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Dec. 30th, 2010

daeriel blire rana dreamer

Poinsettias and Bells

Note: Inspired by a challenge from my writer's group to make a Christmas song a key part of the story.


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Hark how the bells, sweet silver bells, all seem to say throw cares away…”

 

Light poured out the windows of the small brick structure, tinting the drifts of snow with the colors of their stained glass. The bell chimed as a gust of wind swirled past, picking up the sounds and carrying them down the white strewn streets. The strains of the song echoing inside the church spiraled around buildings and teased the ears of the few shoppers still out and about, carrying their last minute Christmas Eve purchases. Only one woman lifted her head.

 

Her arms were void of the piles of presents that most other shoppers had. Instead she carried only a bouquet of poinsettias, the red petals contrasting against the snow they collected as she sat on a bench. She was shivering, but appeared not to notice. Turning her gaze into the wind, her eyes narrowed and moved from side to side as she searched for the source of the sound. The breeze continued to play with her scarf and hair, turning her exposed ears pink at the edges. Brushing a stand of hair out of her eyes and tucking it behind her ears, the woman struggled to her feet. Her movements were slow and hesitant, stiff as if she had been sitting there in the cold for a long time.

 

She stood for a moment, head tilted so that her dark hair fell into her face again. The roads were beginning to empty and the sounds of cars and people wishing each other a Merry Christmas were dying down, but the wind had shifted direction, and she could no longer catch the strains of music she had heard.

 

“Hmmm hmm hmmmm hm hmmm hmm hmmmm…” She hummed the tune under her breath, face screwed up in concentration.

 

“Hark something bells something, something bells.” The words were muttered in an undertone, and she frowned in frustration, unable to remember. Crossing her arms over her chest, the poinsettias still clenched in her hand, she looked up and down the street. In the light of the street lamps, the falling snow danced and twirled. Her gaze caught on the view for a moment, and her mouth softened just a bit, only then revealing how tightly the lips had been being pressed together. The half smile quivered, and her chin firmed again.

 

Shaking her hair out of her face once more, she tightened her scarf against the cold and started off up the street. She walked with determination, her boots leaving crisp prints in the snow. The wind picked up and brushed by her face, carrying away the sound of her humming. She was still trying to remember the words to the song.

 

She paused as she came to an ornate iron fence. A gloved hand traced the shape of a swirling petal. Her head lifted, and she stared into the lot beyond. A tear clung to her eyelashes.

 

Reflected in her gray eyes was a spread of marble stones. She blinked, and a crystal drop trickled down her cheek. Turning her head aside, she entered the graveyard through the tall gate beside the brick building the yard was attached to.

 

The snow was thick here, unmarred by passage over the course of the day. She left a clear trail as she made her way between the graves. She appeared to know the way well, for it seemed unlikely that she could see well enough to navigate otherwise in the gloom of the approaching night and with her eyes blurred by tears.

 

The marker she stopped before was a smaller one. It was not styled ornately, nor did it seem to be of expensive stone, but she brushed the snow from the front as if it were a priceless jewel.

 

Katy Evans

Oct 12th, 1985–Dec 24th, 2008

Beloved lover, sister, daughter, and friend.

 

The words were simple, but the tears that rolled down the woman’s face proved them to be true. She laid the poinsettias at Katy’s grave and knelt there for a few moments—sobbing—her hand still on the stone.

 

“I miss you, Katy.” The words were hardly a whisper, carried by the wind to swirl around the dark stone. “It’s just not the same without you. Christmas just isn’t the same. I can’t celebrate it anymore.” Her words cut off in a muffled sob as her free hand covered her mouth. “It was always your favorite time of year, wasn’t it? You always woke up hours before everyone else, even at 20. Nothing could contain your excitement.” It was quiet in the graveyard for a few moments, even the wind remaining still. Then fresh sobs bubbled up, and it was a moment before the woman could speak. “I can’t remember the words, Katy! It’s your favorite song and I can’t remember the words! I feel… I feel as if I’m forgetting you. You sang it all the time, even in the middle of summer. How can I not remember?” Her heartbreak echoed in the syllables, the words ripped from her innermost heart. “I can’t forget you, Katy…”

 

The wind swirled past her again, and suddenly the graveyard was filled with the sounds of singing.

