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Welcome toThe Iris Garden
Friday, August 13, 2010Y
The Nameless Angel


The Nameless Angel
~Short Story~

I knew it wasn't true, so I just shook it off. He couldn't be both. 'Just let them believe he's an angel; I won't bother explaining to them,' I thought to myself. I personally disliked him, disliked him so much that I prefered calling him 'it', or simply - 'he'. I had always felt that his real name didn't suit him. But what did I know? There were those who knew him better than I did, and took great pride and pleasure from the fact.

Over time, I had begun to think that it was simply his sweet face they all fell for. That must have been what earned him all those love letters and cries of love he didn't deserve. He always had a new one, a girl he'd call his dream, his world, and lead her through the dark into the fantasies of his world, his mind. But over time he'd find a new one, and would also make her feel wanted, while the previous one would be left to sulk in the shadows. Each girl dreamed of being his, even for a little while, even though they knew he'd toss them once a more beautiful girl crossed his path. But they still hoped, that there wasn't a girl who was more beautiful and charming than them.

I hadn't been one of his girls yet, but I noticed that he would look at me when I walked down the hall. He'd try to catch my attention by flicking his glossy blue short hair, and make his eyes look like two aquamarines gleaming in the light. But I'd just walk past him and take no notice, finding it quite pleasant to see him wondering why he couldn't catch my attention. He did have a pretty good strategy, I had to admit. But the only problem was that he used it for the wrong person.

I figured it would only be little time before he too would ask me to be his, using the same sweet method on me like he did on all his girls. But what I found weird to find was that he showed more interest to me than to any of the other girls before. He acted like I was something - something 'special' and new, like a new toy for him to enjoy playing with. But I wasn't sure of it yet.

And so, weeks came and went, but he still didn't approach me. In fact, it felt like he had disappeared, his presence no longer near. The hall seemed empty, like he had never walked down it before. But it didn't bother me. I wasn't his, after all. I belonged to myself, as free as I could possibly want. His fanclub would sulk, desperate to see him again, but he wouldn't come. He left them, left them all.

Days dragged on, never seeming to end. As much as I didn't want to, I kept looking for him, hoping to see if he'd return. But he never did. It was only after a few more days that I had finally realized what happened - I had fallen for him, his little tricks he used to play, and little jokes he used to pull. This was his strategy; why linger around me with my interest in him fading when he could simply disappear and make my heart throb so bad it ached all day and all through the night?

That's when he came back. He waited by my locker the next day, ignoring every girl that ran up to him and asked him questions, wept about how long he had been gone, and tried to hug him. He stood there and waited, and waited, and waited...until I finally came to my locker. He smiled at me, and tried to hug me, but it didn't feel right.

"I'm nothing special," I told him. "I'm just a stupid girl trying to survive in this cruel world..we don't belong..." I told him. And it was true. "So go back to playing your little games, but don't ask me to join," and walked away, leaving him stunned.

Yes, I had fallen for him, but I wasn't his to be. I didn't want his pranks or laughs. We simply didn't belong to each other.

Years flew by. I met him on the street one da, now not alone - tall, young and handsome, walking with a girl who looked just like me back when I was younger. She didn't have the same eyes as me, however - they were hollow and distant, drained of all possible emotions and sensitivity. But he seemed happy to be with her. but I was alone, just like I had been before. Yet I was young and succesful, rich and famous, yet without any love.

"You may or you may not come to find me, but I have already found what I've been looking for," he answered, looking at the girl beside him, and then back at me. It seemed a bit obvious that he had chosen her because she and I were two exact look-alikes. "I am sorry, but I don't want you," he added, saying it as if I wasn't human at all, just an object that could be thrown away whenever you felt like it.
I was surprised to see how long I managed to hold myself together. "To have you know, I didn't come for you..." I whispered in reply. "What makes you think that I need you..? I'm already as happy as I could possibly be."

He, however, didn't seem to believe me.

"You don't look too happy. You could have had me, I could have been yours," he told me. But that was the problem - I didn't want him. He wouldn't make me happy. He would only bring trouble.

I didn't talk to him anymore, just walked away, on my way to wherever I needed to go. And he didn't protest - he let go, of both me, and everything else that happened.

