elliot kennedy [d4] - fin

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- APPEARANCE -[/font][/color]

Sometimes they call me the wind , the very air that breathes through the trees and echoes in the empty hallways. Dark ghosts emerging to swallow you up in one miniscule gulp, after it, no one even remembers you anymore. And they look at me as though it is a compliment, as though they are telling me that I am adored, loved by all; admired for my lean body and mouse-like eyes that are always half-closed. Though I wish it were the case, I know that it will never be true, not one of my beautiful dreams that linger in my small head, under the mop of dark hair, mud-like locks, will ever come true. At least, that’s what I see when I look into the water at myself, a mud-covered boy, a lost boy, ( a small little water nymph confined to a maze, one with no end or beginning).


And I trail my hand against the right side of the wall, hoping one day to reach the way out, to flip my hair back and taste the rose-tinted air. I hope to open my mouth wide, exposing all of my crooked teeth and just scream; no longer will I stay quiet, trapped under the water, bubbles floating to the surface through my chapped lips. I will be standing on the land, my nimble legs shaking and eyes wild, breaking through the surface of insanity in just one stride of pure agony. That day will come, for now though I’m still just as silent as anyone can be, afraid to open my mouth for fear of drowning quicker.

It cannot be prevented, my eventual sinking to the bottom. I know this, and yet I try to stay afloat.

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- PERSONALITY -[/font][/color]

I can’t hold myself up any longer, limbs flailing uselessly along my sides, lungs screaming for air. I can’t support my weight which is now too much and threatens to sink me down to the bottom, carrying my life with it. I know that it would only be a matter of minutes, maybe seconds, and then I would be gone, lost in the endless pit of insanity called death.

[/i][/color]I have been told about it before, how fast it can go and how painless it is after a while. They tell me each detail, what happens after your lungs give out and collapse to the small beating of your dying heart. Each word is pressed into my mind with precision and severed enjoyment lingering onto the words left behind. I don’t want to die though; I don’t want to be pulled down to the ocean’s floor in pieces. I want to be alive, diving through the water like fish, never able to drown.

I wish I didn’t have to worry about getting up in time; I would stay under the waves forever if there were no consequences, no threats of lingering death in the corner, the fine-print of the contract which most people never look for,[/i] the words that no one ever bothers to read.

Wishes are not a thing of reality though, they only reside in our minds and deep into our human souls, contaminated with a thing called ‘life’. [/color]Sometimes it’s like the poison that makes its way through the ocean, infecting our dreams one-by-one until nothing is left of the purity that once resided there, absolutely none of it. We are turned to dust and our souls are gone, left in our place is a stiff puppet, cut from its strings, forced to walk on its own. [/i]It’s not easy; it’s never easy, being forced to support myself without limbs nor even a real head. I feel the stuffing inside of me balling up and pushing me down further, making it only harder to move forward at all.

Now I can only wait until the puppet master returns, until he remembers me and comes back to tie me up again, nice and strong. [/color]The problem is, if he got rid of me in the first place, why would he ever come back?[/i] What’s the point of saving a useless doll, frayed sleeves decorating its arms and dulled eyes where shining beads used to be. That doll is trash now, why would its master ever come back to reclaim it?

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- HISTORY -[/font][/color]

The ocean raised me well you see, it brought me up in the way of some of the most powerful monsters imaginable. The waves told me to stand and be a gentlemen,

[/i][/color]the conducted me in the way of manners and grace, to be the best boy I could be, at least that’s what they told me.

I wasn’t raised by water, I had a mum and a dad; their names were Anne and John, two very kind parents that I cared for very much, I loved them. All of my heart loved them, every part of my being wanted to hold them close to me. [/i]It’s what I should have done that night, I shouldn’t have told them to leave, I should have wrapped my chubby-kid hands around them and cried until they planted themselves in a chair and promised not to go away.

I didn’t do that though, and because of my willingness to let them leave that night, they died.

The ocean claimed their lives, demanded that they become a part of it, be swallowed by the flittering waves and white-crested arches of water. It told them to come and they listened to it, gave in without a fight. It was the next day their bodies washed up on shore [/color]– I’ll never forget the smile on my mum’s face -. It was like they wanted to leave me, they wished to abandon me and go off by themselves. They didn’t even have the decency to take me with them into the crossing over; they didn’t even consider my feelings as the ocean seduced them forward.

Even now it hurts, to know that their out there lost, gone at sea.

It doesn’t stop me from loving the water though, trying to embrace it and coming up with empty arms. I know that they’re out there, their souls roaming the water looking for me, looking for their grown son that they would be so proud of. I can hear their laughter and see the smiles as they will run up the sand and hug me, and mum will kiss me on the head just like when I was a little kid. She would tell me that it was going to be alright.

And I would believe her; I wouldn’t doubt her for one single moment.
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