| Welcome to Kishmet. We hope you enjoy your visit. You're currently viewing our forum as a guest. This means you are limited to certain areas of the board and there are some features you can't use. If you join our community, you'll be able to access member-only sections, and use many member-only features such as customizing your profile, sending personal messages, and voting in polls. Registration is simple, fast, and completely free. Join our community! If you're already a member please log in to your account to access all of our features: |
| Tears for Salvation; Triptych I | |
|---|---|
| Tweet Topic Started: Dec 4 2009, 10:23 PM (438 Views) | |
| jsg | Dec 4 2009, 10:23 PM Post #1 |
|
Title: Tears for Salvation Rating: PG Another vignette scene without dialogue. This is another dark one, I'm afraid. I feel I may be developing a reputation for causing characters pain here. I hope you'll appreciate it however. It is written in a deliberate stream-of-consciousness style with an eye to conveying the rush of thought and emotion that comes after a harrowing night shortly before sleep when the mind refuses to settle down and let go of the present. Amongst their many listed properties, the tears of angels are said to salve a broken heart. Kyle Lewis, pre-med, pre-law, pre-Hell, offered up a silent prayer for the intercession of the saints and the host of Heaven to cure the broken man-child clutched to his breast. Two hours. Two hours to get him to say even a single word this time. Two hours of gasping and wide-eyed fear. Two hours of piteous gulps and fretful grasping. Two hours during which he would have gladly played judge, jury and executioner to those responsible for reducing a twenty-one year old to the mental state of a toddler, afraid of the dark. Once he started speaking, though, he couldn't stop. An incoherent torrent of fears and prejudices and disappointments. No matter how long this went on for, Kyle knew that Oliver's soul would never be evacuated of misery. Quiet, soothing words did no good, did harm. Better to say nothing and let him exhaust himself in his arms. Let him cry himself into a dark sleep filled with deadly terrors. Better the nightmares he can't or won't remember, than those which he subjected himself to every waking minute. The fear cannot continue. The fear cannot end. The fear driving Oliver was implacable. He was introverted, he was mollycoddled, he was an only child of only children. He was ill-placed to lose the only emotional relationships he had in his past. That past made him Oliver, the man that Kyle was swiftly falling in love with, and no amount of future could erase that. Promises of glories yet to pass mean nothing to a man who has lost his sense of self. Kyle adjusted his posture to let the blood flow back into his arm, having gone as numb as Oliver's heart. How could someone twist someone they care about so far that they threaten to snap; to release their anger and rage and hated at themselves in a sharp retort in a lonely garage in the dead of night? How could they let their fears suffuse the soul of so gentle a spirit? Yet raging at the world would not help. The small-mindedness of fools suffers no pity and certainly no regret. As much as he dreamt of visiting revenge upon them, for his Oliver's sake he would bite his tongue and be the polite, well-mannered pal of his buddy Fish. He looked out of the window then, at the darkness tinged with dawn. Oliver had arrived at just past midnight with a crash and a sob. Not even attempting to open the door, he had just fallen hard against it. After collapsing on Kyle's bed he had resisted being held at first, as was normal on nights like these. The resistance was diminishing with time however, and after only a few minutes consented to being consoled. Kyle simply held on and tried to convey with his grip what Oliver would reject if said in words. No need for words now though. He had drifted off at last, leaving Kyle with his thoughts and his fears. A sudden gust of wind, raised by the rising sun, rattled the poorly fitted window. There would be more nights like these, of this he was certain. Tonight was provoked by a phone call, a hum-drum feature of everyday life. Nothing could be more mundane than a father and a mother calling their son, newly flown the nest, to convey news and gossip from a town far away. There were pleasantries, and then the bombshell. News of a childhood friend, from before Oliver had locked himself away, now turned to the devil. Had Oliver had feelings for this man? Had he felt anything like what Kyle felt? It was impossible to guess and he didn't have the courage to ask. Kyle had been with men before he had been with Oliver; a litany of one night stands that left a dead taste in his mouth. Oliver seemed so innocent, so pure. Kyle couldn't imagine him with anyone before he had met him, drunk and giddy, at a house-party so many, yet so few, months ago. Regardless, Oliver had been affected by the call. By the quiet, softly spoken, unknowing, uncomprehending rejection of himself by his rock, by his idol. It was always bad when his parents called, but tonight was the worst yet. Would they ever release their son? Would their words torture him to his death? Would Oliver make the final stand against them, claim his freedom of mind and soul and step into the Abyss? Now Oliver was asleep, Kyle's mind paraded a personal hell of possible futures for his entertainment. There was love there, he was sure, but would love be enough? Kyle sighed and reached over to extinguish the lamp, casting a grimy yellow light over his messy room. There would be time for these questions to be answered in the morning, and in many mornings to come. For now, he allowed himself to cry; tears of grief for the man in his arms. It is said that the tears of angels can salve a broken heart. He hoped, not for the first nor the last time, that this were true. Edited by jsg, Dec 5 2009, 02:29 PM.
|
| AzureHorizon | Dec 4 2009, 10:37 PM Post #2 |
|
Kish Fic Laureate
|
Wow. Do you professionally write? Blows everything around here out of the water, and I don't mean that as an insult to everyone else, but... wow. |
| TimeToFly | Dec 4 2009, 10:43 PM Post #3 |
|
James
|
wow... Ok, you, my friend, have a real talent. Without any dialogue you can convey more pain and emotion in one page then many can with entire chapters. This is very VERY good. The pain and emotion with Oliver punishing himself for being the way he was, and Kyle, in his loving manner, watching on and being in pain himself for being utterly unable to help his friend who is more than a friend.
Just a pal is probably all Oliver thought of Kyle for much of their college time, and it's fantastic how I felt a little bit of Kyle's pain at the thought that they were only pals....
