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Literature Text
She lies there, a violet amidst the violets, completely helpless, crumpled on the floor in a tangled heap of iridescent curls and pale green silk.
I want to scream, but I cannot. I want to cry, but I cannot. I want to run to her and comfort her and hug her and tell her everything will be all right in the morning. I want to take her by the shoulders and shake her and wake her from this nightmare, but I cannot. I can only lie there in silence, waiting, trapped in a silent scream, unable to do anything, unable to stop her from herself.
At long last, she stirs, whimpering softly, guided back to the world by the softly sweet scent of the violets. Her grip on the dagger loosens for a brief moment before tightening again. She grits her teeth in pain, a small, pained scream escaping from her pale, bloody lips as I struggle to stay in control of myself. With a great effort, she finally manages to force herself slowly to her feet.
She crumples again.
Waves of white-hot pain shoot through her body. She winces and begins to moan softly, her body wracked with pain.
Something twists within me. I hear the sickening sound of tendons snapping and I want to throw up, to scream, to cry, but I can't make a single sound. I want to turn away and cry, but I can't even move. I cannot bear to watch, but I have no choice. I cannot look away; my eyes are locked on hers. I watch helplessly as the blinding terror grips her.
The moon is beautiful tonight, but I can't see it. Try as I might, I cannot force her to lift her grief-stricken eyes skyward. In the hazy darkness that prevails, I am blind. Glowing squiggles and bright, painfully fluorescent lights of all shapes, colors, and sizes dance in circles around me. They're laughing at me now, smirking at my weakness, my inability to do anything to free myself from this nightmare. They're laughing at how helpless I am, trapped here in my own mind, lying on the ground, unable to even move. They laugh hysterically as I struggle for control, try to force myself to breathe slowly, in and out, in and out, in and out, in and out, try to calm myself, anything to stop myself from slipping away into the black, deadly darkness of unconsciousness.
She grips the dagger so tightly that blood begins to drip from her palm, staining the soft layers of pale green silk. The dagger's coldness kisses her even as blood mingles with ice, drawing her slowly into its sinister embrace.
Fight it! I want to cry. Don't let it take you!
But my silent cries go unheard, drowned out by the hysterical laughter of the rapidly growing Shapes. They laugh and laugh and laugh, thoroughly amused at the magnitude of my horror. Their chaotic howls ring louder and louder in my ears, swelling into a massive chorus of laughter so great my ears are ready to burst. The pain is growing raw now; hotter, stronger, swifter. I don't want to let go, but I can't hold any longer. I was never strong.
She convulses once more as the pain wrests the last vestiges of control from my grasp. It overwhelms me, sinking burning hot fingers deep into my soul, caressing every last crevice of my mind with its blinding darkness, shrouding me once again in an inescapable cloud of darkness, binding me once again into forced surrender.
When you disregard the nightmarish pain, submission is almost beautifully liberating.
I want to scream, but I cannot. I want to cry, but I cannot. I want to run to her and comfort her and hug her and tell her everything will be all right in the morning. I want to take her by the shoulders and shake her and wake her from this nightmare, but I cannot. I can only lie there in silence, waiting, trapped in a silent scream, unable to do anything, unable to stop her from herself.
At long last, she stirs, whimpering softly, guided back to the world by the softly sweet scent of the violets. Her grip on the dagger loosens for a brief moment before tightening again. She grits her teeth in pain, a small, pained scream escaping from her pale, bloody lips as I struggle to stay in control of myself. With a great effort, she finally manages to force herself slowly to her feet.
She crumples again.
Waves of white-hot pain shoot through her body. She winces and begins to moan softly, her body wracked with pain.
Something twists within me. I hear the sickening sound of tendons snapping and I want to throw up, to scream, to cry, but I can't make a single sound. I want to turn away and cry, but I can't even move. I cannot bear to watch, but I have no choice. I cannot look away; my eyes are locked on hers. I watch helplessly as the blinding terror grips her.
