Totem : Extract 1

A story I started writing in 9th grade. It would fall more or less in the 2nd book of the story I’m writing at the moment, as I felt the need to go further into my characters’ past and discover the world they came from. . Enjoy! 🙂 Ellie He started playing. The soft music flowed, silk through the silence: all in high notes, then weaving itself into lower keys. I could feel the imminent end; taste its coppery flavor at the back of my mouth and throat, as I remembered the familiar sound of the song. It was nothing short of elegantly pure; anybody else’s thoughts would’ve strayed to the beauty of it; mine were fixed on the pain that had resurfaced since the first note of the piano. I was in physical pain before my brain had consciously recognized the melody. My stomach was ice, yet it was set on distorting itself, twisting into uncomfortable positions. It felt like someone had put all their soul, distress and hate; all the sheer, brute force their body could muster up into a bone-crushing blow to my stomach and chest. The pain radiated through my limbs, venom through my veins — goose-bumps rose all over my body– and tightened itself around my throat, choking me. I gasped. My hands and fingers grew numb, as I fought to keep myself together, and keep my expression composed. My wrists and arms screamed in protest, but I only hugged myself tighter, hunching my shoulders and lowering my head to hide my sorrow. Sobs bashed their way up from my chest and nearly broke free in unmanly chokes. Nearly. All that came out was a soft whimper. Beside me, the ghost of my diseased friend kept on playing as I bit my lip, tightened my arms’ hold on me, forced my eyes and mouth to stay shut. A hiccup escaped my mouth and a muffled shriek of terror slid into its place. My eyes were as closed as they could be, yet tears still rolled down my cheeks, onto my lap. My body couldn’t take the pain any longer, and sought out an escape route, anything that would lessen the pain. It tried to break free, forcing its way up my throat. I started to heave, but I summoned all I had and stopped myself, covering my mouth, keeping it closed with all the strength left in my worn-out body. I thought all of this was over, long over, from a time I could hardly remember. Yet the pain still crawled its path through me with the same anger and demented determination it used to for years. I had not been able to put the pain at bay for long. I clawed at my cheeks, at my temples, my throat. All I could feel from my heart was not the reassurance I was still alive that I craved, but pain. Immense pain. I clawed uselessly at the pale, thin skin above it too. The music stopped. I could not bear any more, not even the thought of it. I knew too well how that story ended, and this was no fairy tale. I put an end to my reminiscing, as well as Ed had put an end to that song, that day. Crying was useless now; I could not change what had happened. The guilt was overpowering, omnipresent and inescapable; but could I not dream that that day had ended differently? Could I not even have that?   1/03/2013

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One Comment Add yours

  1. elainajhunt says:

    This is unbelievably beautiful. Tragic, but with such beautiful descriptions. I can feel what your narrator is feeling while reading it, and that is brilliant!

    Liked by 1 person

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