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Untouched
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Literature Text
Make me feel…
He didn’t understand it…He didn’t understand anything. That thing called ‘empathy’ was a mystery to him. Even the most simple of answers was a mystery to him. What was ‘love’? What was ‘heartbreak’? He touched a hand to his chest, looking down at the hand and watching as it moved with his rising and falling chest, fingers touching the expensive, detailed material that he wore because he could and was able to afford it. He felt almost heavy, but he didn’t understand why. He thought maybe there was a stone in his chest, weighing him down; making him feel heavy and weak. In his other hand, rings on his fingers and cuffs long, he held two roses; red as blood and heavy in significance. He watched them for a moment then; just watched them with eyes half closed and just has heavy as his chest.
He felt as if he could cry at that moment, and he didn’t know why.
“Is it because I was rejected?” He whispered to himself; his pushed back a stray strand of hair red as roses, fingers lingering by his temple as he watched the roses wilt slowly in the heat of the room and his hand. “I suppose I would feel…Hurt because I was rejected. But I don’t think hurt is supposed to be so…weighed.” He frowned a little, eyes narrowing; acid green wondering and curious. “It almost feels like a very great burden has been dropped to my shoulders. As if someone is sitting there…Holding their hands over my eyes and causing me to stumble…”
Oh what strange thoughts! And all because of simple rejection? It was not as if he held love in a very high esteem. How could he? He didn’t even truly understand it. He didn’t truly understand any of the emotions that humans and sometimes he himself went through and experienced. A sociopath, his uncle had called him. A heartless sociopath that will never understand. At the time he thought his uncle foolish; what would the old man know?
But it seemed as if he understood plenty.
He sighed softly, closing his eyes and leaning against a wall he stood by, placing his hand against it; his feet shifted so he was slightly slanted on the wall, his shoulder leaning more heavily than his hip would. His eyebrows shifted, turning down and relaxing and he felt a piercing in his right eyebrow shift, turning slightly in the skin; his hand briefly flickered to earrings in his ears, touching them and wondering why he had gotten his body pierced in the first place before placing his hand back onto the wall, roses loosely held in his other hand as they continued to die.
Perhaps he had pierced his body to feel something. A physical pain to replace the mental pain that he didn’t understand and would never understand. He remembered someone saying to him now, just an hour ago, that he would suffer a great heartbreak from the rejection as it was from someone he deeply cared for. Blue eyes and lips of cherry pink…He had seen those features many times in his past hour of thought.
“Heartbroken…” He murmured then, looking at the wall; a little smile of confusion and understanding on his lips. “Is that what I’m feeling…”
Make me feel…
_________________________________________________________________
Leave me be…
He stood in an alleyway, looking down at his hands as if they were holding the answer to life and God and humanity. There were speckled in drops and flecks of blood; tiny compared to the pooling stuff on the cobblestone ground by his feet. He looked at the sticky red, stepping back from it unconsciously so it wouldn’t touch the boots more expensive than he could remember. He wiped the blood on his hands onto the shoulder of his coat; soft feathers tickling his cheek and nose as he looked at the stain on the white before looking away, eyes of heavy blue staring at nothing but contemplating.
Two swords were hanging by his hips, dripping blood and staining the ground he walked along in a simple little line, curving with the movements of his hips, causing the blades to move and shift subtly. He stopped at the end of the ally, hands moving to rest on the walls on either side of him. He glanced back into the shadows where he knew the body of a young peasant boy laid stabbed and slashed and bloody; he had been in the wrong city at the wrong hour of night, and the blonde was sure he’d feel some sort of remorse for it later on. He then turned away from the shadows where wide grey eyes still stared at him, looking at the street in front of him in thought; he felt blood on his cheek drying and he knew that would be itchy soon enough, but he didn’t do anything to get rid of it.
