An Idiot.
Title: An Idiot
Summary: The girl is smart, the girl is wise, the girl's meeting her utter demise.
Characters: The girl & the boy.
Genre: Angst/General.
Rating/Warnings: G/Confusing?
Word count: 531
Author's Note: Written for brigits_flame September Main Contest. & just because I haven't written in such a long time.
What the girl hears from the gossip vine seems contradictory to what the girl sees in front of her. But still the girl listens and goes by her head, her logical mind, the little whining voice which steers her heart clear away from the boy, the boy with only the pretty face. So the girl admires the pretty face and smiles and thinks the boy would be the boy of the week, a boy to stare at for a week then move on to find another face, another body.
But the boy became the boy of the month, the boy of the quarter, the boy of the year. All against the logos of the girl and the logos of the friends and the logos behind the threat of her imminent demise, shards of a broken heart, and other cliche romantic deaths which were apt to arise from the pathetic situation.
Yet the girl shook out her curls and smiled, deciding her fleeting glances would not annihilate her sanity. She was much too wise, argued the girl, to succumb to heartbreak and other vulnerable ideologies. She would rise above them all.
So the girl with her twinkling eyes and excited squeals, clapped her hands and grinned ridiculously every time the boy smiled or looked her way or it gets even better: spoke to her. It was reputed with good cheer and amusement. What harm? What damage?
But when her eyes narrowed, watching another female consort with the boy, the jealousy contaminating her as she ruled the boy was hers, only hers for the looking and admiring, for giggling and talking to. But when her heart began to sicken, wilting in the hell-fire of bitterness and the worms of unrequited adoration eating away at her aortas. But when the feeling of a thousand-ton boulder suffocating her chest arose, did she realize her addiction, her utter dependence on the boy for her happiness and glee.
The boy would not look her way. And the girl had deceived herself into a different view.
Cut away the sticky bonds, the whining voice advised, forget about how this was the date when he smiled at you. Forget this was the book he picked up from the ground for you. Even forget how this was the smile you wore when you caught his eye.
But. It would be easier to remove an year of her life than eliminate all the memories of the boy of the year which had accumulated.
Wisdom was lost. Heartbreak was found. How had she been deaf to the words of warning? How had she continued the trek onward in pigheadedness, famished for a word of recognition from the boy who would never feature her in his thoughts?
So they call it a crush for a reason. So they call it heartbreak for a reason. So they call it all the tangled words, the high warnings, and Thou Shalt Obey, for a reason.
If the girl’s harbouring him in her delicate heart over all the Jacks of the world, where is her compensation, her praise, her due? Why a shard of glass instead of a warm rush of blood into her small, withering heart?
Summary: The girl is smart, the girl is wise, the girl's meeting her utter demise.
Characters: The girl & the boy.
Genre: Angst/General.
Rating/Warnings: G/Confusing?
Word count: 531
Author's Note: Written for brigits_flame September Main Contest. & just because I haven't written in such a long time.
What the girl hears from the gossip vine seems contradictory to what the girl sees in front of her. But still the girl listens and goes by her head, her logical mind, the little whining voice which steers her heart clear away from the boy, the boy with only the pretty face. So the girl admires the pretty face and smiles and thinks the boy would be the boy of the week, a boy to stare at for a week then move on to find another face, another body.
But the boy became the boy of the month, the boy of the quarter, the boy of the year. All against the logos of the girl and the logos of the friends and the logos behind the threat of her imminent demise, shards of a broken heart, and other cliche romantic deaths which were apt to arise from the pathetic situation.
Yet the girl shook out her curls and smiled, deciding her fleeting glances would not annihilate her sanity. She was much too wise, argued the girl, to succumb to heartbreak and other vulnerable ideologies. She would rise above them all.
So the girl with her twinkling eyes and excited squeals, clapped her hands and grinned ridiculously every time the boy smiled or looked her way or it gets even better: spoke to her. It was reputed with good cheer and amusement. What harm? What damage?
But when her eyes narrowed, watching another female consort with the boy, the jealousy contaminating her as she ruled the boy was hers, only hers for the looking and admiring, for giggling and talking to. But when her heart began to sicken, wilting in the hell-fire of bitterness and the worms of unrequited adoration eating away at her aortas. But when the feeling of a thousand-ton boulder suffocating her chest arose, did she realize her addiction, her utter dependence on the boy for her happiness and glee.
The boy would not look her way. And the girl had deceived herself into a different view.
Cut away the sticky bonds, the whining voice advised, forget about how this was the date when he smiled at you. Forget this was the book he picked up from the ground for you. Even forget how this was the smile you wore when you caught his eye.
But. It would be easier to remove an year of her life than eliminate all the memories of the boy of the year which had accumulated.
Wisdom was lost. Heartbreak was found. How had she been deaf to the words of warning? How had she continued the trek onward in pigheadedness, famished for a word of recognition from the boy who would never feature her in his thoughts?
So they call it a crush for a reason. So they call it heartbreak for a reason. So they call it all the tangled words, the high warnings, and Thou Shalt Obey, for a reason.
If the girl’s harbouring him in her delicate heart over all the Jacks of the world, where is her compensation, her praise, her due? Why a shard of glass instead of a warm rush of blood into her small, withering heart?