Yet another...

[Dancing_in_rain]

This is the last thing I post for the next week, I promise *crosses fingers*. I've jsut been flipping through all my old backups and finding old pieces that I'm fixing up a bit to make better.

So yes. My next piece...


“I am your conscience, the voice inside your head. You know why I’m here. I have come to show you what you have done. I want you to feel the guilt. You know it’s your fault. Why did you push her off the bridge? Why didn’t you refuse to help her? Why did you agree to push her to her doom? Why didn’t you tell her that she would be missed? You could have saved her. You should have told her that jumping wasn’t an option. You should have told her that it wouldn’t take away the problems. You should have dragged her off the bridge, have refused to help her.You should have done something. But you didn’t. You just stood there and pushed her when she asked you to. You know it’s your fault. She wouldn’t be dead had you done something else than mutely agree to help her. She would still be there, laughing with you, dancing through life, wiping away your tears when you needed her. You have no one to blame but yourself. She died because of you. You are a murderer."


Murderer. Your fault. Murderer. Your fault. The words beat an endless tattoo in my skull. I relive the nightmare. I hear a crash, the thunder before the lightning. I see her fall freely. I see the swirling waters of the river. And then, I see the white of her skin in the black of the water. And I scream. I see the red of her hair float at the surface, a web of blood, and then I see the real blood that drains from her face and leaves her cold. Cold and lifeless. And then, nothing more. There is nothing more than a ripple on the surface. A week later I stand in the morgue, nodding my head. Yes. It is her. Yes, that white, clammy corpse on the table is her. I remember that dress. She called it her flying dress. She wanted it white so that she could be a piece of cloud plummeting from the sky and landing, at last. Don’t you think I know that I shouldn’t have done it? Don’t you know that I regret it more with every night that passes? I can’t believe she’s gone. I’m sorry.

“Sorry won’t do anything. She won’t come back because you’ve apologised for murdering her. So what if she asked you to help her? You should have said no. She was your best friend, the one who was there when your heart was broken, or when you were nursing a bad hangover. She did so much for you and what did you give her in return? You killed her.”

Sugar coated pebbles slide down my throat, along with the waterfall of vodka that I pour in. The world spins, the pill bottle falls from my hand. I collapse, the floor hitting me hard. If she were still here, she would help me up, wiping away the sweat on my brow. I float above the world, my mind blissfully vacant.

"Running away from the truth are we? You know it won’t make anything better. Whatever you swallow will fade and it will all come back. You can never escape the truth. It’s your fault. There will be no heaven for you. You’re a murderer. There is no forgiveness for you."

Thoughts, anyone?

[Aaroneet]

Your inspiration from your own inner demons is clear in your writing. It's funny; when someone undergoes a life-changing experience, it becomes a constant theme in his or her writing. I went through a period where everything I wrote involved sickness in one form or another. I like how you vary your forms of writing, from story, to dialogue, to poem.

[DeathChii]

I love your writing =] Wow.

[Dancing_in_rain]

Thank ye kindly gentle ladies. Whoops. Now I'm speaking weird.
I like posting my writing here. People nearly always have something nice to say. *smiles at all the nice people and offers chocolate all around*

[Aaroneet]

It's okay. I write my poems using "weird", antiquated language, probably out of force of habit (and too much Shakespeare...).

[Blood blossoms]

Wow. I think this is the best piece of yours I've seen so far. I like the contrast between your conscience and you. I wasn't sure I liked the repetetive voice of the conscience, but it actually does speak like that, doesn't it? The repetitions bring home the point, I guess, by being like machine gun fire.

I love some of the descriptions in this, like "sugar coated pebbles," her hair being "a web of blood," and this: "She wanted it white so that she could be a piece of cloud plummeting from the sky and landing, at last." Jeez, those are awesome.

I didn't like this one sentence: "She wouldn’t be dead had you done something else than mutely agree to help her." I just don't like the word "mutely" there.

*waits for chocolate and apologizes for the cookie incident*

[Dancing_in_rain]

*Gives Blood Blossoms a big hug and chocolate too* Thank-you!
My conscious is repetitive for me, so I just went with that for this piece. The web of blood idea stems from the fact that capillaries are pretty much netted or webbed all over the body so I decided it would be a relatively good metaphor. Hey, what can I say? I'm a biology geek through and through.

[FireAndIce]

I cannot say I like it...no one can force me appreciate the pain...I am too much involved in it...but you style is beautiful...there is a perfect "match" in personality and poetical contrast of lyrical sensitivity of "heroine" and appeal of strict, "rational" and argumenting voice...made me to contemplate

[Vyvian Blackthorne]

Going to be honest, Dancing, I REALLY like your beginning and end narrative. It was very sharp, and you did great, metaphysical-like descriptions. Specifically, 'The words beat an endless tatoo on my skull'. I really liked it.
Goth Forever

[Dancing_in_rain]

*blushes*
I feel so loved. I love getting comments from all you people. You're all so nice. My conscience actually sounds like that when it talks to me, so I just went with the flow for that.

[FireAndIce]

dear rain...to be honest you have been loved dearly and very personaly for a long time...long time ago I have decided to love suffering people and treat them as brothers and sisters and to think on them and send them courage eventhough I don´t know about them yet...this is my confession, not poetic but true.

Brothers and sisters in pain, consider yourselves loved...

[Aaroneet]

That's poetic in a bold, human-evolution kind of sense that was long ago discussed by Dickens and the like.

[Dancing_in_rain]

Thank-you FireAndIce. But what tells you I am suffering? And of what?

Ps. I love you too. But that's because I embrace diversity and the people who are sweet to me.