There's very little that keeps her alive now. The memory of rain on a summer day, the rush of cool wind that is wild and joyful, the look of a pair of brown eyes that looks like the ones she remembers. She holds on to small memories that make her smile, and she hopes it's enough to keep her breathing for the next days.

He'll be gone for ten days. It's only the fourth and her heart is threatening to stop beating.

What's worse about it all is that she knows, in the depths of her heart, that nothing will probably happen the moment that he returns. They're separated by hours, by moments, by ages... things that vary and that, while they have no importance in her feelings for him, she's aware that they probably mean a great deal to him. She prays every night that he will write, that he will feel at least a fraction of what she feels for him.

She wants him to miss her. To really, truly miss her. Even if he's only missing her as a friend; she wants him to miss her like a best friend. She wants him to need her, to wonder what she's doing, what she's thinking. She's begging fate to keep them alive together. She wants to be with him, even if it only means as a friend.

Her eyes keep fixed onto the words she's written in the past four nights. Maybe it's only been three. It feels like years already, really, and with every memory comes the doubt... that ever gnawing doubt that maybe the excitement she felt when he spoke to her, when he wrote to her, was actually unfounded. She's scared of knowing the truth, and she thinks herself a martyir in accepting it.

She's not sure what to do. So she prays that somehow God will tell her what's right... that somehow she will know the truth. She'll know what to do, when to do it. And she honestly prays that this will be the person that will make her life wonderful.

He already has, in more ways than she thought possible.

It's his smile, really. That small movement of muscles that can light up her world in ways she didn't know existed. The way his eyes light up and he looks amazed, like he's in awe of the fact that something can make him so happy. And when he laughs, he laughs oddly, in his own way, and his world is one of color and beauty and joy... and she looks at him and wishes she could join him. But every time she sees his smile she manages to appreciate a small piece of what his world is.

So she resolves to see more of it, and she makes him laugh daily, as much as she can, even when she doesn't mean to. She makes him laugh long and hard, and she watches him and laughs alongside him, because she needs to see him like this. she needs to see him happy. She's aware that it will be the only thing that will keep her alive once he's gone. In the ten days she has with him, she tries to fill him with as much joy as she can.

But she loves other things about him too, and it's not only his beautiful eyes and hands and his smile. She loves the way that he obsesses over the simplest things and how he makes an effort to explain them to her. She loves the strange words he invents and the way that they have become the reason she smiles every day. She loves how he calls her name, like it's something important and fragile that ought to be protected, so he speaks it gently, and there's magic in every syllable that she didn't know existed before he came.

Sometimes, when they're sitting across a room, his eyes will look up to where she is, and their gazes lock. She's used to looking away in situations like this one, but this time she holds his gaze because she loves his eyes and wants to know more about his world... she wants to become his world. And somehow, it seems that he doesn't notice or doesn't care keeping his eyes on hers, just like that, in silence. Sometimes he winks, but most of the times, he just looks at her until his eyes sent thrills up her spine and she's forced to look away. He's to beautiful, sometimes. Too beautiful to be allowed.

(to be continued)

Sometimes they get lost between the buildings and darkness.

People look empty, like lightless skeletons of something that they used to be. In the shadows of the day they don't do anything cruel, because in daytime it's only both of them and the pain of what they lost.

Later, almost at sundown, they meet on the roof of some building that's as tall as their sins are. He looks at her and they hold hands with a smile that bleeds sadness. They meet there again, a little closer to heaven and further from hell.

And now it's just them, and they're just a little less lost.

Yes, I know. I've signed up for another prompting thingmajig...but it'll be fun.

Prompt Table by workaholic1231

1. Accompllished	2. Aggravated	3. Amused	4. Angry
5. Blah	6. Bored	7. Blank	8. Busy
9. Calm	10. Chipper	11. Confused	12. Contemplative
13. Depressed	14. Determined	15. Devious	16. Dorky
17. Embarrassed	18. Excited	19. Hungry	20. Hyper
21. Intimidated	22. Jubilant	23. Lethargic	24. Melancholy
25. Predatory	26. Productive	27. Rejected	28. Relaxed
29. Writer's Choice	30. Writer's Choice	31. Writer's Choice	32. Writer's Choice

So, after I fail utterly in NaNoWriMo for the first time in my life...I decide to join fanfic100, which basically means I'll have to write 100 fics, now.
Of course, they have to accept my claim, but gahh this'll be interesting.
Maybe I'll write The Phoenix's Ashes like this, you know, kind of stand-alone one-shots...
...or not. I don't know.
And btw, TODAY IS MY BIRTHDAY! Yay! Partyparty.
Let's write something crazy now. I am insane. But still excited.
Ok, off to work before my boss notices I'm not really doing anything productive...
xD

We're still best friends. We talk to each other nearly every day on msn, when we can't see each other...we go to school together and go out monthly or so. xD

 
It starts like a slow gathering of colors, a slowly turning circle of glitter. Bright tunics, colorful cloaks, a rhythm that is hidden but can be glimpsed in their step. It calls the attention of people; it draws their eyes towards the strange characters that roam the area.

