Social Causality {Rave}

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Social Causality {Rave} Jun 24, 2014 23:17:53 GMT -5

Post by Deleted on Jun 24, 2014 23:17:53 GMT -5

The stars of the night shone upon us like beacons of light, casting their energy in streams of white that streaked across our faces, highlighting the simple features that we finally had the bravery to stare at. You see, I had known Aceline for quite a while, but I had never had the courage to stare right into her eyes, watching each and every detail and wishing that I knew how to even begin to describe them. However, I would never get it right, so I only murmur out a simple, “Wow, you’re beautiful.” The urge to whisper the words into the grass underneath us overtakes most of my thoughts, but I force my eyes to stay level with hers, hazel meeting the richest brown as we sit, side by side, in the moonlight that’s washed over the entirety of the district and wrapped itself about us like a blanket, entwined legs tying the finish as we hold tight to the sewn seams, attempting to stitch this night together and never let it pass.

Each passing second is the precedent to the next, for she says nothing in return, the consistent inhalation and exhalation of breath letting me know that she’s listening. She doesn’t find the need to say anything in response, and it’s then that I realize that the reason that I’ve clung so heavily to this girl is that her thoughts are never expressed in the manner in which I despise. She hasn’t flung words at me like bullets in the way my mother and father and everyone have, and that’s louder than anything she could ever say. So when my words dissipate into the air around us, I don’t mind. I simply sit and resituate myself on the grass, letting my hand fall to my side as we stare blankly at the stars, looking for heaven knows what. But maybe we weren’t looking for something. Maybe we were simply caught up in the presence of each other, our differences and unspoken words collecting themselves in a jar that we were eager to lock away, throwing the key out in the process.

We were simply caught up in the silence that spoke louder than any shout ever could.

Our voyage to ten had been nothing short of interesting, and if I took anything away from the adventure, it was that three wasn’t as bad as I had previously thought it to be. The faces I had encountered in ten were defined by the lines of distress that crossed every passerby’s eyes as they made their way about (which was terribly different from the excitement of a new place that had settled within me, or the air of urgency that radiated from Aceline as she pulled me along). They had all seemed deprived, and it wasn’t that they were feigning innocence, for their lands were stripped and their pantries were barren and the desolation that wrapped about the place was choking us slowly, choking the air from our lungs as we breathed in the panic and dismay that settled deep within our chest.

She had never really told me why she so desperately wanted to make a venture to ten, but then again, I had never really questioned her on the matter. I had tagged along simply for the ride, for the chance to leave my home and its unforgiving whispers that lingered behind every door, seeping underneath like poisonous fumes. I had expected district ten to be a breath of fresh air, a chance to breathe, to step back and let the world spin on while I stood there still, taking in the words that people spoke and letting them hurt each other while protecting myself with a shield made of other’s despair. I didn’t deserve it. I had no reason to believe the lies that stabbed at my skin and made me feel dirty, like I had done something wrong just by existing. Like the cuts and bruises that the sharp end of letters caused were meant to crisscross my skin in a way that made me feel as if they deserved to be there. The names that were etched upon my mind did not define me. But her thoughts had never manifested themselves in a way that had been detrimental.

The cool air that whisked across us brought the night sky back into my thoughts, each star tracing itself upon our hearts as we continued to sit in silence, and I suppose that most people would find it strange for us to stay quiet for so long. But I wanted to be heard, just not in the way words provided. And so in my desperate attempt to make my voice known, I reach across the miniscule space of grass that sat between us, laying my hand on the back of her neck uncertainly, before leaning in and kissing her.

My hands tangle lightly in the dark hair that falls down her back, and I shut my eyes and hold my breath in a desperate attempt to keep fear hidden from my heart as I let the stars fall from the dark sky and scatter on the ground around us like pebbles. I could wrap myself about her and the only thing I would feel would be the lightness of her touch, and everything would appear radiant, even in the pitch black the night presented.

After several moments I pull away, running my own hand through my hair and reclining back onto the grass, letting the air rush back into my lungs as I waited for the response that wouldn’t come. But I didn’t need to hear it, for the answer already resounded in my head and reverberated off the stars that reflected our very existence through the moonlight that shone down upon us.