‘I love you, be mine.’ Had been the words haunting him the entire night. This night of nightmares and murder and blood. He took in a shaky breath, closing his eyes, his hands fisting lightly against the walls they rested on. How could that foolish man say something like that to him? Asking him to give away something that only loosely held him together…
He didn’t understand. How could anyone love him? He showed no love in return; he did not love people. He hated them; distanced himself. He had courted that man for a few months, yes, but it hadn’t really been anything serious. He’d been with another at the same time, behind the one’s back. It wasn’t like he actually felt anything for either of them.
He closed his eyes, raising his face to the cold wind, trying to shake him from hearing those words again and again, over and over in his mind. IloveyoubemineIloveyoubemine. No…No, he wouldn’t! He wouldn’t be anyone’s! This heart was his!
He opened his eyes, staring at a pitiless sky with empty eyes, lips of cherry pink opened slightly as he breathed into the quiet night; a puff of white cloud appearing from each exhale before dissipating. This heart was his, with its unfeeling coldness and empty lightness. He felt no connection, no need to stay with one person for too long. He felt no need and no remorse for when he told the redheaded man with the roses that his heart would never be his; that he would never be his and that he could just forget about seeing this face ever again. He knew that the man wouldn’t understand; he’d feel some sort of emotion but he wouldn’t comprehend it. And that was the thing that he envied the most about that man. How he could at least feel and be able to throw his heart away to others because he didn’t depend on it for his very survival.
But the blonde’s empty heart was the only thing keeping him from shattering and becoming nothing but nobody and a shadow; his empty heart was the only thing that allowed him to associate with people and blend into crowds at parties and meet the people that he broke. His empty heart was how he survived.
And if he didn’t have it he would be broken and under the hand of the one who held it, so easily crushed to fine dust by their much stronger, emotional hand.
“This empty hollow is mine…And it will never be anyone else’s because I will never let it go…” He whispered, looking blankly in front of him, determination and distrust in those eyes that had bewitched many. “It’s mine…”
Leave me be…
_________________________________________________________________
Come save me…
He laughed dryly behind his mask, his eyes watching the people around him as they giggled and danced and twirled together; getting tipsy and giggly from the glasses they held and swimming in his sight like a mass of colourful fish, all jumbling together to create art that he knew meant something but he didn’t quite understand the meaning. The mask he wore was decorative and light; with an expression of a slightly opened mouth, the corners of the lips turned up into a secretive little smile that only the cleverest would understand. Behind his mask was a smile of fake and plaster; of lies and deceit but no one commented when they saw it as he took off his mask to take a drink; no one wanted to see the true him after all, as they all came to this ball of masks and deceit so that they wouldn’t and couldn’t be their real selves. They were all role playing a different, happier person. No one wanted the truth here.
He excused himself, picking up a glass of light white wine from a walking by squire, walking to the empty balcony to have some fresh air; to inhale the scent of flowers and rotting grass that would distract him from whatever it was on his mind. The chains on his gloves clicked together in a soft musical bell sound, and he smiled as he brushed shoulders with a young lady that giggled and waved to him, running her fingers through his long red hair before letting him leave. As soon as he stepped outside and the brisk wind hit his cheek, moving his hair about in a wild tangle, the smile that he had worn as he moved through the crowd of colour disappeared and he moved from the door and away from overall sight inside, into a shadowed place.
He sighed, leaning against the wall with his back leaning heavily against it. Above him he heard the murmurings of the red haired lord that owned and lived in this large mansion and was the one to initiate this ball for some big celebration he had been hoping to celebrate. He had yet to see the man, though, and as he listened to the soft, deafened murmurings, he had a loose grasp or concept of what was going on and he closed his eyes, keeping his lips shut tightly.
He felt so…Out of place in this house all of a sudden. As if the happy fakes and the smiling liars were suddenly all too much for him and he couldn’t stand the light and the cheer or joy anymore. It was as if his spirit of dancing and laughing and drinking had finally shrivelled and died, leaving behind the inner wrinkle of a man behind; a stain on a perfectly good white shirt was all he was. For all his jewels and fine clothes and wine, all he was, was an actor. He was nothing like he played himself to be. He hated people. He hated socializing. He hated everything…And he was always alone. No one was close to him…And whenever he tried to accept someone into his life they walked right out, trampling over him and leaving him behind with the roses and rotting grass.
