Dear John
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MISERY LOVES COMPANY
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Post by Dear John on Apr 14, 2010 15:51:01 GMT -5
find me in that place WHERE EAST AND WEST MEET; In that Frozen Land ••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••• True it was that love was a powerful emotion. Much like gravity it would send even the strongest to their knees eventually, and yet the aftereffect is what most never think about. Caught up in the overwhelming, fluttery sensation of this infatuation, many typically lose sight of the ending. False be it that a happy ending always comes with love, for love is as fickle as fate. You can meet that true one, or you can fall head over heels for someone either incapable of returning such feelings or one horrible enough to string you along until the day that you are no longer of any use. Nothing more than a play thing, either way, you are tossed from one feeling to the next in a desperate effort to conjure up either the courage to tell of the strength to break away, but love is almost always stronger. It leaves holes in your heart that ache with every sigh of relief after a long, hard day. The memories that flutter around those empty spaces of your mind keep surfacing, rearing their ugly faces at the least appreciated times. Love is nothing more than a hassle, and therefore should be crushed before it ever arrives. Vanquish the ability to be thrown around like a doll, and cut the rope that ties you to that wretched emotion.
Why such a pessimistic way of viewing something so passionate? Unlike the other considered it's equal- hate- love is what brings many together. It is the bond between mother and son, husband and wife, and even friend and friend. It can end wars, while hate is what starts them. Love is certainly no trigger for bad events. Hate is always following close behind, waiting for the perfect moment to strike. Humans, being creatures in search of perfection, simply prefer to blame everything on the emotion that leaves us most vulnerable.
"Vulnerable," the youth repeated, his dazzling red eyes scoping out the blossoming fields before him. The grass tickled the tips of his fingers, ungloved for the first time in a long time. It was so much more warm here, even the air was like a blanket wrapping around him. Ever since he had arrived, he had been shedding clothing off piece by piece. His jacket, his gloves, his shirt, even his shoes. He walked about with bare feet, the dirt beneath them bringing a pleasant cool relief from the unfamiliar weather. It would certainly take time to get used to, but he would eventually be back in his original attire. There was nothing that could keep him from his original design. No, he would never change.
Perhaps it was a fear to? The thought that even a change of attire would at some point lead to a change of attitude. This was something that he could not allow. He was Dear John... No, not even that. He was not some letter to be passed about. He had no time for the tears of joy or sorry at the missing presence of a loved one. It was sickening in a way. He wasn't human to them, so why put in the effort to feel the same things that they did?
He ran a hand through the white, blue-tinted locks of hair. He would need to cut it soon, he thought to himself. It was getting longer by the day, not that he enjoyed it being short. He had a specific desired length and it would always remain there if he had any say, whether a barber did it or he did it himself.
He looked down at the flowers beneath him... Or, rather, reaching roughly to his thighs. They were beautiful, but in his eyes they were only a sore on the earth. Useless. They were as good as he was: something to be passed about from lover to lover, only these died so much more easily. They were more fragile, unable to work up a better defense than thorns. It was a pity, but not to him. He could care less for the broken petals as he heightened his steps, looking much like a fool as he marched through the field in a childish attempt to crush as many of the flowers as he could manage under every step.
Then he settled, exhausted, by a tree in the middle of the open space. The shade was a comfort from the sun, and he dropped his items to his side and allowed himself the pleasure of slowly sitting down beneath it. He was hidden in the tall blades, save for the fact that his snow-like hair paled in comparison to the brilliant array of colors amongst the flowers. Like a red dot on the map, only he was the dull one here.
He closed his eyes, promising only a moment of rest, before his consciousness drifted away into a light sleep. It was a foolish thing to do; letting one's guard down... But such was love, wasn't it? No matter what form.
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Post by Veata Chea on Apr 15, 2010 9:33:29 GMT -5
Light laughter, childish and bright, danced on the wind’s gentle caress. Against the hues of the flowers a small form darted through, dark hair and eyes drawing the attention of any who were there in the plain immediately towards it. Most would have been puzzled to find a person in this land, barren of anything but unusual flowers and the occasional tree. It was an empty place that thrived of life but not the type of life that a human would enjoy accompanying themselves in. By nature humans craved the contact of other humans, they thrived on this contact whether it was healthy for them or not. Instinct drove people together regardless of past hurts and scars. To isolate one’s self from the others of a same species was an unusual thing and often an attempt thwarted or failed. To isolate one’s self in a place barren of any type of human life, a place where unfamiliar things reigned supreme, was to riot against one’s own nature. Nothing about this land was familiar, nothing about this land was known to the human’s instinct of seeking out the familiar. It repulsed and frightened away most but a few adventurous few who, even then, eventually returned back home. What was to be done then when the unknown could not drive away? What was to be done then when one young human drove away from the natural instinct to immerse herself among civilization and the comfort of others humans in favor of letting herself fall into isolation?
