Tag Archives: dark

Light Shines Through the Cracks of Darkness

My Indie Ink Challenge this week comes from Niqui. The challenge:

Violin music in the dark

This weeks challenge was really hard for me to get done. Not so much because of the prompt (though it did give me some trouble) but because I’m working 50 hour weeks right now and it’s been really hard to find time to sit and write. Anyways, I managed to get enough time to lock myself in my office and come up with this story. I hope you like it.

My challenge actually went to Niqui as well. You can read the response to my prompt, “Falling from a mountain of broken bodies,” here.

Enjoy!

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A set of headlights trails behind me way too close and blinds me through the mirror. I always have an inner debate with myself about whether or not I should just slam on the breaks with both my feet and teach that tailgater a lesson. I have never been in a car crash, I wonder what it feels like.

I can never bring myself to actually do it. What a shame; it would make the night much more interesting. No matter, the car has already passed me and driven into the nighttime oblivion.

There. Over there. In that house I just passed to the left, are two lovers embracing. The moon is full, and its light shines through vertical cracks of closed curtains. It creates bars of moonlight and darkness. It is exceedingly beautiful; as the man looks into his lovers eyes, through the bars, he finds himself trapped in a prison of beauty.

I know this because I have seen it. I have looked through the walls. I can see Everything.

Unfortunately, what the man does not know is that the woman- in about three hours time- is going to smother the man to death with a pillow. She’s been sleeping with his best friend. She is in love with him. And the two decided that the only way that they could be together is if they took the man out of the picture. As it were.

It sounds like the plot of a lazy soap opera, I know. But you would be surprised by how often real life emulates TV. Not vice versa, though. It has never ever been vice versa. Trust me. I can See.

The house is behind me and into oblivion now. Oh but this house. This house here up the road. It’s a sad story.

There is a boy, no more than seven or eight years old. Young, real young. He can hear the sounds of his mother and father fighting. Fighting and screaming and throwing and then fucking and moaning. This poor boy, he has had to endure the sound of it every night for as long as he can remember.

The boy, he is actually a musical genius. A prodigy; that’s the common term. His parents don’t know about it though, about his gift. See, one day as his parents were fighting he ran into the basement. He hoped that he could escape the noise. But he couldn’t.

Luckily, he found something in that basement. A violin. It belonged to his grandfather. The boy was maybe five years old. He didn’t even know what the thing was, sitting in its case collecting dust. All that he knew was that the thing made noise. Enough noise to drown out the sound of his parents.

Every night he makes the pilgrimage to the basement with a flashlight and picks up the violin. The boy has played every night since he found it. No longer is it simply about making noise. He uses the flashlight to shine a beam on sheet music- which he taught himself how to read, while teaching himself how to play- and plays beautiful music in the dark. The light is off so that his parents do not see what he is doing. He doesn’t need to worry about them hearing the music. Not ever.

I can hear the music. It is haunting. It is beautiful. The house has passed into oblivion.

Everything, I can see Everything. I can’t control it. It’s a blessing, but more so it is a curse. A fucking nightmare. You can not keep your secrets from me. When we’re introduced, I can see all of your triumphs. But I also see your Sins.

There, over there. That is my house. I stop and pull over. I get out of my car and walk to the door. I look up.

On the roof I can see Me. I am looking down to myself, looking up to myself. I am on the roof and I want to jump. I’m going to jump, head first. I don’t want to walk away from this one. Break free from this curse, this fucking curse.

No, that’s the easy way out and you’re not one for taking the easy way out, are you? No I’m not. You’re better than this, it’s a blessing too, never forget that. How so? What about that boy? From tonight? He has had it way worse, and you know what he does, he creates beauty from tragedy and you were able to see that. I guess you’re right. Good, now calm down.

I look up again and see myself. Playing the violin in the moonlight.

I can never bring myself to actually do it.


Whore.

Indie Ink Writing Challenge. Again. My prompt this week comes from Dafeenah, the challenge:

There was a 5.8 earthquake today and it got me thinking. 

That even if I lost everything, my hate for you would still be intact. 

Not much to say except that this piece is pretty dark. I must also admit that I didn’t put in as much time on it as I should, as I’ve actually gotten my first paid writing job as a community reporter and that has been taking up a bit of my time. It’s really great that I’ll start seeing my name on paper. And getting published is key, right?

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You bitch. You bitch, you fucking bitch. Fucking whore. How could you do this to me. Fuck me over? Bullshit. No, that’s some fucking bullshit. What, I wasn’t good enough for you or something? And your reasoning, oh, I’m just too busy for a relationship right now. You weren’t saying that shit at first when you came into my work unannounced.

I don’t get it, I really don’t. One minute you’re practically stalking me, and the next you tell me that you need ‘personal space’ and that I’m ‘stifling’ you. You don’t see the hypocrisy in this? You never saw the hypocrisy in this?

God, what’s the point to even be angry anymore, she’s gone anyways. It’s been months, why, how am I still even fucking angry at that bitch. I need to move on, need to move on but it’s hard.

Fuck, it’s not even that I’m mad at her, why I’m so pissed when I think of her. When I see her face as I’m drifting to sleep. I think I’m mad at myself, for having stayed affected by her for so fucking long. Four months, four fucking months and I still can’t get her out of my head. It’s pathetic, I’m pathetic.

But hell, I’d rather be angry than sad. And I have the right to be angry, after what she did. And over the phone, with friends around. You know how degrading that felt? I’ve never seen someone pull away so fast. And pull away she did. She wanted to spend endless nights together at first, then out of the blue she bails out.

She said that she had work, that it was going to be the busiest time of the year for them. That we wouldn’t be able to spend any time together. But it doesn’t take a whole lot of time to send out a goddamn text message. A ‘hey how ya doing?’ or something like that. Is it so hard? No. That’s why I sent plenty of them out. All day.

Because I cared.

And I’m the one who need to back off? No, fuck that. You’re the one who needed to come back in. I really liked you, all I wanted to do was show that to you. That I cared about you, care about you. I was frustrated that you said that, back off. It’s your fault I was angry, you bitch. Whore. And now you’re gone.

Because I cared.

Whore.