Keax (keaxy) wrote in etherealeden,
Keax
keaxy
etherealeden

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[ Originals ] Gold; Consumed; Arabesque

[ http://www.fictionpress.com/read.php?storyid=2033510 ]

The unrelenting rain outside your apartment is the least of your worries as you distractedly grabbed a freshly-pressed pair of black jeans off the top of the pile of clean clothes lying in your closet which still smelt lightly of new laundry. A subtle shade of gold from your frill-free lamp lit the room darkened by the impending sunset, though the grey-blue skies outside flared random orange. Your eyes glanced briefly towards your silent cellphone, your ticket to this frozen world of decadence and mindless digits. Willing the screen to flash with an incoming call or message, your hopes are dashed like always.

As you smooth your pants down your long legs, you notice the stiff little finger on your left hand and you wonder or not to blame it on endless unproductive practice on the piano. Woe, you think sadly to yourself, your teeth gnawing gently at your lower lip. Shifting your gaze to a disorganized mess of DVDs your last lover left behind, it fixates upon a particular romance film title, sentimental self-confessed bastard that you are.

Shoving the entity under the couch, purely to indulge in escapism, you sigh without really knowing why. A pristine white shirt, socks and shoes. The door closes softly and keys clang as you step, unnoticed, into the welcoming embrace of faceless strangers and the familiar cold rain.

[ http://www.fictionpress.com/read.php?storyid=2033510 ]

Consumed cigarettes littered the tainted streets worn down by countless footsteps of people with a destination, and those without. On the visage of all who populated this infamous district, was a colorful blend of debauchery and some degree of self-worth. Buildings were tinged with the lingering smell of defiled innocence, of cruelty unwitnessed by many. Said buildings are as corrupted as the bodies that reside within them, every inch accounted for by sin.

The sorrowful tangerine of a detested sunrise radiates the same cold ever-present in this place. Occasionally, someone might notice a lone star shining courageously amongst the drapes of night, and perhaps fancy the day when the light would die, much like the flame of a burnt-out candle. Yet the light has already gone out long ago; extinguished subduedly into the dirty remnants. A sly invitation to the gates of Kingdom Come comes by in the form of hungry crows scavenging for scraps; ironically the only sign of life.

[ http://www.fictionpress.com/read.php?storyid=2033459 ]

The sweet sickly scent of death wafted across the chilly room at a predatory pace, the neon lights of the somnolent city outside the dusty windows shades of mocking pink and unsubtle orange. You shake piteously, a hysterical scream caged in the constraints of your throat and last snatches of sanity. Your flickering eyes glared pointedly away from the black ink splashed on the whitewashed walls. a smudge of deep wine color occasionally dotting said walls; as you drink in the panic that was surfacing threateningly, suffocating you menacingly like mud flung upon your coffin.

You relax slightly; just slightly as your palms sting due to the razor sharp nails digging into your flesh. Fists unclenched, you make a futile grab for something solid to hold onto. Landing almost soundlessly upon the Indian-carpeted floor, your next breath was almost denied. An unknown curiosity propelled you to touch my fading warmth and watch the etched depression vanish from my facade. An apology that you never uttered shimmered in our touch; only comforting to yourself.

In the relatively grey space we occupy, you exhale, a contented smile slowly and shyly emerging. Your heart calmed, as you ignored the pooled dark liquid I was partially submerged in, your eyes acid-green as always. I stand in the field of fluttering grass, under the lavender sky, only awakening at the sound of your arabesque.
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