Who here likes reading? Anyone?
Oct. 3rd, 2002 10:35 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
urbanamazonI'm feeling frustrated and flawed.
I was somehow able to write a sidestory to Black Angel, yet I'm stuck on the story itself. However, I am very pleased with this sidestory. Can I get feedback? Anyone? Using LiveJournal as a very cheap messageboard and "Look At Me!" site, here;
Lucky
Story by Sarah Hilliard
Lyrics by Bif Naked
It was supposed to have been simple. Routine. Exactly like the other hundred and nineteen that marked her history. They never warned her, because they didn't know. They didn't care about things like emotion and affection. They had forgotten love, and they had expected that she had done so as well. After all, she had been the first. The best. She knew this, but it was different for her. You can't forget something you never knew, something you left behind in order to try and start again.
It was on Monday when
My lover told me
Never pay the Reaper with
Love only
But she wasn't perfect. They had forgotten that, too. At times, so did she.
If Lucifer had seen her that morning, he would have smiled that sad smile of his, pitying and sympathetic all at once, skipping pointless words and placing a hand on her shoulder. His eyes would have turned that chocolate brown color, and he would have shook his head when she asked him why. And then he would have faded away, leaving her alone. She knew this now.
It wouldn't have made any difference. She was alone to begin with. She always was.
She didn't know why she got a chill as the sun melted backwards over the horizon, spilling light in her eyes like an explosion of liquid gold. Like an omen. She didn't know why her hands trembled as she slowly took control of the boy, cementing his resolve and letting him feel the cold edge of the gun tucked in his waistband, but making his hands tremble, too. She didn't know why she nearly left his body and fled when the bomb went off, when she felt his impact against the wall through his skin, and through the skin of her other, his pain screaming through her arm as it shattered. She didn't know why she felt like a traitor as her blow cast him to the burning floor. She didn't know why she felt so scared.
It wasn't until she looked into those forest-green eyes, unafraid and full of defiance, raging and yet at peace. Then she knew. He saw her, saw through the shell of the boy, through the stones she thought she had cast around her as a wall. He saw her.
And then she could see herself in his eyes, see herself for what she was and what she was doing. Murderer. Traitor. Coward. Slave. He had trusted her, she had trusted herself, as she had trusted herself with all those that came before him. She had seen those eyes crying tears of birth, of joy, of laughter, loss, and sorrow. All she could see now was hate. He hated her. She wanted to cry out, to tell him everything, to tell him why. And then she knew.
What could I say to you
Except I love you
And I'd give my life for yours
She tore herself from her host, the violent act ripping his mind to tatters that could not support his broken body. She felt the shell die, but it was so distant as her other's pain became her own, as it always did. She could feel him slipping away, not to death but to darkness, and she crawled to his side, nearly screaming with the strain. It had never hurt this much. Why now? Why did it feel like she was dying again?
I know
We are
We are the lucky ones
Why was she crying? Why did soundless tears paint his face?
I know
We are
We are the lucky ones
Why did she try to touch his face? Why did she stop herself before her fingers slid through his skin?
I know
We are
We are the lucky ones
Why did she stay by him like a statue until they found him untouched by the inferno? Why did she wait until he was away, until he was safe, before she let the fire come, bathing her like a blanket, like her only solace?
Dear
She stayed there until the fire was cold and dead, until she felt like ice. She stayed until the night came, and the darkness took her away to her four shadowed walls and bed. She stayed until she could not stay awake and she slept, knowing why, and knowing that she should have known better.
She should have known that she would dream again, dream of what she now realized she wanted more then anything in the world, dream of what she could never have. It had never been hers. Could never be.
Remember the time we made
Love in the roses
And you took my picture
In all sorts of poses
She was torn from the smell of roses by her punishment. The burning light seared her as they thundered their displeasure. She had failed. She knew the cost. She knew what she had done. They made sure of that. But she didn't care. He hated her. Nothing else mattered.
Nothing.
How could I ever
Get over you
When I'd give my life for yours
She would have offered, but they were deaf and she knew that it was meaningless. It was her fault. She should have seen it coming, for it was inevitable. She should have prepared. She should have known that this day would have come. After all, she was the first. The best.
I know
We are
We are the lucky ones
They spared her. They gave her another chance. They let her go back to correct her mistake. And as they left her where they had found her, she saw herself in the mirror in rhe far wall. She saw the eyes that had stayed dry for a hundred and nineteen lifetimes. She saw the lips that had sang with a hundred and nineteen songs. She saw the ears that had listened to a hundred and nineteen stories.
