the shoebox of photographs // jude; blitz

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d1f october rhapsody fray ❁
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the shoebox of photographs // jude; blitz Apr 22, 2013 4:49:06 GMT -5

Post by d1f october rhapsody fray ❁ on Apr 22, 2013 4:49:06 GMT -5

[presto]

nessie libertine
fifteen
district four

[/presto]

THE SEA MEETS THE LIGHT IN HIS SALT WATER EYES

When I was young, somebody gave Learna a string of fairylights that had been dropped off at the shop. I let myself in one night and found them in our bedroom, flickering and illuminating her sleeping face. I stared for a long moment, forgetting the time, forgetting that my sister had stolen my hair and my insanity and my title as youngest Libertine child. The lights were beautiful. Even then, I wasn't stupid enough to believe that real fairies resided inside the tiny orbs, beating their wings and trying with all their might to be the sun in our dreams. I was young enough, however, to tiptoe into Penelope's room and snatch the camera I had tucked below her bed for safekeeping. (It would be safe with her, I knew, for she was the Queen and she was strong and filled with her soul no matter what.)

I took the camera back to my bed and sat at it's foot, lifting the device over my head. It was cold in my hands, begging me to drop it and spill the dreams it had stolen. Instead, I pressed the button. A polaroid of the pulsing hearts dropped onto my lap. Smiling gladly, I returned the camera and climbed into bed to watch the sun rise. It wasn't fair that the lights had a soul when my baby sister did not. I killed them like they were nothing.

I think about this as I watch the ocean draw closer, breathing heavily. Perhaps I ought to snatch it from it's own wake, too, for good measure. It simply wont do to have the world filled with beautiful things with souls but no hearts, life without blood or lungs or a bed to go back to. As quickly as the urge enters my mind, it is gone. I'm not that foolish child anymore. Still afraid, still quite firmly crazy, still surely going to die in the same way as my sisters very, very soon. But older. The cave was my sanctuary, and then it wasn't. I ran away to the water a lot, once, but then I found a boy I had always known in my private haven and it lost it's safety. Now I simply run in circles, my outstretched hand dragging along the fence in the places the electricity is off. Sometimes. Tonight, I sit on a bench, waiting for the boy who stole that from me. I smile at the thought, surpress it, and then let myself.

Every now and again, I'm alive.

ICY PICTURES OF THE WATER ARE CAPTURED IN HIS FRAME

Last Edit: Jan 18, 2014 3:06:12 GMT -5 by d1f october rhapsody fray ❁

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the shoebox of photographs // jude; blitz Apr 29, 2013 3:14:35 GMT -5

Post by ✌ʕ•ᴥ•ʔ on Apr 29, 2013 3:14:35 GMT -5

He who
wishes to
wear the crown
must endure
it's weight.

It had been more than a few days since Jude had reared his gorgeous head of hair into Gaspard's consciousness. Of course, deep down, he knew that Gaspard was not real. Gaspard was Jude, Jude was Gaspard, and there was nothing ore to say about it. Yet, he couldn't help differentiating himself from a coward. Jude Ripley was the one who had caused the tightly wrapped bandages on his wrists. It certainly wasn't me. Of course, maybe Gaspard had egged him on a little, but that wasn't meant to be taken seriously. When Jude had spilled their ink across the confines of the coffin he had laid in, Gaspard hadn't expected it. I mean, I did a little. Despite what everyone thought, Jude had never been the most stable of gentlemen.

Of course, Gaspard had thought that the other guy was going to come back at some point. He never thought he'd have control of Jude for so long. He hadn't wasted the sudden freedom however. He had felt the ocean on his toes that first morning, when he had left out the window, leaving his remaining sibling in his wake. He hadn't felt an ounce of guilt. That was a Jude thing, not a me thing. Yet now, as he walked along the beach, he couldn't help thinking of the brother, if he was worried. Jude had been hospitalized only because of his slit wrists, yet they hadn't kept him under a heavy guard. I suppose they didn't figure him nuts, not after his brother being reaped. Idiots. Yet, if they had locked Jude away, all they would have found was Gaspard. That wouldn't have gone over well.

He had gotten a note from one Nessie Libertine earlier, her childish writing telling him to meet her at the bench. He knew this bench, of course he did. It was their Tuesday bench. Finding it was no problem. A nervousness grew in him however, at the idea of Nessie. She would know in two seconds it wasn't Jude. There was no ink staining his fingers, no brown paper bags in his back pocket. Gaspard was everything Jude was meant to be, what he had wanted to be. Calm, cool, collected. Sidling up to the bench however, he didn't feel so suave, not at all. Even when he was in control, Gaspard felt his heart run over at the sight of the back of her head. An easy grin tugging at his lips, he pulled his sleeves down to hide the bandages, and climbed over the back of the bench to sit beside her, closer than Jude would have.

"Nessie Libertine, as I live and breath," he drawled out, "What can I do yer for on this fine evening?"

Last Edit: Apr 29, 2013 3:16:14 GMT -5 by ✌ʕ•ᴥ•ʔ

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