 

“Hark! how the bells
Sweet silver bells
All seem to say,
"Throw cares away."
Christmas is here
Bringing good cheer
To young and old
Meek and the bold.”

 

The woman lifted her head and looked to the church beside in. Beyond the stained glass windows, she could vaguely see a choir rehearsing. While the song continued, she closed her eyes. Her lips trembled, but a small smile touched them.

 

As the final strains echoed into silence, she looked back to the grave. Running her hand over the stone one last time, she climbed to her feet and turned, following her path back to the gate. Just before she closed it behind her, she looked back.

 

The wind carried her whisper into the yard. “Merry Christmas, my dearest love.” She smiled.

Dec. 26th, 2010

daeriel blire rana dreamer

I remember...

I remember the promise you made to me
that everything would be fine.
I remember the way you held my hand tight
and promised that I would survive.
I remember the look in your eyes the night
my childhood fell away.
I remember the feel of your hand the night
my nightmares came to play.
I remember the secrets I hid deep inside,
wishing things weren't how they seemed.
I remember the way you always were there,
promising an end to the nightmares I dreamed.

I remember the promises
that you failed to keep.
I remember the nights
I was afraid to sleep.
I remember the whispers
I should not have ignored.
I remember the falsehoods
that filled every word.
I remember the sound
of my heart as it broke.
I remember the loss
of the innocence you took.

I remember so clearly
the way I became
this frightened and hollow,
discarded, old game.

Dec. 24th, 2010

daeriel blire rana dreamer

In the Face of Society.

There are a lot of things in our culture today that we find ourselves struggling to comprehend. What’s right? What’s wrong? Is there any such thing as either?

I’m a lesbian. In much of society today, this is completely unacceptable. Publicly, many people are trying to put on a good face, but when I walk down the street holding the hand of another girl, the looks I get prove that America, the melting pot, isn’t as accepting as we like to claim.

However, I find that I don’t much care when it comes down to me. I want homosexuals to be more accepted in general, but I, personally, am content.

I’m dating this incredible girl. Her name is Ama. We’ve been together for two months today and I’ve never had this sort of connection with anyone. She’s a blend of a best friend and the dearest lover I could ever ask for. I’m in love with her.

Society may try to tell me that what I feel is wrong, or that I don’t truly love her, I’m just confused. But all I know is this—since meeting my girlfriend, the world makes more sense than ever before. I’ve had relationships with males, but it’s never been like this. My heart belongs fully and completely to her. She holds the key to it, and, though I don’t know where life may take us in the future, I’m more than willing for her to hold that key for a long time to come.

I’m sitting here now fiddling with the ring she gave me, a blend of a Christmas present and a two month gift, if I understand correctly. It’s a coin machine ring, but I find it beautiful. I smile every time I look at it because it’s proof to my cautious heart that she loves me.

It’s only been two months since we’ve been together. Not that much longer than that since we met. But I feel as if it’s been so much longer. As if we’ve had years together. She is my missing puzzle piece and now that I have her, I finally feel like maybe I can make it after all. I still have a lot of progress to make, but I’m no longer doing so alone.

It’s 5:22 am. Two months ago I was trying to sleep, excitement and joy filling me after the most incredible girl I knew at the time had agreed to date me. Now I know that she is not only the most incredible girl I know, but probably the most incredible I will ever know. I won’t make promises for the future that I cannot keep, but at this point in time, I honestly find it impossible to imagine ever loving anyone more than I love Ama.

So yes, I’m a lesbian. But I’m also just another person who’s hopelessly in love with the person who’s surpassed all their dreams. Society may judge me as they will. I have all that I could need and I am happy.

Dec. 23rd, 2010

daeriel blire rana dreamer

Writer's Block: So close to reality.

Imagine an online game which is so close to reality, that you can feel and touch your opponent. What sport, activity or game would you want to play?

Something fantasy based in a Medieval style universe. With swords. And magic. Dude, that would be so fricking epic. I'd game all the time.
daeriel blire rana dreamer

Hallo LiveJournal

So, I was finally convinced to try out LiveJournal. We'll see how this goes!
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