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White Eyes

by Liz


The jagged edges of last year didn't really sink into this year. The colours of everything just clashed and made the most horrible noises, but there was nothing I could do about it. It felt awful, sitting back and feeling the salty sweat form on my forehead but not having any control over the situation. I felt like my faded school summer dress, like all the colour had been washed out of me. But sometimes I had my colour, and it was obvious to everyone around me who bothered to notice. Other times I felt washed-out, and I would hang back in the parched shadows and just listen to the labyrinth of other people's words.

I was soaked in rainbow at school, but at home I would be barely, numbly, almost washed with a pale water substance that was part blood, part black ink and part xylene. Unfortunately, the blood from the shadows at home leaked into my rainbow that I was soaked in at school. I guess I have a lot to be grateful for, seeing as so many people are so naive.

My schoolgirlcrush at the time was also a rocking disaster. It left me with maroon, physical welts that are hard to scrub off even now. That was the cause of my destruction, the event that had every pair of lips talking about me and the light switch that had plunged me into such darkness. Even when it seems that I've swam up from the depths of blackness into the pure, cool sunlight, I feel uncertain at times. At times like this, when the salty bubbles of tears are under my eyelashes and you're staring at me with the blank, brown stare that has overtaken the warm, chocolate stare that I used to want to eat.

I missed you when we were away from each other, but I didn't miss you as much as I missed him when I was away from him. I think I have to admit that to myself because my white porcelin love for you is sitting on the edge, almost shattered. This time last year I was thinking about his crimson lips and how they would feel on mine, but this time this year I'm thinking about nothing, even though you're lying in his place.

He never offered me his hand to lift me from my depths, but I've always known that you would do that for me. Maybe if I'd been leaning on you this time last year, I wouldn't have sunk so low, because you would have been there to clamber down and get me if your arm wouldn't reach that far. But it was him last year, and he put me down there and never even bothered to get me back out again. Because of him, everytime I'm with you a tear's sliding down my cheek, or it's forming in my eye, or it's at the bottom of everything, ready to erupt.

You must think I am a waterfall of white depression.

And maybe you're right: maybe I don't talk nearly enough as I should, but I don't think I can help that. I started last year with neon confidence, because all of my friends were near me, and I used to just open the curtains and smile at the world looking back at me. The sun that shone on my face felt like melting caramel and I remember wanting to drink the rain because it looked like it would taste like apple juice.

As the year drew on though, I became obsessed with things I shouldn't have. Backs started to turn and I started staring at him. I thought he was staring back at me, but it must have just been a trick of the light, because now I realise he only wanted me for the artificial things in life. I was so illicitly ignorant, and I look back now and kick myself for being so gullible. He was the one who tripped me up and left me lying there, blind to all my aches and pains and the innocent love I had for him. The innocent love that lost me my emotional innocence.

So the year twisted and spiralled through days and nights and I twisted and spiralled through bad dreams. I didn't care that my friends ran down the yellow brick road without me, because I thought that I had him, and that was all that mattered. But the melting caramel sunshine turned into black ice and the apple juice rain turned into gushing blood.

Now I just have days of alternating feelings. Some days I feel so completely numb and I can't even talk to you without glaring at you and ignoring whatever you say to me. You, who made me pick up my skirt and start running and laughing again, with the wind in my eyes and the sun in my hair. Some days I almost feel like I did before I met him, and the metal kilogram on my heart feels somewhat lighter so I can breathe and actually feel the cold air travelling down my throat and into my stomach. Some days I can't feel your lips on mine, but some days I can. It all depends.

But I wish like hell that it didn't depend on anything. I wish I could be like them. I wish I could wear a miniskirt and not feel like I'm going to get slashed across the legs or called a slut by the echoes of his voice inside my head. I wish I could laugh and flirt with any boy whatsoever and be so confident that I look gorgeous while I'm doing it. I wish I could pretend that I walked along trails of blood and vacancies and know that I'm an attention-seeker. I wish I could not pretend, and not lie because I feel that the reasonings behind everything are inadequete. I wish I knew, deep inside, nestled in my intestines and core of my heart and the substance in my veins, that guilt shouldn't even come into it, because I wasn't in the wrong, and I'm not now.

It's not that easy though. I try to move closer to you and I try to put my tongue on top of yours, but I can't seem to do it. Maybe because I don't want to breathe into your mouth because I'm scared you'll scratch me down the side of my face for something I thought I was doing fine. Maybe because I don't want to take charge anymore, and I haven't learnt my lesson from last time, even though I shudder at the thought of him controlling my life. It's hard to find security in emptiness, so I just crawl back into the shadows and let everybody else order me about. Or maybe it's because he's ruined it for our future, and the nauseating turbulance that he put me through scares me into thinking that you'll do the same to me.

I know it's so unfair to abide by the same rules that I had to abide by for him, but that's the way my distorted mind works. He was that one who tortured my mind into something unrecognisable, so you have him to thank for my being so unconfident.