I know
We are
We are the lucky ones
She saw the woman that had lived, then lived again. And again. And again. She had been given a gift, to see the world more than she ever could see through her eyes alone. For one life she had been given a hundred and nineteen half-lives.
I know
We are
We are the lucky ones
And his story would be grander than hers ever could be. He would be born of destiny, of power, of purpose. She saw his life again through her reflected eyes, felt every bruise on his skin, every scar beneath and above.
I know
We are
We are the lucky ones, dear
She had lived it with him, and she knew him. More than she knew herself.
My dear
He would understand. He would listen. He would hear her as she told him all the stories she had seen, all that she had learned. He would know what she now knew. He had to.
It's time
To say
Thank god for you
And she would thank him. For showing her what she had forgotten without knowing. For showing the piece she had lost without ever having it. All she had to do was ask him where the piece was supposed to go.
I thank god for you
In each and every single way
She looked in the mirror again, and saw what she was supposed to be. The first. The best. And she saw that he could make her better, make her whole.
And I know
I know
I know
I know
He hated her, but he would understand. He would see through her eyes as she had for so long seen through his. She left her room, prepared herself, searching for him with her mind. She was ready. It was time.
It's time to let you know
She found him in the hospital, safe and sleeping. She could smile upon his face now, because she knew, and she knew he would understand when she told him. He would understand the gift. He would understand the price. He would understand the reason why she did what she did. And she had so much to tell him, so much to hear from him.
Time to let you know
She could feel the blade's hilt in her hand, ready and waiting. The blade was thin and sharper than any true blade could be, and it would be fast and with little pain. He would understand. He hated her now, but he would understand.
Time to let you know
She raised it high, smiling with knowing. One quick thrust, not for his heart but for his soul, and then he could see. See her, see everything for what it really was.
Time to sit here and say
And she stopped.
Her hand was trembling again. So much that the blade was wavering in the air above his chest. She frowned, trying to be steady trying to calm her nerves. The shaking would not cease. It had to cease! She couldn't fail this time! This was her chance!
Desperately, she grabbed the blade to steady it, feeling her skin break and her own blood warm on her fingers. The shaking spread to her arms, and she felt the chilly grip of panic start to weave its way through her. Her body was no longer her own. She could no move for the trembling, could not think for the thunder in her mind.
And them she looked at his sleeping face.
And she knew.
I know
We are
We are the lucky ones
She could not do it.
I know
We are
We are the lucky ones
She never could do it.
I know
We are
We are the lucky ones
And it was not because he might hate her. Because he might not understand. Because he might not see through her eyes to see the world as it really was.
I know
We are
We are the lucky ones, dear
It was because she would hate herself.
Dear
She heard her blood drip onto the pristine sheets from the shaking blade, the impacts like the crack of a whip on her back.
Drop. Murderer.
Drop. Traitor.
Drop. Coward.
Drop. Slave.
We are the lucky ones, dear
Dear
And she fled before her tears could join them, before the anguish of seeing his face would be too much to bear. She fled to her four shadowed walls and bed, where there was no sound, no light, no witness to her shame.
We are the lucky ones, dear
Dear
And when she saw the mirror, mocking her with the face she saw in return, she shattered it with her bleeding hands, driving the shattered shards into her numb skin.
Now she could see herself for what she really was. Broken. Flawed. A failure. A prisoner in a mangled frame. A lie.
We are the lucky ones, dear
And then the tears came, mixing with her blood until there was no difference between them. It didn't matter anymore. She knew why, but she could never tell him. He would never know.
We are the lucky ones, dear
And she would never know that he woke from his safe sleep without remembering that he did later on. She would never know that he saw the drops of blood on the statrk white sheets and knew that they were not his own. She would never know that he felt he was missing a part of himself, a part that he didn't know he could miss, a part he had forgotten. She would never know he shed a single tear without knowing why, then returned to a dreamless sleep.
She would never know, but someday, she might understand.
We are the lucky ones, dear
Yeah, there's no names, but all will become clear once I get my ass out of writer's block.
