82. The flip side

Oh how I hated you! You were arrogant and utterly careless. How could you throw a friendship away like that? Ironic that while I was called the moocher, you were truly the one that only took and took without giving. How I despised your character!

But when I step back and gaze upon happy pictures of your character, I cannot condemn you. How happy you look! You must certainly be in love is the conclusion one has to come to.

However, in the events of late, I only realize what you have lost. You lost that happy smile that you had with her. And on the flip side of things, I realize that the you I knew was only just a part of who you are. It may not even be the you that you are. Perhaps you finally grew up. I don't know. But on the flip side of things, I'm sorry for you, and I hope your life gets better.

25. Useless

Today it's cloudy, and it looks like rain. I woke up to find you gone from your bed to God knows where. I figured you were alright. I thought you were just off on your own.

But I should have known better.

A phone call pulled me into realization. There was nothing I could do, although I wished I could. Yes, I could help, but I could solve nothing. It wasn't my place nor my power. I was useless.

Useless am I whom can do nothing. Useless is the wish that I could control the sun. Useless is my effort to solve this. I can't do this.

I am an ear. I am an embrace. I am momentary comfort but not a fix. I do not mind being what I am. I want to be all that I am to help you, but I recognize that I will not cure you.

It's raining now.

26. The sweetest thing

"Oh, but what is it, Sellah?" The small kitchen boy sat up in his bed. His eyes were overly bright from the fever but had gotten brighter after listening to Sellah's stories. "Is it a giant confectionery? Is it a whole, giant bowl of pudding?"

"I couldn't tell you, Jaxom. I don't know myself." Sellah smiled at the boy's silly imagination.

"But you've got to know," he argued, "you're the smartest person here."

"And what makes you say that?"

"Because know one else knows what goes on outside this house. You're the only one who knows the stories. Everyone else just goes on about preparing for this engagement and that. You don't."

She chuckled. "Well, I wouldn't say that's so much of being smarter than a difference in interest. Now, would you like another story?"

"Yes," came the immediate reply, but then, despite himself, Jaxom yawned.

"Your mouth says one thing, but then contradicts itself." She ruffled his hair affectionately. "I should let you go to sleep." She began to tuck him in.

His eyes were already closed but he began to talk. "Sellah... wait."

"Yes, Jaxom?"

"I know what it is."

"What what is?"

"It's you. You're right it's not that you're smartest. You're sweetest. The sweetest thing that the knights fought the dragons for and the thing the wizard was seeking..." His words became mutters, which became snores.

Even though she knew he wouldn't hear her. She kissed his head and whispered softly, "And you are the sweetest for saying so."

58. “What makes you so special?”

Just what is it that makes you different? What is it that makes me think of your face more often? What is the feature that deigns your face as beautiful beyond compare?

I can't quite pinpoint the detail. There's just something there. It's intangible--an aura--a charisma. It can rarely, if ever, be captured in a photograph. It is the thing that so many artists strive to put to paper.

That--whatever it is--if it is not some ill contrived notion of my convoluted mind, is what brings my thoughts back to you.

But oh! That answer is not enough. Just what is it? What is it, my love, that makes you so special?

pokes psyrien's thread again! hi!! I am back to come drabble everywhere, and making a note again of where I have read to :) I apparently have missed reading your thread for two weeks too.....

@d2hiriyuu
Haha. Well, you haven't missed much. Just me rambling. I've been attempting to polish my style more, but it requires extricating myself from delving too deep into my drabbles. Writing loses effectiveness when it loses its generality. However, if it's too vague, no one gets what you're saying.

And so, I'm trying to find the happy medium between the two. I'll take a few things from life and reenvision, spice them up, tone them down, exaggerate, or downplay. It's really not just about me anymore.

Makes sense, I should porbably try that sometime, but half the time I am too emotional to deal with people's emotions other than self when writing. and you now have bats :)

78. Breathless

I catch your eye, and I feel as if I've been spinning in circles. The world goes topsy turvy from the lack of oxygen, and I'm overwhelmed. And just when it seems as if I can't take it all in, I blink, and the world rights itself.

But each breath after that is shallow and ragged, forever changed. I can't quite get over this feeling.

95. Bad timing

Turn left. Turn right. Glance the wrong way at the wrong time. We were never meant to be.