Then there is a moon, and a star, and flags, each one more beautiful and shiny than the rest. The light of urban worries bounces off them and shines with a new flash: something different, something magical, something unseen in that dark hole of monotony. There is a change in the air, and the once bored and preoccupied eyes look around, searching for the source of the movement.

Most hear them before they see them. Through the shift in the atmosphere a beat begins, slow and rhythmic, part of the footsteps that walk the ground, part of the pulse under skin, part of the wind…and slowly rises like a roaring lion. Hands fall onto drums, hitting them with a strength that wasn’t known by their owners, rising into a dance of music and skip that is new to the ears that hear it. And like a flock, people come hurrying to that secluded corner, joining the dance of the brightly colored figures in a state of nervous, hitherto unknown excitement.

Feet explore new steps in the night, lights bouncing off the costumes of careless, joyful delight, hands that had never known each other joining in the dancing shadows, and pure, amazed laughter fills the air. Old feet that had not known the pleasure of dancing in decades join the frenzy, twirling and stepping to a rhythm that had never been heard before. And young feet learn the beauty of a hearty, careless dance that exposes the soul so much more than the body.

Children are in the center of the crowd, jumping up and down with a delight that fills the heart of anyone who sees, attempting a catch at the moving flag that ripples and moves like the sea. Men that thought themselves to manly to dance laugh and giggle at the sheer pleasure of being immersed in a world of magic, and women, previously worried and self-conscious, leave their image behind them as they sink into the wonderful swirl of color and music, glitter bouncing off the bodies in the speed and the vibrations of laughter.

In that world, every problem and every worry is left behind, and for the first time in many years, the people learn what it is like to be carefree and truly happy, learning a rhythm and a culture that they had never experienced, like a glimpse into a world of magic, long lost in the past, but brought back under the hands of the drummers, in the feet of the dancers in colors and shine.

And then, they are gone, footsteps leaving the place, laughter fading into the distance, colors disappearing into the shadows. Only the rhythm remains for a few more seconds, the beat dancing in the nostalgic eyes that watch the leaving procession, and with a last powerful thud of hands on a drum, is gone.

And slowly, the pulses return to their natural pace, the feet to their normal footsteps, and the only thing that the colors and the music left behind is the magic of a beautiful, magical memory of a world where everything was right, caught forever in the minds of those who return to their normal, monotonous lives.

She shakes her head and closes her eyes, because she doesn't know what else to do. There's something macabre, but strangely beautiful in the air.

He's sitting with his back pressed against the side of the bed, legs outstretched on the ground, staring at her with vague interest, while she presses her lips together and tries to hide the grin that threatens to spread on her face.

The Sun is just disappearing down the horizon of buildings that cover the city and grow like a strange plague. Lights are switching on, more noticeable in the shadows now, betraying the activity of the people that lived there, the stress that in daytime would hide behind the elegant, artistic exterior.

And he knew, even before she inhaled to exhale her words, that she would accept, because beneath the layers of sweetness and propriety, she was curious and cold, brightly dark, intoxicated by anything that meant blood and disregard of the common human laws that she used to abide by.

After she manages to admit that he has her convinced, her deep, reddish eyes flick towards his and she grudgingly smiles at his smug smirk.

Then, she leaves towards the bathroom and leaves him there, on the floor, in his relaxed, half-asleep posture, because se knows that he follows her retreating figure with a gleam in his eye that isn't alltogether proper either.

She finds him sitting on a rock, looking over the beach, eyes closed as his fingers rub the sins into powder under his skin.

She reaches for his hand and feels the roughness of his touch and the paleness of the world around him.

Color means nothing in a place where all is darkness.

I'm still online, procrastinating, when I know I should sleep because I have school tomorrow ALL BLOODY DAY...and I have a sore throat so it's annoying, especially since I have to sing on saturday. Already asked my mom to buy some of those yummy throat candies...

So, yeah xD Otherwise, happy. Will go to sleep now. Yeah.