Human Spectre (humanspectre) wrote in architectunlit,
Human Spectre
humanspectre
architectunlit

A start of something almost non-ficition

I wrote this last night. It isn't finished,or maybe it is, I can't tell. Though if I write more it will be in a completely different vein of what I wrote in the beginning.


"Don't look so sad," he pulled in to peer into her eyes, "there is nothing to be sad about," he ended with a genuine smile, reaching for sympathy. She turned away, trying to be as strong as she painted herself to be.

"I guess not," she responded, she didn't have the heart to tell him that this really was the end. Despite all the hints and implications the truth hadn't hit him yet. That was the source of the sadness, his childish hope for friendship, everything being right in the end. It was over and he couldn't see it.

"We should head back," she could feel worried eyes on her shoulders, she didn't turn around as she felt the first hot tear roll down her cheek, "I'm not going back," holding back a choke, "the bus is coming soon."

"Ok," he replied slow, brow rumpled with confusion. She forced back the sadness, and donned the mask of a smile. She spun around and said, "Call me if you find anymore of my things, we can talk some more." She could here the lie in her voice and feel the smile flaking away, she turned around quickly and plowed towards the bus stop before he had time to respond.

The streets were jammed with rush hour traffic, and the early drunks were bumbling down the sidewalks, calling out and stinking of piss. She blended into the noise quickly and didn't look back. Dread began to bloom in her shoulders and they hunched forwards. She felt weighted down and moved heavily as if each step stole her last bit of effort.

A block later the occasional tear fell, like the beginning of a rainstorm. Quiet and barely noticible, she tried to keep her suffering silent. She hated being noticed, especially in the bar district.

She stopped and stood in front of the blue and white bus sign. With a little stick man falling out of a stick bus. She chuckled slightly, then looked up at nothing and sighed. She clutched the plastic bag with the things that had just been rescued from her ex's house, in two clentched fists. She stood rigidly composing an air of coolness, pushing all of her thoughts into the inaudible spaces in her head.

When she boarded the bus she appeared cold and composed, a completely different creature. In her head she prayed the front will last until got home, before pushing that thought too into the wordless parts of her mind. She stared blankly and rigid all the way downtown, to her next transfer, to her apartment door.
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It isn't finished,or maybe it is, I can't tell.

i like it as is. then again, i'm a fan of anti-resolvement in stories. my favorite endings are ones that tie things up but leave a lot to the reader's imagination

Though if I write more it will be in a completely different vein of what I wrote in the beginning.

i have that problem too. it is frustrating, but i find writing skeletal outlines or a sentence or two of parts i may want to do in the future has helped me some
I have to agree with Ashke on this one. It's good like it is. Sometimes some pieces aren't meant to be taken father than what they are.

Though if I write more it will be in a completely different vein of what I wrote in the beginning.

That's always been a big problem with me too, so I understand what you mean.