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Social Causality {Rave} Jun 29, 2014 23:05:23 GMT -5

Post by Deleted on Jun 29, 2014 23:05:23 GMT -5

Each second reverberated through the shackles she considered a home in the form of synchronized ticking clocks, constant spinning gears being the only thing actually moving in the house with Esrooke sleeping and the air as suffocating as the silence each off second held. Aceline couldn't sleep, the constant clicking sound waves that echoed in between the fibers of her body kept her awake because all she heard was the emptiness in between; in between the counts, in between her fingers, in between each thread of hair because her palms were preoccupied with nothingness against the bed sheets as she numbered the bumps intruding from the ceiling above her. All she saw was the broken house, the shattered window down stairs that Esrooke always promised to fix before next summer and the one after and the one after that one after but always left a card box board boarded up against the hole, and the stair step that always rocked in a pendulum as its rough face pinned splinters into any skin that stepped on no matter how light the pressure, and the chipped bricks eroded from the district's stains that took Spades' place and it was impossible to see how easily breakable the bones of reality were.

Spades' place was never anything more than metaphoric, the bitter taste of her brother living in an enigma of skeletons and imaginations and the heat of district ten never licked against Aceline's conscience until dragging herself and Brady through each arid patch of cracking land. Ever leaving three was a mistake, even Esrooke was willing to bet on it before the pair met enthralled upon the train, the only redeeming factor being the knowledge that the lower district was at least managing and every single bone of Brady's was whole; that no matter the effort she put into ignoring his existence he would never leave. Why he ever tagged along after only meeting once on that street she always hunted for afterwards to see if it was just as stretching as it was as night she'd never know, and sometimes she never wanted to know because spending the night drawing stories about knights and great castles back in ten was enough of the scattered answers she needed.

And every tick of her heart that clashed against the sounds of the clocks lining the walls of her crumbling castle fit inside each muffled step like a nesting doll, each one growing louder than the last prolonged foot mark towards leaving the house. The mess that was her longing, each broken tile and each marker stain hidden in the dark and each chipping of paint, would be beyond her and all that would remain would be grass strands biting at her ankles and chortles of crickets to fill her ears and the stars to welcome her eyes. But the only thing that welcomed her eyes beyond the screen door was Brady. Mess of brown hair and brown eyes and dimples to match the ones hanging on the curl of Aceline's mouth, and all she can hear is herself in her head because that's the only place that voice exists.

Dust bit at her throat when the pair sat inside the fence, tangles of grass webbing themselves into her hands with dew licking at her palms and the underside of her crossed legs while Brady sat in his own universe where only he was existent under the stars' gaze. Silence pressed against her lungs like its usual grasp around the voice only she could hear, (sometimes she was positive it was never her's in the first place, that she never had a voice to begin with) but around this boy, living in stills failed to feel empty; the air touching against both Aceline and his presence was more resplendent than the atmosphere sticking against her skin if she wallowed against the combines of her room. Embracing realms of simply existing without having to be so alone was as breathtaking as the golden chords that were one of the only ways of communicating, and yet all she still saw were the rickety stair steps seesawing each time her foot passed one and the card board box still nailed in substitution of a pane of glass and the marker stains sprawled across the living room walls.

"Wow, you're beautiful," the words whispered in between them like the silence between ticks she spent hours counting,
his eyes wet with a shaking heart and her's drying with the wind from not blinking; red itching across below her eyes like a fever along a shake of her hands further into the ground parallel and a choke fighting down her throat with anxious swallows and awkward grins exchanging between the space of their intertwined legs. Each second seemingly reverberating through the ground in the form of her nervous internal beatings dancing inside her veins, and district ten is one of the things she's able to wrap her mind around, with the feel of empty mimicked against Aceline's entire being. The feel of peppermint eroding on her tongue but the only thing she tastes is a silent swear licking against her mind, because she loves him and wish she didn't.

Everything is swiped from her thought process with the feeling of skin craning against her neck, Brady's arm snaking between her and her hair and pressing his mouth against her and all that is there is him and her, and the ultraviolet lights that he is feels so different with conjoined lips

because he loves her, and she wish he didn't.

Because all she is next to him is the mess of her house, the shattered glass still in their slumber in the grass next to the chipped brick walls eroded from time with their other sides tattoo'd with black markers, and she was destined to live life alone like she was destined to never know the sound of her own voice against cool air. Her eyes never fluttered like they did in novels, they were latched open the entire time until Brady pulled away and left her matching the peeling red banner painted onto their staircase. Aceline was never built to love past platonic, her relations were built in words and novels because they were the only voice she could live through, her only romance was meant to be the silence between ticks because their words never changed and never needed responses, when the only response available was to clench his shirt into her hands and to delve into a second kiss.

