls. “Fly, use the wind, I pray of thee.” And then to Neptune “Here, take me.” He stands and offers, open heart, in sacrifice he can depart. If only he knows friends be safe he will go easy to his grave. He can hear calling, from far below, those demons born from inner sorrow, reminding, haunting, of deeds done wrong. They are the mocking sirens’ song. All night he battles. Early morn’, the planks are shattered, sails are torn. The sea, it calms, the winds die down, and from the galley with a frown, all men emerge, to sun so gold it’s far too bright as they behold the morning, beautiful to see. In pure miracle all walk free of death’s eternal cloying song -- except the one, for he is gone. And so it lifts, high in the air, a song of heart, for a man proud and fair. They raise their voices, a cry of the brave, carried back to where he fell. Wave after wave. In his concentration, scribbling, scratching out, trying and re-trying, Josh almost missed the time for Kurt’s swashbuckling adventure to begin. Only when he glanced up did he realize, in the sun’s motion across the sky, that noon was approaching far more quickly than he would have thought – that he had lost himself in his music as he was known to do around his family. He would set the lyrics to a tune later. For now, he rose to stand on the branch, wings fanning out behind him to help him balance, carefully folded the sheet of paper and placed it in his pocket. Then, he let himself drop forward, pushing off with his feet as he did so, wings flaring as they caught the updraft and allowed him to take flight instead of dropping like a rock. Tags: none, Josh is moving to the DR thread |
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2:13 PM Jul 11