And sometimes when I thought of him I'd get an overwhelming surge of lust, or an overwhelming surge of hate.

Now I just feel nothing.

written: (finished) Sunday 15th August, 2004, 3:31pm


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Wed Aug 13, 2008 4:26 pm
Titch123 wrote a review...



That is a beautifully well written piece and i enjoyed reading it! However its very complex and at times it doesnt seemed to flow very well. However the tone of the piece is fantastic.

this time this year I'm thinking about nothing, even though you're lying in his place

this time this year is a strange way to put this possibly now would be a better way of putting it and would be less confusing


The beggining is fantastic, the desciption is great and continues very well throughout the piece with great use of metaphor- however this is part of what makes the story complex

Well Done




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Wed Aug 13, 2008 3:11 am
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Clo wrote a review...



Heya Liz! I am your friendly neighborhood reviewer, today. :D

Opening paragraph: It's a tad too long. Try splitting it up into smaller paragraphs, since you do vary in topic a few times allowing you that. It's daunting to look a story and see a gigantic opening paragraph. Smaller ones invite a reader in.

I would be barely, numbly, almost washed with a pale water substance that was part blood, part black ink and part xylene

This is a very strange sentence and I'm not quite sure what you mean by it. It's the "almost" that throws me off. Depending on exactly what you mean, I think it would read better like this: "I would be bare, numb, washed with a pale water substance".

That was the cause of my destruction, the event that had every pair of lips talking about me and the light switch that had plunged me into such darkness

The "and" makes it sound like they are also talking about the light switch, which is strange, so just make it a comma.

This is a very abstract piece. It's written very nicely, but it's confusing to read and hold onto the plot because its so abstract. I was confused with both characters and time. The characters are "I, you, and he", basically, which is a good thing, but often I couldn't distinguish between you and he. Mainly because you imply that "you" made her happy, but now she feels nothing again? See, you jump around timewise and this throws me off. This is how I percieved it: she was happy, then she met him, thought she was happy but he ruined her in some way, she met someone else (who I believe is a girl?) and that made her happy but now, because she can't escape her memories of him, she is this depressed empty thing.

If you made the plot a little more concrete, gave some substantial details that are similiar to my little outline I just did, it would be a lot easier to understand exactly what it is your character is going through.

It is well written though, and I enjoyed your style. It's just a little too abstract in parts.

PM me if you have any questions.

~ Clo




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Wed Aug 13, 2008 2:44 am



Wow that was really good
I loved how you put so much description in and I odn't think you should dumb it down at all
it was really good

i loeved the whole thing it was soo good this part was the most descriptive i think

My schoolgirlcrush at the time was also a rocking disaster. It left me with maroon, physical welts that are hard to scrub off even now. That was the cause of my destruction, the event that had every pair of lips talking about me and the light switch that had plunged me into such darkness. Even when it seems that I've swam up from the depths of blackness into the pure, cool sunlight, I feel uncertain at times. At times like this, when the salty bubbles of tears are under my eyelashes and you're staring at me with the blank, brown stare that has overtaken the warm, chocolate stare that I used to want to eat.

I missed you when we were away from each other, but I didn't miss you as much as I missed him when I was away from him. I think I have to admit that to myself because my white porcelin love for you is sitting on the edge, almost shattered. This time last year I was thinking about his crimson lips and how they would feel on mine, but this time this year I'm thinking about nothing, even though you're lying in his place.

He never offered me his hand to lift me from my depths, but I've always known that you would do that for me. Maybe if I'd been leaning on you this time last year, I wouldn't have sunk so low, because you would have been there to clamber down and get me if your arm wouldn't reach that far. But it was him last year, and he put me down there and never even bothered to get me back out again. Because of him, everytime I'm with you a tear's sliding down my cheek, or it's forming in my eye, or it's at the bottom of everything, ready to erupt.




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Tue Aug 12, 2008 9:51 pm
scribblingquill wrote a review...



that was really good! I don't think you should dumb it down at all, I love the way you use tangible feelings and sensations, and I think its still perfectly understandable without having to change anything. i love the "neon confidence" and the wanting to drink the rain cause it looked like apple juice. thats fantastic.




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Mon Aug 11, 2008 7:43 am
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Lurlene_Mcdaniel_Rox wrote a review...



Heyy

Wow that is pretty good
you have been on her for like sooo long
u were like the second person to post a story
wehn did you discover this and do u know any tips or anything on stuff
haah
yah
kk thanks
and just like woah
like i am only 13 and all but still
and is ther any way to change ur username
don't think so but i hate mine
so thanks
kkbyebye




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Fri Feb 04, 2005 5:16 pm
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Harley says...



This is a very interesting piece but I don't think it flows very well. Your words are... sticky and the way it is set out is quite complex. I think you may need to dumb it down just a tad (I know, we all hate it!).





How can I be king of the world? Because I am king of rubbish. And rubbish is what the world is made of.
— Kate DiCamillo, The Miraculous Journey of Edward Tulane