The moon is beautiful tonight, but I can't see it. Try as I might, I cannot force her to lift her grief-stricken eyes skyward. In the hazy darkness that prevails, I am blind. Glowing squiggles and bright, painfully fluorescent lights of all shapes, colors, and sizes dance in circles around me. They're laughing at me now, smirking at my weakness, my inability to do anything to free myself from this nightmare. They're laughing at how helpless I am, trapped here in my own mind, lying on the ground, unable to even move. They laugh hysterically as I struggle for control, try to force myself to breathe slowly, in and out, in and out, in and out, in and out, try to calm myself, anything to stop myself from slipping away into the black, deadly darkness of unconsciousness.
She grips the dagger so tightly that blood begins to drip from her palm, staining the soft layers of pale green silk. The dagger's coldness kisses her even as blood mingles with ice, drawing her slowly into its sinister embrace.
Fight it! I want to cry. Don't let it take you!
But my silent cries go unheard, drowned out by the hysterical laughter of the rapidly growing Shapes. They laugh and laugh and laugh, thoroughly amused at the magnitude of my horror. Their chaotic howls ring louder and louder in my ears, swelling into a massive chorus of laughter so great my ears are ready to burst. The pain is growing raw now; hotter, stronger, swifter. I don't want to let go, but I can't hold any longer. I was never strong.
She convulses once more as the pain wrests the last vestiges of control from my grasp. It overwhelms me, sinking burning hot fingers deep into my soul, caressing every last crevice of my mind with its blinding darkness, shrouding me once again in an inescapable cloud of darkness, binding me once again into forced surrender.
When you disregard the nightmarish pain, submission is almost beautifully liberating.
Yuna, tragically, has lost herself. Evidence of her rapidly fading mind is tangled throughout her frail, twisted body; her tortured, strangely bright emerald-esque eyes and oddly delicate waist-length corkscrew curls reflecting the horrific convolution of her very soul.
This is the story of a little girl who once had tremendous hopes and dreams for her future. A little girl with strong beliefs and values who would one day sacrifice and compromise what she stood for so that she could make those dreams come true. A little girl who wanted so desperately to grow up. A little girl with all her beautiful childhood dreams dashed in less than two short years after she'd set out on them, everything she'd ever believed and treasured and held dear taken from her along with each tragedy. A little girl who let go of her control over the pain in an attempt to salvage what was left of her life. A little girl who tried - and failed - to let go of the memories that caused her pain. A hurriedly grown-up little girl, trapped within her own body in a horrendous nightmare, sealed within to escape the pain - only to find worse there - with no means of escape. A little girl straining to hold onto what is left, her grip on reality weakening with each passing day...
She was born in a field of violets, hair shimmering like the vivid colors of spring, eyes shining like pools of liquid emeralds. Lovingly nurtured from birth with drops of dew and nectar, and sheltered from the wind, snow, and rain by her loving parents, she grew to be a lovely, bouncy, and vivacious child who delighted in basking in the golden sunlight. Even when she was young, her parents recognized her unusual passion, intelligence, and beauty. They noted the grace with which she handled the magic in the meadow. And in their hearts, they knew that because of it, she would one day leave the meadow to seek her greater destiny.
With each new summer she grew more beautiful and graceful as her parents happily looked on. With each new summer she was fed more nectar and dew drops until she reached the grand old age of twelve - the age at which she was, at long last, officially recognized in the family clan as Yuna, a young woman of spirit and beauty.
As dusk fell on the day of her twelfth birthday, her great-grandmother, the head of the clan and Shaper of Memory, called the entire clan around the hearth and began to shape the tale of her birth. She told of the hard rain that had fallen for days before, and how, just as Yuna was born, the rain-clouds parted and the evening stars began to shine, bathing the meadow in a soft, ethereal glow so like the iridescent waves of Yuna's hair. She enchanted her audience with her song of the memory of how the calm fell upon the meadow as the clan gathered to celebrate her birth. Her lilting voice sang of Yuna's Naming, and how it was decided that she would be named Yuna because of the evening calm that her birth brought upon the meadow.