Was it so strange a thing really? Veata’s gaze lifted up towards the sky, taking in the impossible blue color with eager eyes. It was a color that she had craved for and thrived on in her childhood spent among only the earthly dull colors of a refugee camp. Nothing like the faded greens of the small tents they were forced into, nothing like the ravaged browns of a soldier’s boot all too often to be found against the flesh of another, nothing like the dark red that spilled forward not in small quantities but in masses of people at a time. They say that the sky is a liar, that it shines blue even when the world seems to be falling into pieces, but it was a lie that her young mind had held onto through the years spent in refugee camp with humans. So many years spent with filthy humans too weak to stand above the others and protect their own hearts but too strong to fade away easily into death. The instinct that drove one to find the comfort with those of their own species had died down in the female into a small flickering flame. Too many deaths and too much pain had forced Veata into the only way of life that she understood; let a few into the heart, hold many at arm’s length, drive off the weaker. And when it came time, let those few go and move along. It was a vicious cycle where the only way out seemed death or the loss of sanity.
That’s what drove her to this place, honestly. Neither of the options were at all appealing to her fierce nature so reconciliation had to be found elsewhere and what better place to find it than a place that had escaped from the touch of any type of human society or thought? Those that the female loved she kept close but there were times when she had to detach herself from all of it and hide away in a place that not even her own nature could bother her. Despite everything that Veata had done, all the shields she had thrown up around her heart, there were times when she felt it bleeding so much and aching for more than just the few people that she allowed in that it drove her almost insane. In this place though that thrived of not human life but the life of the Earth she found solace and escape for there were no worries here.
It seemed that there would be no rest or break from the human world though as a flickering white caught the female’s eyes. Natural curiosity took over out of habit, a slight tilt coming to her heart-shaped face as she approached the strange colors out of place in this flowered plain. In this land of foreigners there had been nothing but those of lighter hair and eyes than her own but never before had there ever been anyone with white hair. It didn’t process quite right in her mind as her small steps danced forward with only the smallest noise. Dark brown eyes took on a brighter glint of interest, taking in the strong features of a male that she had never seen before in this place that she had thought her own.
Loose locks of hair that Veata had mistaken as white from a distance took on a bluish tinge to silver. Slender fingers, larger than her own but more fragile than the rough hands of other males, were resting comfortably against his slim build. He had a strong face with sharp cheeks yet something about it seemed like…like it hadn’t lost some childishness from younger years. Was it the way that he slept with his head resting on the hard wood of a tree and slumped slightly against his shoulders? So unlike the males that seemed to run about this place, they were full of hardened muscles and a sort of weariness that held their shoulders down despite their prideful strides. This one seemed so frail in his sleeping state. The gentleness that seemed to surround his sleeping form aroused an instinct within the Oriental, an instinct to protect and hide him away from this world as if he were her own.
Without understanding her own actions, Veata knelt down next to the male and gave a gentle tug to the end of his shirt, a look of mild concern pressed at her soft features. This strange male seemed to be asleep but in this strange place there was no telling what may come across him at a given moment. It was another part of her nature that she didn’t often admit to openly, the nature of her own compassion. She could throw up as many shields about her heart as she would like but it would not drive away the instinct to love that was embedded there already from a sweetened childhood and a doting family. Her compassion had been taught out to reach out to others from an early age and there was no driving something like that away.
“Mister?” Her voice pressed out in a gentle whisper with another small tug to the male’s sleeve. “You really shouldn’t be sleeping out here in the open like this…Please wake up…”
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Post by Ivanka von Kraginskaya on Apr 16, 2010 22:53:25 GMT -5
Ivanka had just come across a plain after barely escaping another group when she swindled some money out of them. She had tried to lose them in the marketplace though, the plan didn't work out well, even though she was on the rooftops. Though, after running through a small forest and seemingly to have lost a few of them, Ivanka had come across a field with tall grass and flowers gently touched her fingertips. The air here was different from the town. It was more pure and very clean. She hadn't smelled something like this in a long time. As she walked, she felt the petals brush against her finger tips; the small breeze brushed gently across her face. Noticing two figures from afar, Ivanka cautiously approached them.
Upon presenting herself to the two, an oriental girl and a pale white boy who seemed to be asleep, Ivanka was sorta wondering what they were doing all alone in the plains. It seemed as if the girl was trying to wake the young boy up. "If you want to wake him up, do it like this!" Ivanka smiled to the oriental girl once she had a big idea into her head. Grabbing a small stick from the surroundings, and started to poke the young boy's cheek with it. She had noticed that the young boy had white hair. Was it starting to become a craze already?? Maybe she should find an alchemist to turn her hair white.
