Oneshot written for anti bullying week...Frerard-ish..Please read and review. [Sorry, slight edits.]
This is for someone incredibly special who’s helped me so, so much in life and doesn’t appreciate how wonderful they really are.
The Ghost Of You
Dreamily white clouds, pure and wispy; twirlingly knotted branches of ancient oak; the ghost of a vivid amber sky; all lamenting, lingering over our heads in noiseless harmony.
Tickly grass and soft air; an unending summer sigh of solitude that gently brushes away the cobwebs of reality and lets the unheard murmurs of fireflies flitting and fluttering across the sky of a dying sun fill the balmy meadow.
You’re sitting beside me; a crumpled soul of broken dreams and shattered ego, hidden so dejectedly under endless layers of ebony clothing; black, bleak fabric that protects and conceals, the colour of the shadows you try so hard to melt away into.
The only glimpse of your core, your essence, is from those haunted, golden and russet eyes shrouded so hopelessly by unwashed tendrils of dyed raven; peeking out so rarely; tremblingly and timidly, engulfed so deeply by the fractures and failings of a world you once danced fearlessly across.
I know that the russet slivers to your soul is not the only thing your unwashed, unkempt hair hides so anxiously.
I know that, lurking copiously under your ebony hair, is so much you want to pretend doesn’t exist.
Scarlet slashes and scratches and scores.
Brutal, battered bruises.
Mangled, gouged, severed flesh swollen into bitter lacerations of crimson.
Discriminating, unjustified scars and stains of a corrupted world; tainting and contaminating your once pure, innocent face with unceasing wounds that slice into your perfect skin with the bitter venom of hatred and injustice.
And I know that those injuries have gouged far deeper than the flesh of your body; they’ve scarred the inside in a way that tugs and tears at the remains of your disfigured soul, scarring it forever with terror and torment.
You sigh; long and weary, as if you’re trying to expel all the horrors, the darkness and pain that engulfs and overwhelms you so compellingly.
My heart aches as I look over you; a raw, unending ache.
I remember when you were a bright-eyed, beaming, skinny teenager who danced across my world in a blur of magical musical notes and chords, sparkling individuality and russet- eyed talent.
Now, sitting beside me in the dying sun, you’re slumped and defeated, once shiningly golden eyes of intelligence tainted with defeat, dull and weary; lost in a dark, churning sea of agony. Your perfect face, your pale flesh is now disfigured; hacked at so brutally and endlessly, day after day, by the monsters that have destroyed something so perfect and original.
Monsters that jeer and ridicule, taunt, pummel and pound you.
Monsters that never leave you; unrelenting and unmerciful, hounding and haunting your every waking moment.
Monsters that have slowly destroyed something so important and perfect with endless acidic words and fierce firsts.
Monsters that have taken that beautiful, shining, kind, talented kid with cheeky lips and smiling eyes that saved me from the shadows; the short skinny boy with skeleton gloves and a battered guitar who changed my life.
And they’ve turned him into…nothing.
An empty husk of a soul; a hollow shell with only the faintest glimmer of life left in those haunted russet orbs.
I reach out and curl my fingers gently round yours, feeling the calluses from incessant hours of heartfelt strumming and the bitten down nails from living so long in a world of fear you’ve given up on escaping from.
You turn to look at me; fearful, ghosted eyes of russet, and I know, then and there, when you look at me with deadened eyes of ghosted gold that don’t quite seem to connect with reality, connect with me, just how much the monsters have destroyed you.
You can’t see the pink-skied sunset anymore, or the peaceful summer meadow. You can’t see my caring fingers curled round your trembling ones, or the fireflies dancing gracefully across the pink, icing-sugar coated sky.
You can’t even see me.
All you can see is the monsters.
When those haunted, beautiful eyes look at me without seeing, my heart tugs agonisingly at the strings of my chest. I squeeze your cold fingers, even though I know you can’t really feel it, can’t see the way I look at you…can’t see I’m there to save you.
And deep down, I know that all I have left of you now is dusty memories and the broken guitar chords of a talented, beautiful savoir.
Because you’re gone.
There’s nothing left to save.
What do you think? This was quite a personal story for me to write in some ways, so…yeah. I’d really love to hear your thoughts, so please rate and review. Thanks so much for reading.