Then they began to chant her name, softly at first, then louder and louder and louder until their voices began to swell and burst forth in song. When they quieted down again, the Shaper told of how you had grown up. It seemed to Yuna that every minute of her life had been recorded for this very moment, and indeed, it had. Her first word, the day she first flew, every little song she sang, every twirl and bounce of her light-hearted dances... it was all relived in a single night: the celebration of Yuna's life.
It was then that she realized that her destiny lay beyond the meadow. It was then she finally knew, deep inside, that she was made for something more than just a quiet life with her parents, despite her extravagant love for them. And so, she decided to leave all she knew behind to seek out knowledge about the world beyond her quiet meadow – and knowledge about herself and what she was meant to do in this world. Sadly, she dug too deep...
This is the story of a little girl who must now forever stand alone.
This is the story of a little girl who once had tremendous hopes and dreams for her future. A little girl with strong beliefs and values who would one day sacrifice and compromise what she stood for so that she could make those dreams come true. A little girl who wanted so desperately to grow up. A little girl with all her beautiful childhood dreams dashed in less than two short years after she'd set out on them, everything she'd ever believed and treasured and held dear taken from her along with each tragedy. A little girl who let go of her control over the pain in an attempt to salvage what was left of her life. A little girl who tried - and failed - to let go of the memories that caused her pain. A hurriedly grown-up little girl, trapped within her own body in a horrendous nightmare, sealed within to escape the pain - only to find worse there - with no means of escape. A little girl straining to hold onto what is left, her grip on reality weakening with each passing day...
She was born in a field of violets, hair shimmering like the vivid colors of spring, eyes shining like pools of liquid emeralds. Lovingly nurtured from birth with drops of dew and nectar, and sheltered from the wind, snow, and rain by her loving parents, she grew to be a lovely, bouncy, and vivacious child who delighted in basking in the golden sunlight. Even when she was young, her parents recognized her unusual passion, intelligence, and beauty. They noted the grace with which she handled the magic in the meadow. And in their hearts, they knew that because of it, she would one day leave the meadow to seek her greater destiny.
With each new summer she grew more beautiful and graceful as her parents happily looked on. With each new summer she was fed more nectar and dew drops until she reached the grand old age of twelve - the age at which she was, at long last, officially recognized in the family clan as Yuna, a young woman of spirit and beauty.
As dusk fell on the day of her twelfth birthday, her great-grandmother, the head of the clan and Shaper of Memory, called the entire clan around the hearth and began to shape the tale of her birth. She told of the hard rain that had fallen for days before, and how, just as Yuna was born, the rain-clouds parted and the evening stars began to shine, bathing the meadow in a soft, ethereal glow so like the iridescent waves of Yuna's hair. She enchanted her audience with her song of the memory of how the calm fell upon the meadow as the clan gathered to celebrate her birth. Her lilting voice sang of Yuna's Naming, and how it was decided that she would be named Yuna because of the evening calm that her birth brought upon the meadow.
Then they began to chant her name, softly at first, then louder and louder and louder until their voices began to swell and burst forth in song. When they quieted down again, the Shaper told of how you had grown up. It seemed to Yuna that every minute of her life had been recorded for this very moment, and indeed, it had. Her first word, the day she first flew, every little song she sang, every twirl and bounce of her light-hearted dances... it was all relived in a single night: the celebration of Yuna's life.
It was then that she realized that her destiny lay beyond the meadow. It was then she finally knew, deep inside, that she was made for something more than just a quiet life with her parents, despite her extravagant love for them. And so, she decided to leave all she knew behind to seek out knowledge about the world beyond her quiet meadow – and knowledge about herself and what she was meant to do in this world. Sadly, she dug too deep...
This is the story of a little girl who must now forever stand alone.
© 2005 - 2024 prissi
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