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And here he lay. - What We Dream...
...When We're Awake.
whatwedream
And here he lay.

I stared at the white petals of the flower so intensely, I started to see color. Yellow from the pollen that lightly dusted the center crowned the green hue bursting from the stem. I twirled it in my fingers, the visage I held becoming a blur as everything around me stayed stark and crystal.

"Aarika.."

My heart skipped a beat. I focused more intently onto the flower that innocently followed my bidding. The leaves brushed against my thumb and forefinger like gentle whispers.

"Aarika, are you..."

I had never heard Mark's voice so tight and twisted, like the valve of a water pipe that had turned suddenly as the water rushed through, choking on a strength he tried not to secede with.

My eyes suddenly spilled with tears, the slight of his words becoming the invisible hand turning the own valve of my emotions rapidly. The waterfall of feeling that I had tried hard to conceal against concrete thoughts of stupid floral decorations ran forth. I refused to turn around and stare him in the eyes. Refused to see the rows and rows of gravestones that stood out against patches of grass and bright colored sentiments.

Okay.

I am not okay.

"Don't ask me," I said softly, stubbornly wiping away my own tears, "Don't...dammit."

I crushed the flower in my grip, my arms shaking as I suddenly lost control of myself all from Mark not being able to keep his stupid mouth shut. Here, I felt so helpless even when he couldn't finish his sentence, my mind filling in blanks, pushing forth memories I cared not to resurface. Not then. Not in the desolate graveyard among the freshly buried coffin that I had seen lowered earlier. My regales of happy memories didn't fit in with such a dire place.

"Are you crying?" His voice was strangled in pure confusion, as if he were witnessing a phenomenon; one that rarely ever occurred or had never been discovered.

At first I didn't say anything, but in moments my lips pursed together in a small quiver and my eyebrows furrowed downward in a frown.

In five easy steps, he suddenly pulled me close to his chest as my body seemed to shudder and break down. A heart-wracking sob pierced my insides as I inhaled, my face burying deeper into the black of his suit. He pressed his free hand gently upon my hair and began combing through the locks in a soothing gesture.

"Hey, hey, it's all right. Let it out," he murmured.

I shook my head against his chest before pulling back and looking away. I was the strong one, but I couldn't be a damn pillar of strength today. In a mad attempt to cover up my sudden burst, I pushed away from him and wiped my eyes, inadvertantly smearing the eyeliner that had decorated my lids.

"Augh," I muttered, "I - this is awkward."

Mark frowned, "No, this is normal. I'd be afraid if you weren't crying."

I shook my head for all pretense and purposes, "No, he wouldn't have wanted me to cry."

My gaze turned to the marble stone in front of us. Sitting still and innocuous like it's owner would never had been.

Mathias Revonlair
Nov. 23, 1984 - Jan. 3, 2010

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From:blondenough (Link)
Date: 5/17/09 - 02:53 am
 
Mmm...beautiful prose. I like the imagery of Mark's words turning on her emotions like a faucet and the details of the flower. The wording and descriptions are sophisticated but emotional. But you killed Matt!! I'll forgive you for the murder of my subconscious if you write more :D
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