*looks outside* ..... *bawls* It's snowing! ;.;
I was somehow able to write a sidestory to Black Angel, yet I'm stuck on the story itself. However, I am very pleased with this sidestory. Can I get feedback? Anyone? Using LiveJournal as a very cheap messageboard and "Look At Me!" site, here;
Lucky
Story by Sarah Hilliard
Lyrics by Bif Naked
It was supposed to have been simple. Routine. Exactly like the other hundred and nineteen that marked her history. They never warned her, because they didn't know. They didn't care about things like emotion and affection. They had forgotten love, and they had expected that she had done so as well. After all, she had been the first. The best. She knew this, but it was different for her. You can't forget something you never knew, something you left behind in order to try and start again.
It was on Monday when
My lover told me
Never pay the Reaper with
Love only
But she wasn't perfect. They had forgotten that, too. At times, so did she.
If Lucifer had seen her that morning, he would have smiled that sad smile of his, pitying and sympathetic all at once, skipping pointless words and placing a hand on her shoulder. His eyes would have turned that chocolate brown color, and he would have shook his head when she asked him why. And then he would have faded away, leaving her alone. She knew this now.
It wouldn't have made any difference. She was alone to begin with. She always was.
She didn't know why she got a chill as the sun melted backwards over the horizon, spilling light in her eyes like an explosion of liquid gold. Like an omen. She didn't know why her hands trembled as she slowly took control of the boy, cementing his resolve and letting him feel the cold edge of the gun tucked in his waistband, but making his hands tremble, too. She didn't know why she nearly left his body and fled when the bomb went off, when she felt his impact against the wall through his skin, and through the skin of her other, his pain screaming through her arm as it shattered. She didn't know why she felt like a traitor as her blow cast him to the burning floor. She didn't know why she felt so scared.
It wasn't until she looked into those forest-green eyes, unafraid and full of defiance, raging and yet at peace. Then she knew. He saw her, saw through the shell of the boy, through the stones she thought she had cast around her as a wall. He saw her.
And then she could see herself in his eyes, see herself for what she was and what she was doing. Murderer. Traitor. Coward. Slave. He had trusted her, she had trusted herself, as she had trusted herself with all those that came before him. She had seen those eyes crying tears of birth, of joy, of laughter, loss, and sorrow. All she could see now was hate. He hated her. She wanted to cry out, to tell him everything, to tell him why. And then she knew.
What could I say to you
Except I love you
And I'd give my life for yours
She tore herself from her host, the violent act ripping his mind to tatters that could not support his broken body. She felt the shell die, but it was so distant as her other's pain became her own, as it always did. She could feel him slipping away, not to death but to darkness, and she crawled to his side, nearly screaming with the strain. It had never hurt this much. Why now? Why did it feel like she was dying again?
I know
We are
We are the lucky ones
Why was she crying? Why did soundless tears paint his face?
I know
We are
We are the lucky ones
Why did she try to touch his face? Why did she stop herself before her fingers slid through his skin?
I know
We are
We are the lucky ones
Why did she stay by him like a statue until they found him untouched by the inferno? Why did she wait until he was away, until he was safe, before she let the fire come, bathing her like a blanket, like her only solace?
Dear
She stayed there until the fire was cold and dead, until she felt like ice. She stayed until the night came, and the darkness took her away to her four shadowed walls and bed. She stayed until she could not stay awake and she slept, knowing why, and knowing that she should have known better.
She should have known that she would dream again, dream of what she now realized she wanted more then anything in the world, dream of what she could never have. It had never been hers. Could never be.
Remember the time we made
Love in the roses
And you took my picture
In all sorts of poses
She was torn from the smell of roses by her punishment. The burning light seared her as they thundered their displeasure. She had failed. She knew the cost. She knew what she had done. They made sure of that. But she didn't care. He hated her. Nothing else mattered.
Nothing.
How could I ever
Get over you
When I'd give my life for yours
She would have offered, but they were deaf and she knew that it was meaningless. It was her fault. She should have seen it coming, for it was inevitable. She should have prepared. She should have known that this day would have come. After all, she was the first. The best.
I know
We are
We are the lucky ones
They spared her. They gave her another chance. They let her go back to correct her mistake. And as they left her where they had found her, she saw herself in the mirror in rhe far wall. She saw the eyes that had stayed dry for a hundred and nineteen lifetimes. She saw the lips that had sang with a hundred and nineteen songs. She saw the ears that had listened to a hundred and nineteen stories.
I know
We are
We are the lucky ones
She saw the woman that had lived, then lived again. And again. And again. She had been given a gift, to see the world more than she ever could see through her eyes alone. For one life she had been given a hundred and nineteen half-lives.