Except for her balance falling with the tides and clashing her forehead into Brady's.

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Social Causality {Rave} Jun 30, 2014 0:43:35 GMT -5

Post by Deleted on Jun 30, 2014 0:43:35 GMT -5

My mother told me stories about knights who were always the hero, and maybe that was in an attempt to make me take the role she wished for me to assume, but it never quite caught on. Of course, these stories didn’t last long, for as soon as my lack of interest made itself apparent she quit, telling me that she didn’t have time for stories anymore. However, her voice could be heard from behind the door of her and my father’s room, and she told him time after time that “He just doesn’t care.” And she was right; I didn’t. The tales of lands far away and damsels in distress had never caught my attention because they are the sort of whimsical that people become lost in. They become so obsessed with the world that cannot exist to the point where it affects everything they do, and that is something I refuse to become.

Of course, stories were something I enjoyed, even if I couldn’t fabricate them myself. I had often tried, sitting sprawled out on the floor with papers littering about, pieces of broken lead pressing to each line as the letters danced in front of me, jumbling together and causing frustration to swim through my mind to the point where tears fell to stain the paper. Because no matter how hard I tried to straighten the letters out, no matter how many phone calls my teacher made to my parents, no matter how many times I stumbled over simple words as my mother asked me to read to her, I just couldn’t grasp it. I’d set down the pencil in disappointment with myself, my teacher would set the phone down and rub her temples in frustration of her own, and my mother would toss the book aside in anger, letting the pages crinkle and tear as the door slammed behind her, and I would scramble to pick it up and smooth out the pages before setting it gently on the counter.

My mother never did anything about my troubles, only pushing them aside for another day (but days turned into weeks and weeks to months to years and now I’m seventeen years old and words still swim across any page I lay my eyes upon). My father never said anything on the matter, only letting slight sighs fall from his mouth as he watched my mother slow crumple in frustration at my stupidity. He sat down with me once, telling me that it wasn’t really my fault, that these things just happened to certain people, and that we would work through it, all three of us, together, as a family (that word fell off his tongue and shattered at my feet, and I shook my head because I couldn’t stand to hear him say it again, because the three of us were many things, but we weren’t really a family).

It was for this reason that words left such a definable aftertaste following every encounter I had with them, and this led me to using them as little as possible, liable to sit in silence while others chattered on. My words only twisted about me and caused me more trouble than they were worth, so it only seemed sensible to stay silent if the option was available. Aceline had provided that option, never asking me to fill the empty air with words unless I so desired, and occasionally, I did. Only moments ago had I let three simple words slip through my fingers and entwine about her, but of course they were only precedents for the kiss that spoke so much louder than anything else I could have said.

We pull apart after several moments, and I rest my forehead gently against hers for a moment before rocking back to meet her gaze, waiting for any sign from her as to how this should be continued. My first thoughts were that she hated every sense of the previous actions, and panic began to filter through my mind in rapid succession before coming to a quick halt as her hand lightly grasped my shirt. She leaned towards me again, and excitement rose to take over the prior sense of panic as I realized that not every molecule of her existence hated me. However, grace didn’t seem to be much of a friend to either of us, and I can’t help but laugh as our foreheads collide.

I rest her head in my hands as I lift her gaze to meet my own before gently setting my own on top of hers, breathing in the placidness that settled over the night before pulling her lifting her chin with my finger and kissing her again. My hands find their way to her hair again, loosely tangling themselves in the laces of brown that fall about her like a curtain. I can feel her hand against my chest, and I’m sure that every beat of my over-excited heart can be definably felt through the thin fabric. But I doubt she cares at this point; I know I don’t.

Our second kiss lasts considerably longer than the first, the element of surprise eliminating itself from the equation of our unbalanced whatever-you-called-this. However, even as we break apart I refuse to let my face linger further than a few inches from her own, and I know that no matter how horribly I’ve dealt with words and their crooked paths in the past, the one that sits in front of me is straightforward, and there’s little to no way for me to mess it up this time. “We don’t need the voice that others need, for words can’t describe this, whatever it is.”