So, my confession is that poetry is very difficult for me to write. My poems always have complicated rhyme schemes, because it's the only way I feel like I can put together anything of true poetic quality. Also, I'm long-winded. I love complex sentences and multi-adjective descriptions. Poems don't exactly work like that. Or at least not good ones when I try it.
I'm a writer through and through. A verbose writer. And so I bring you an excerpt from a novella I've been working on. It is a piece I'm proud of, simply because I like the potency of emotion. [Warning: this is from the end of the story. It's sad, but I do sad better than anything else. Also - it has not yet been edited by my grammar fiend and I'm horrible at comma placement.]
Thank you for letting me share this with you.
EPIDEMIC
Ethan appeared in the doorway looking impossibly paler than normal. His prominent cheekbones were particularly ashen, though his entire face was tinged with an unhealthy shade of grey. His lips pressed into a thin, weak smile and his eyelids drooped, heavy with fatigue. I could tell by the way his body slouched ungracefully and his knuckles blanched that he was gripping the doorframe to support his weight.
I knew what was about to happen only a split second before it did, though that infinitesimal segment of time felt stretched out like the body of an accordion. Ethan's knees buckled, but I was already lunging towards him with my feeble arms extended out. Even when my limbs found their way around his torso, there was nothing for me to do but sink down to the floor with him.
His eyes were apologetic as he clung to me, both of us sitting on the cool kitchen linoleum, his upper body resting across my lap. I pulled him closer, crushing him into my chest. I could feel my lungs constricting as panic threatened to overtake me and I forced myself to gulp in air while I gently rocked Ethan forwards and backwards.
I was only able to overcome my own sense of impending grief when I felt my thin tee-shirt press against my skin, cool and wet. I leaned back to get a better view of the man in my arms and was horror-stricken to see him staring back up at me through moist lashes, his bottom lip quivering ever so slightly.
“No,” I hissed, shaking my head vehemently from side to side. “Don’t you do this. Don’t do this to me.”
I wished I could stop the selfish pleas from springing free, but my mouth was moving on its own accord. I knew I wasn’t making things any easier for either of us and I hated myself for it.
Everything he had ever done from the very moment I’d met him had been for me. Every word and every action had been for my benefit and well-being. He had made the ultimate sacrifice, and, guilty as it made me feel, I couldn’t stop begging him for more.
His body shuddered against mine and as I studied his pained face, two tiny water droplets dripped down onto his forehead. I brought a hand absently to my cheek and brushed away tears I didn’t realize I was crying.
“It’s okay,” I whispered, leaning my head down against his. “It’s okay.”
It wasn’t. The entire situation epitomized the very farthest thing from ‘okay’. This was unfair and cruel and heartbreaking and I was pretty damn sure if Ethan left me, here and now like this, I would never be ‘okay’ again; not even close.
Life, however, was fickle and it sought to test this theory, yet again.
The last words he spoke were not profound or particularly poetic. The simple three parting words he chose were not the traditional ones that spring to mind. There were no promises or declarations of love. There didn’t need to be. Our love and our promises and the poetry of our circumstance were palpable without words. Syllables could do nothing but cheapen the things we felt and the things we’d done.
Adrenaline coursed through my veins, heightening my senses in such a profound way that I could physically feel the weakening of his heart with each labored beat. His breathing was getting shallow and his chest was rising and falling less frequently. He swallowed slowly and closed his eyes, forever hiding those striking moss-green irises I’d lost myself in so many times before. I felt my fingers instinctively fist his soft bronze hair, praying that the tighter I held on, the tighter he could.
His lips parted:
“You’re My Girl.”
And as my body and my life split wide open the single thin string of consolation keeping me tied to consciousness was the fact that I was his girl. And he had always known it.
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
Heartfail. Sorry. Perhaps I'll post a fun happy excerpt if I find one I'm confident in. (:
I'm a writer through and through. A verbose writer. And so I bring you an excerpt from a novella I've been working on. It is a piece I'm proud of, simply because I like the potency of emotion. [Warning: this is from the end of the story. It's sad, but I do sad better than anything else. Also - it has not yet been edited by my grammar fiend and I'm horrible at comma placement.]
Thank you for letting me share this with you.
EPIDEMIC
Ethan appeared in the doorway looking impossibly paler than normal. His prominent cheekbones were particularly ashen, though his entire face was tinged with an unhealthy shade of grey. His lips pressed into a thin, weak smile and his eyelids drooped, heavy with fatigue. I could tell by the way his body slouched ungracefully and his knuckles blanched that he was gripping the doorframe to support his weight.
I knew what was about to happen only a split second before it did, though that infinitesimal segment of time felt stretched out like the body of an accordion. Ethan's knees buckled, but I was already lunging towards him with my feeble arms extended out. Even when my limbs found their way around his torso, there was nothing for me to do but sink down to the floor with him.
His eyes were apologetic as he clung to me, both of us sitting on the cool kitchen linoleum, his upper body resting across my lap. I pulled him closer, crushing him into my chest. I could feel my lungs constricting as panic threatened to overtake me and I forced myself to gulp in air while I gently rocked Ethan forwards and backwards.
I was only able to overcome my own sense of impending grief when I felt my thin tee-shirt press against my skin, cool and wet. I leaned back to get a better view of the man in my arms and was horror-stricken to see him staring back up at me through moist lashes, his bottom lip quivering ever so slightly.
“No,” I hissed, shaking my head vehemently from side to side. “Don’t you do this. Don’t do this to me.”
I wished I could stop the selfish pleas from springing free, but my mouth was moving on its own accord. I knew I wasn’t making things any easier for either of us and I hated myself for it.
Everything he had ever done from the very moment I’d met him had been for me. Every word and every action had been for my benefit and well-being. He had made the ultimate sacrifice, and, guilty as it made me feel, I couldn’t stop begging him for more.
His body shuddered against mine and as I studied his pained face, two tiny water droplets dripped down onto his forehead. I brought a hand absently to my cheek and brushed away tears I didn’t realize I was crying.
“It’s okay,” I whispered, leaning my head down against his. “It’s okay.”
It wasn’t. The entire situation epitomized the very farthest thing from ‘okay’. This was unfair and cruel and heartbreaking and I was pretty damn sure if Ethan left me, here and now like this, I would never be ‘okay’ again; not even close.
Life, however, was fickle and it sought to test this theory, yet again.
The last words he spoke were not profound or particularly poetic. The simple three parting words he chose were not the traditional ones that spring to mind. There were no promises or declarations of love. There didn’t need to be. Our love and our promises and the poetry of our circumstance were palpable without words. Syllables could do nothing but cheapen the things we felt and the things we’d done.
Adrenaline coursed through my veins, heightening my senses in such a profound way that I could physically feel the weakening of his heart with each labored beat. His breathing was getting shallow and his chest was rising and falling less frequently. He swallowed slowly and closed his eyes, forever hiding those striking moss-green irises I’d lost myself in so many times before. I felt my fingers instinctively fist his soft bronze hair, praying that the tighter I held on, the tighter he could.
His lips parted:
“You’re My Girl.”
And as my body and my life split wide open the single thin string of consolation keeping me tied to consciousness was the fact that I was his girl. And he had always known it.
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
Heartfail. Sorry. Perhaps I'll post a fun happy excerpt if I find one I'm confident in. (:
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