I was there at the fair, while you were. I was there at that same booth. We must have only been a few people apart, but I never saw you.

And every time I turn because I think I see your shadow in the corner of my eye, it is never you. Perhaps in my turning, I have missed the real you in favor of an illusion.

But oh, stranger, how I wish it wasn't so. Yet, I always seem to have bad timing when it comes to you.

91. Dark Horse

He's the one you never thought of. He's the one you barely spared a passing glance. A shame because if you had only taken a second, you would have seen the shine in his eyes.

You would have realized that it was him.

Instead you threw all of your love, all of your luck, onto the other. He was a prince--the favorite. Why, oh why, would he not win? He could not not win. He was too splendid, too magnificent--and that was his downfall.

Everyone expected the glorious favorite to perform well. It was satisfying to see him do their expectations justice. However, they expected no one to compare. Surely, there was no one a great as their favorite.

But there was. There was better.

It was an unconventionally splendid participant that threw them. He was darkly beautiful but in a subtle way. It took the second glance to see him truly.

And the audience watched. And the audience was mesmerized. And the audience fell in love.

In this way, so won the dark horse.

yeah!! loved psyrien's drabbles!! (is tainting her thread with my name......(probably should stop and read quietly.)

56. Touch

Touch the dusty puppet, and it will come alive. A finger smear through the wooden marionette's layer of age transforms the figure into a girl. Her eyes flicker open in confused wonder. The world is so big and so strange, yet it's real this time.

Her body awakens. A sharp breath catches as she's overwhelmed by new sensations. Sight. Sound. The smell of the old air. The strange phantom taste on her tongue.

And touch.

The feeling of the silk dress caressing her body. The way her shoes made a barrier against the floor. The thousands of tendrils flowing around her from the breeze. How the sensation multiplied when she rubbed her fingers together. How strange! How wondrous!

She caught site of herself in a mirror and stared in wonder. Something didn't seem quite right. Her perfectly formed fingers traced a shape left on her face--the smear of a finger through dust--the touch that awakened her. A smile played on her lips. This one, she thought, was her favorite from all things of waking up.

61. Wrong

I do not know what it is. There's a cottony feeling in my mouth. My skin is too dry, and the room is just over comfortably warm but not enough to complain of. I'm jittery even though I haven't had my coffee, and I feel as though I'm statically charged--about to get shocked when I next touch metal.

But it doesn't happen. It feels as if it should--as if something should. Whatever I do--if I sleep in, wake up early, do homework, do nothing, sit at my desk, lie in bed--that it is all inherently wrong; there is something else I should be doing.

The sense of wrongness prickles along the back of my neck, urging me to turn around when I know there's nothing there. It's a tenseness in my shoulders that I can't shake. Everything just feels wrong.

54. Musically Inclined

Those are the people that get me--the guy drumming his fingers in an irresistible beat--the girl that sings half a line and has me hooked. All it takes is just a glimmer, and I'm hooked.

I wouldn't quite say that I fall for them, although a very large silly part of me says what more do I need. I'd say that the silly part of me falls for them, while the logical side keeps me in check. It's the artist in me that falls in love with the art of them.

If I could surround myself with one type of people, it would be those. Music, I've learned, does wonders for the soul. If it's not around me, I go crazy. It soothes the savage beast in a different way.

These are the people I can't get away from. It's a special sort of charisma that works just for me. Start playing music, and I will be drawn in as inevitably as gravity.

I love these people--perhaps too much.

48. Old gods

Manek always muttered to herself like that. She'd slip off into trances or prayer-like things where she forgot who was in the room. Lots of people said that she did it to be snobbish. Something about reminding them about what she thought was right.

They say that this is the age of steel and technology. The old witch woman called Manek is out of place here. Manek laughs at them. She's not a witch, she says, far from it. She remembers things.

Manek told me a story about a snake named Destiny that ate itself. Manek let me play with an old jar with strange glyphs. She told me the stories behind all those glyphs like fairy tale bedtime stories.

Manek watched me when I was younger. My parents think it was a mistake, so she doesn't anymore. They say Manek is obsessed with old gods and it isn't good for me.