POKE!
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Dear John
New Member
Ranger
MISERY LOVES COMPANY
Posts: 4
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Post by Dear John on Apr 16, 2010 23:58:53 GMT -5
where the nothing grows THERE YOU WILL FIND ME; In that Frozen Land ••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••• Dream, little boy. Let the reality fade. Think nothing of the fact that though life has no true ending, every dream does. Forget that this world of bliss isn't everlasting, not that anything good ever is. This is the dreamland, haunted only by nightmares. Though true it is that these creatures of the mind, often suppressed for the sake of sanity, are horrible, there is nothing that can compare to the pain of the weight when that nightmare is over and you once again enter that real world. A nightmare also has an ending, eventually, whether you live or die in it. Like reality, sorrow cannot save you. There is no last drop joy to squeeze from the vicious mind of one's own unconscious. It is you versus yourself, but at least you know exactly whom to blame.
The warmth cradled him like no one ever had before. Such a difference from home, where the wind blew spite and the fire shied from sight. The only warmth was of that certain emotion; the one he so desperately hated. If it felt like this, then... No, he would never know how different life would have been. He would never know where he would be now if fate had dealt him a better hand. He would have to cheat to survive in this world. He would have to hate, or he would have to die.
Either way, perhaps what the elders of home said was going to come true: he was a strong boy. He survived the cold without, but would one day die from the cold within. It was a bitter end already handed to him, which only made him more angry that others could decide this before he ever had the chance to see it through. Besides: it was better to die from within. At the very least, he could say that he was nothing like his parents.
A soft noise seemed to caress his ears. It wasn't the wind. It wasn't the grass brushing against his clothes. No, there was a distinct chime to it. A human tone, if you will. Something very alive about it, yet he couldn't bring himself to answer it. He was too tired. He didn't want to--
Another... And then an irritating prodding to his face. This he could feel. He was very much awake, not, a hand flying up to grasp the small twig hard enough to snap it, though this wouldn't have taken much, anyway.
"What the hell do you want?" he glared up at the accused, quickly noticing the flat chest and short hair and thinking it was a male before realizing it was a woman. Worse: two of them. He glared equally at the other one, noting that she was still, at least, a little more pleasing to the eyes.
But either way, they were both disturbing his sleep.
"You know you shouldn't wake a sleeping bear. That is common sense," he practically growled through gritted teeth, "Why wake a sleeping man, then?"
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Post by Veata Chea on Apr 20, 2010 19:59:08 GMT -5
Veata gave a small jump at the sudden voice, dark brown eyes flickering uneasily to take in the stranger’s form. She had not been expecting for anybody else of the human species to be wandering this place, not so far from civilization and the comforts of many individuals brought together into one area. It was…unnatural in most cases such as her own and perhaps even this male. The only time that finding a person out here was considered normal was when they were a fugitive or a bandit looking to make quick money out of wanderers. Just that thought alone was enough to put the young Oriental on guard as she took in the…female with wary eyes. There wasn’t a friendly gait to her walk like there had been with Lovino nor was there a childish innocence to her features like this young man had. To put it simply, Veata didn’t trust this woman at all…which was not helped with the fact that she had taken a stick up to start poking at the sleeping man’s face.
“I don’t think that’s exactly the appropriate way to go about waking a person either, Miss.” Her words went unnoticed though and a slight expression of annoyance came to her young features. For starters, Veata did not like being ignored so easily and for another, she did not like rude people either and people who took up sticks to poke others in the face were rude as far as she was concerned. This really was such a strange land that Veata had brought herself into where people woke others by poking them with sticks and the such…Perhaps she’d as Lovino about it when she when back home today.
A sharp gasp was torn from her lips, quickly replacing her reprimanding glare as dark brown eyes flitted over to meet dark red. He was clearly irritated, which only proved Veata’s view that people should not be awakened with poking sticks, and his glare sent a slightly noticeable shiver down her spine. For a moment, one terrible moment, she was reminded of the soldiers that had surrounded their refugee camp years ago. It was only the firm knowledge that none had ever looked like this male that pushed the instinctive panic into a dark corner of her mind.
Playing for forgiveness, an apologetic smile came across her lips. “This isn’t exactly the safest place for a sleeping man to lie down in lest he find that he never wakes again.” Her banter was soft with just the slightest bit of playfulness as she shifted onto her knees, hands folded politely in her lap before her childness got the best of her and she pointed a finger over her shoulder at the other female that was the cause of all this. “She was also the idiot that decided it would be safe to poke you awake with a stick. Is that a normal thing to do in this land?”
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