I know
We are
We are the lucky ones
And his story would be grander than hers ever could be. He would be born of destiny, of power, of purpose. She saw his life again through her reflected eyes, felt every bruise on his skin, every scar beneath and above.
I know
We are
We are the lucky ones, dear
She had lived it with him, and she knew him. More than she knew herself.
My dear
He would understand. He would listen. He would hear her as she told him all the stories she had seen, all that she had learned. He would know what she now knew. He had to.
It's time
To say
Thank god for you
And she would thank him. For showing her what she had forgotten without knowing. For showing the piece she had lost without ever having it. All she had to do was ask him where the piece was supposed to go.
I thank god for you
In each and every single way
She looked in the mirror again, and saw what she was supposed to be. The first. The best. And she saw that he could make her better, make her whole.
And I know
I know
I know
I know
He hated her, but he would understand. He would see through her eyes as she had for so long seen through his. She left her room, prepared herself, searching for him with her mind. She was ready. It was time.
It's time to let you know
She found him in the hospital, safe and sleeping. She could smile upon his face now, because she knew, and she knew he would understand when she told him. He would understand the gift. He would understand the price. He would understand the reason why she did what she did. And she had so much to tell him, so much to hear from him.
Time to let you know
She could feel the blade's hilt in her hand, ready and waiting. The blade was thin and sharper than any true blade could be, and it would be fast and with little pain. He would understand. He hated her now, but he would understand.
Time to let you know
She raised it high, smiling with knowing. One quick thrust, not for his heart but for his soul, and then he could see. See her, see everything for what it really was.
Time to sit here and say
And she stopped.
Her hand was trembling again. So much that the blade was wavering in the air above his chest. She frowned, trying to be steady trying to calm her nerves. The shaking would not cease. It had to cease! She couldn't fail this time! This was her chance!
Desperately, she grabbed the blade to steady it, feeling her skin break and her own blood warm on her fingers. The shaking spread to her arms, and she felt the chilly grip of panic start to weave its way through her. Her body was no longer her own. She could no move for the trembling, could not think for the thunder in her mind.
And them she looked at his sleeping face.
And she knew.
I know
We are
We are the lucky ones
She could not do it.
I know
We are
We are the lucky ones
She never could do it.
I know
We are
We are the lucky ones
And it was not because he might hate her. Because he might not understand. Because he might not see through her eyes to see the world as it really was.
I know
We are
We are the lucky ones, dear
It was because she would hate herself.
Dear
She heard her blood drip onto the pristine sheets from the shaking blade, the impacts like the crack of a whip on her back.
Drop. Murderer.
Drop. Traitor.
Drop. Coward.
Drop. Slave.
We are the lucky ones, dear
Dear
And she fled before her tears could join them, before the anguish of seeing his face would be too much to bear. She fled to her four shadowed walls and bed, where there was no sound, no light, no witness to her shame.
We are the lucky ones, dear
Dear
And when she saw the mirror, mocking her with the face she saw in return, she shattered it with her bleeding hands, driving the shattered shards into her numb skin.
Now she could see herself for what she really was. Broken. Flawed. A failure. A prisoner in a mangled frame. A lie.
We are the lucky ones, dear
And then the tears came, mixing with her blood until there was no difference between them. It didn't matter anymore. She knew why, but she could never tell him. He would never know.
We are the lucky ones, dear
And she would never know that he woke from his safe sleep without remembering that he did later on. She would never know that he saw the drops of blood on the statrk white sheets and knew that they were not his own. She would never know that he felt he was missing a part of himself, a part that he didn't know he could miss, a part he had forgotten. She would never know he shed a single tear without knowing why, then returned to a dreamless sleep.
She would never know, but someday, she might understand.
We are the lucky ones, dear
Yeah, there's no names, but all will become clear once I get my ass out of writer's block.
*looks outside* ..... *bawls* It's snowing! ;.;
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
*blinks*
Date: 2002-10-04 11:15 am (UTC)I want to KNOW.
Krikey .... a -fan-?
Date: 2002-10-04 11:48 am (UTC)I can't really say much more, as we're trying to get to the point of posting a comic version, so we're trying to keep the plot as secret as we can.
However ... we do need a betareader. I've deeply admired your fanfics for quite some time ... interested?
Re: Krikey .... a -fan-?
Date: 2002-10-04 12:21 pm (UTC)As I said, it's brilliant and well worth closer examination.
Dude, snarky comments rule.
Date: 2002-10-04 06:11 pm (UTC)Sending you Chapter 1 now.