But I don't mind Manek. She makes me pancake cookies and lets me play in the sun. Maybe one day Manek will forget about those things people don't like her for, and I can come back.

51. Inexperienced

Marline is the most gorgeous girl I've ever met. She's got these amazing smoky eyes and wears this shiny candy bright lip gloss. Her body is like you wouldn't believe--curves proportioned sinfully well and not lacking in any extent. And Marline knows it. She doesn't cover up like some modest, blushing school girl. She flaunts it. Any other girl doing it would look like a hooker, but my girl's got class.

Well, she's not really my girl. I mean, she is in my head. Girls like her would never go for a guy like me. Her league has been around the block more times than once. She'd never be with me like that.

I can just picture the disaster. I'd kiss her and then blank out. I wouldn't know what to do with my hands or mouth. I'd just sort of gape at her like a fish and hope that she'd take the lead. Then maybe I'd magically know what to do after.

But that wouldn't happen. She'd stare at me in disgust and roll her eyes. She'd say I'm a waste of her time and leave. Marline is too good for people like me. I wouldn't be able to give her anything because I didn't know. Marline didn't notice worms, and she sure as hell wouldn't waste her breath teaching the inexperienced.

ahhck, need to keep up with your list....

59. Copycat

She was so colorless, so lost. She never knew what to do with her hands, her thoughts, but she knew she couldn't just stay still. People would think something was wrong. So quiet. So silent. Does she think she's too good for us? Is she shy? But she won't even respond.

So she must mimic. She'll follow their ways and copy their mannerisms. She won't stand out or be original, but she'll blend in. She has nothing within herself. She must hide this fact.

She's just a copycat.

70. Quality over quantity

I have never had many men, but with this one I shall contend. He excels above all others. He is good looking, rich, and possesses a secure future. He is kind to me and respects me.

But I do not love him. Yet, the quantity of his quality persuades me to nod and say, "Quality over quantity." It has always been my saying before. I loved many men, but they never loved me. Because of my saying, I have saved myself from throwing my life away a good many times.

This one loves me. That should be quality.

But I can't help thinking that he's just a different kind of quantity.

52. “Free as a bird and just as lonely…”

I have finally had the courage to leave you. I could finally let you go. I gathered enough strength to open the door and step out into the glorious day.

The sunshine was spectacular.

The day is bright and lovely. The wind plays in my hair, and the view is breathtaking. I feel as if I'm on top of the world. I feel as if I'm flying!

Each breath I take is sweet. The air is there for me to take at will. There is no one commanding me to live or die. No one is marking my every step. Here I am free from your possessive grasp. You cannot have me.

I should never long for that hold again because I am free. I am free as a bird...

And just as lonely.

poves the inexperienced one, knows many guys like that. (actuality dated some too).

12. Playing for keeps

"New game, love." He stares her down with those smoldering eyes of his. She's seen him stare before, but something is different now. There's a new twist to his expression.

"Reroll the dice," he whispers into her ear like an assassin or a lover. Unbidden, her breath hitches. Then there is the startling sensation of his cool fingers on her suddenly hot neck. She feels like she's going to jump out of her skin, while her skin betrays her by liking the touch.

She wordlessly tosses the dice. His eyes never leave hers, although hers are unfocused. She can hardly concentrate on the clatter of the dice. Her mind is deep in thought. Something was different about the playboy. If she didn't know better, she'd say he was getting serious.

He grins, and she swears she can hear it with his lips so close to her ear. She doesn't look at the number the dice settled on. She knows nothing about the game anyways.

He sweeps the dice from the table and moves away from her. As sudden as the proximity came, it dissipated. He tosses the dice in the air and catches it. He whistles a tune and turns to leave.

"Well?" She can't just let him leave like that.

He looks back at her. "I won my bet."

"And what were you playing for?" She needs to stall him from leaving. Just as his previous behavior was confusing, this new behavior was mystified as well.

But he doesn't answer. He just winks.

@dragon
Would you believe that your puppy was actually a conceptual inspiration for that one? xD

not well, wants a telling as to why/how... is curious. (actually reminds me of a sex game...)

@dragon
Well, there was one time--several times, actually--when you told me his ideal was that he wanted to be confessed to by you or kissed by you. He always imagined that you would take the first move, and I sort of took it from there.