Another few years had passed since then, but then, I had already found the one I loved, and got married and began my own family. We had everything we could possibly want - love happiness, money, and each other.

One day when we were walking down the street, I saw him again, but this time, he was alone. She had left him, I could tell, and he was drinking with despair, and smoking, smoke coming out like from a train. He saw me walk by, and looked at me with astonishment.

"I thought I'd never see you again.." he told me, getting up. His eyes lost their charm, their radiant aqua magic. They were dull now, filled with his despair. "I was stupid - I let you go when you were all alone, but I'm here now, and I'll gladly become yours, and go anywhere with you." He didn't seem to be his age, but I knew that was what saddness and anger had done to him, stealing away his youth. It pained me, but I couldn't do it now. 'Let him go,' I thought. 'You've already filled your craving, your desire.'

"I'm sorry," I told him. "I have already found what I've been missing, and I already have moved on. My children are my happiness, and my husband is my comfort. i cannot betray them all, for their names have replaced your in my heart. But your name shall forever live on in my mind, even if this is the first and last time I have spoken it, Chase," I told him, addressing him by his name. His eyes grew wide as if the name was music to his ears. And yet that little light of happiness flickered off in an instant.

And I left him, like I had done in the past, but this time, I hoped I wouldn't meet him again. I knew he'd forgive me one day, and find happiness too.

He eventually died a few months later, died a homeless person without knowing the caring warmth, the love that one person could possibly give you. But I hadn't known that back when we were younger, when he stood by my locker and gazed at me with his sweet and innocent eyes.

A name is empty without any meaning to it. Even if a person has a name, they could be empty if there are nothing but a shell and have nothing to fill that shell with. I had long forgotten his name - it has long been gone on the winds, half way gone from this world. And yet, I didn't forget him. He was like a nameless angel in my life, and my first bittersweet romance.
End

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ends at 8:20 PM

Tuesday, August 10, 2010Y
Butterfly Garden

The Forest of Butterflies
~Short Story~

A forest stands, cloaked in a dark mist of the night, away from unwanted visitors. It isn't too big. In the center of the forest, there is an opening formed by four young trees.

There is something there. Can you see it moving? It's not moving yet, just standing quiety - waiting, and waiting, and waiting...It's waiting for something to happen, but what?

The four trees, though young, are deadly bare. Only butterflies cover the cold dark branches. The dead grass on the ground is covered by a soft carpet of dead butterflies, their wings stained with dropplets of blood. But who did this? Where is thys mysterious killer? They're waiting - I hear them. Their moves may not be apparent but you could hear them.

Silver lines are strung in between the trees and from the trees. In the soft glow of the moon they glitter. But look - some of the lines are the colour of fresh blood, dripping off one drop at a time, drip, drip, drop.

That's when a human hand appears. Slender pale fingers run along the hundreds of lines, collecting the blod. Then, they return to their owner, who licks off the blood.

It's a girl, with crimson red eyes narrowed in delight, and feathery gold decorations adorn her long raven-black hair. She has more than two arms though. While two of her arms are holding up a perfectly ripe apple, two more are looking over the lines and two more relaxing, hanging and doing nothing. They are resting at her glass web-like skirt. She floats around, looking around herself, then takes a bit of the ripe apple, the juice dripping down her chin and onto the dead ground covered with butterflies.

Everything in her sight is dead, killed by her own six hands. Her two spider helpers crawl up and down the trees, looking for anything living. But they fail every time.

Just about to give up, her keen eyes noticed something twitch. Walking over to that spot, the girl sees a butterfly, still alive, caught in her web. This pleases her, for she opens her eyes and reaches for the butterfly. With no effort at all, the butterfly comes off the spiderweb, and towards the girl. She smiles to reveal her sharp pointed white teeth, and moving the butterfly towards her mouth bites into the soft fuzzy body of the creature, injecting her venom into the prey. Within a few seconds, the butterfly is already dead, joining the others in a happy place somewhere on the other side of this world.

Have you realized yet? No? If no, then I shall tell you - the girl is a spider. Though not having the appearence of one, her characteristics and behaviour matches a spider perfectly.

And so, the spider girl continues spinning her silky silver webs in the hopes of adding another victim to her collection of butterflies. It is no wonder that those who have been here call it the forest of butterflies.

End

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