Utterly amazing work. |
| appleridge | Dec 4 2009, 11:10 PM Post #4 |
|
That Was Perfection |
| smuchshypush | Dec 4 2009, 11:15 PM Post #5 |
|
:) Don't worry, we like the dark stuff around here, and "cry in my arms late at night" stories never get old. Beautiful. |
| kyboom | Dec 5 2009, 08:04 AM Post #6 |
|
Michael
|
:wow: Simply amazing! I could feel every emotion in the words. This really touched me! Powerful! |
| Volver | Dec 5 2009, 08:17 AM Post #7 |
|
Beautiful! Thank you for sharing!! |
| Nukester | Dec 5 2009, 10:21 AM Post #8 |
|
:waah: ANGST :waah: Nukester can't handle angst, least of all when it's perfectly crafted. Thank GAWDS for the relief-line: It helped my gutter mind so much! :wow: THANX! Keep up the good writing, but try to write something with dancing :twirl: and laughter in-between the soul wrenching boughts of agony.... not that there's anything wrong with relishing the boy's misery and torment. But you can find a new path, I know it. You've the talent. Sometimes it helps to write it your way first [dark and tearful] and then multiply by negative-1, invert the paradyme, e.g.: There you have it! a simple scene that can be render full of joy and wit simply by negating the darkness. Ta da! [credit: I'm pretty sure this storyline comes from something I remember dkp wrote on the Nuke board back in the day where he had Noah finding a "wretched" kitten in an alley. Milkshake! The cat's name became Milkshake. Was that you dkp, or b32guy? Look at how that scene has stuck with me for 2 years! Good writing sticks with ya!] FYI: Before everyone flames me, I will post my alternative happy version here in a day or so. I want to give jsg a chance to redeam (or denounce) me first. Edited by Nukester, Dec 5 2009, 11:07 AM.
|
| ltklo | Dec 6 2009, 01:07 PM Post #9 |
|
Well written angst is always welcome! And I find Kyle's mind immensely interesting :) |
| Nukester | Dec 7 2009, 09:29 AM Post #10 |
|
unANGSTed version: A noise down the alley warned Oliver he might need back-up. But his growing police instincts for sensing what appears harmless--but is deadly, and what looks malicious--but is actually harmless, told him he could risk further investigation before calling in what could be a false alarm. The rain had stopped, altho everything still dripped liquid diamonds reflecting moonlight. He shown his flashlight down and about the short, familiar alleyway. At the far end was the dumpster behind Roxy's Angel Square Hotel. How she managed to fill it with empty booze bottles week after week without a liquor license... no-one, least of all her hepatologist, wanted to investigate for fear of what they'd learn. Between there and the police officer were fruit and vegetable boxes neatly stacked beside Buenos Dias's back door. The honey delicious smell of hot sopaipillas made Fish's mouth well as it drew him forward. The dessert was his latest weakness and Carlotta indulged it delightedly. "You must be my taste-tester. I make them fresh, twice a day...." In addition to the scattered trash and silvery puddles, a spot of green provided by an over-full recycle bin completed the scenery. It's lid gaped open like a giant mouth, only this mouth spewed shredded paper strands like someone explosively laughing at the untimely moment of eating whipped cream--straight from the can. Metal rang against the pavement. Fish froze. He swung the light at the source. Nothing. He advanced cautiously passing the cardboard cartons, straining his ears. There was another soft sound suggesting injury. "I'm a police officer. Do you need help?" He began to guess he'd find a homeless person, perhaps nesting in a box or finishing off a paperbag beverage. His emotions cascaded from cautious to compassionate to hungry back to professionally in control, if still savoring sopaipilla lust. He came around the boxes and snapped his handtorch at movement seen in his periphery. His body followed the turn, as did his right foot, stepping broadly forward to assure solid footing. A screech emitted from under-foot startled him to shift his weight leftward and loose balance. He teetered sideways toward the cardboard stacks. His fall progressed in slow motion as there was nothing he could grab to stop the tumble. Fortunately, the wet debris was soft, if smelling of rotten potatoes and deep-fryer grease. This uniform was headed to the dry-cleaners--probably for rejection. A mew sounded to his left. He rolled and turned the light on.... a kitten. He dug his way out of the cardboard and refuse heap, stood, and removed a couple boxes to discover a mother cat with kittens, one of which had managed to flip over a tin food bowl onto itself, leaving it's tiny twitching tail sticking out. "Ahhhh," he couldn't not purr himself. His eyes watered slightly in the instant it took to assess the animals' condition. They couldn't be days old. He righted the bowl to unveil the tiniest ruddy-furred darling that he had to pick up and hold soft against his cheek. "You must belong to the restaurant," he guessed by the old dishtowels placed in the box for the mother. He carried the kitten with him as he walked round to Carlotta's back door to knock. He had to knock twice to draw attention over the normal restaurant kitchen-din. "Officer Fish?" Cris's mom was surprised to see him, before instantly realizing why he was there. "Oh! Milkshake's had her kittens!" she turned and yelled, "Cris! Mama Gato's come back! Get her some catfood." Then she rushed outside. "I've been worried sick. She disappeared three days ago. "Where did you find them?" Ollie was a little embarrassed by his appearance and the mess he'd made of their orderly garbage. "Over here..., by accident." He thought of a distracting question. "Did you call her 'Milkshake'?" Carlotta stroked the feline, "She got her name from Roxy's grandson. Shane had a vanilla milkshake to go, and got no further than out the door when he dropped it. The cat could not be pulled away from the mess. She loves her milkshakes." |
| 1 user reading this topic (1 Guest and 0 Anonymous) | |
| « Previous Topic · Fan Fiction · Next Topic » |


2:48 AM Jul 11