He opened his eyes, looking out to the roofs of the city, seeing the lights on as many other lords and ladies held many different celebrations, dances and balls where everyone was, and where only the lowest on the chain were no invited to participate, or if they did they would be the ones serving the drinks or cleaning the dirt or collecting the coats and cloaks from the visitors since all they were was the slaves and servants and maids of the house. He frowned as he stared at the roofs and lights, his hair falling into his eyes as he thought over things that were bothering him more than the rich.
Like his little lover. Or was he just a person he knew that held him at night and kissed his brow, listening to him as he spoke of everything and nothing; of meaning and meaningless, acting as if he cared and listened and thought of it deeply every night. Maybe it was those empty blue eyes or lying cherry pink lips that had caused him to realize that the relationship had meant nothing. Maybe that was why he wasn’t too surprised when he had left him that night after having visited the lord of the manor, telling him not to follow him and that he’d see him when he’d see him. Maybe that was why he wasn’t crying.
He held his mask in his hand, the string slowly loosening around his neck, falling off as he stared at the sky, full of the answers yet he couldn’t read the stars. And he felt his stomach twist and his chest wrench at the thought of the blonde boy or of the words that he had lightly, emptily promised him. He should’ve known that such a hollow heart would never be his. He should’ve known that such a hollow person would never stay in one place. He should’ve known…But it still hurt.
The glass of white wine he held tipped down in his hand, his fingers loosely holding it enough so it wouldn’t drop but not enough so it wouldn’t slip, and the alcoholic liquid spilled to the ground in his shadowed shelter, where he felt most at home. Where he felt alone and knew he was alone because nothing was in the shadows. And he knew that he would never be able to reach out to have someone after this heartbreak…After this betrayal. No one would ever stay with him because they didn’t want his words and meaning. They wanted his smile and lies, and he wouldn’t be able to give it to them…
“…I am alone in my solitude and thoughts and feelings…And crushed by the traitor whom I thought I loved.” He whispered softly, closing his eyes as he thought he heard the angry voice of a blonde with empty eyes echoing off the street. “I am forever to be alone…”
Come save me…
He didn’t understand it…He didn’t understand anything. That thing called ‘empathy’ was a mystery to him. Even the most simple of answers was a mystery to him. What was ‘love’? What was ‘heartbreak’? He touched a hand to his chest, looking down at the hand and watching as it moved with his rising and falling chest, fingers touching the expensive, detailed material that he wore because he could and was able to afford it. He felt almost heavy, but he didn’t understand why. He thought maybe there was a stone in his chest, weighing him down; making him feel heavy and weak. In his other hand, rings on his fingers and cuffs long, he held two roses; red as blood and heavy in significance. He watched them for a moment then; just watched them with eyes half closed and just has heavy as his chest.
He felt as if he could cry at that moment, and he didn’t know why.
“Is it because I was rejected?” He whispered to himself; his pushed back a stray strand of hair red as roses, fingers lingering by his temple as he watched the roses wilt slowly in the heat of the room and his hand. “I suppose I would feel…Hurt because I was rejected. But I don’t think hurt is supposed to be so…weighed.” He frowned a little, eyes narrowing; acid green wondering and curious. “It almost feels like a very great burden has been dropped to my shoulders. As if someone is sitting there…Holding their hands over my eyes and causing me to stumble…”
Oh what strange thoughts! And all because of simple rejection? It was not as if he held love in a very high esteem. How could he? He didn’t even truly understand it. He didn’t truly understand any of the emotions that humans and sometimes he himself went through and experienced. A sociopath, his uncle had called him. A heartless sociopath that will never understand. At the time he thought his uncle foolish; what would the old man know?
But it seemed as if he understood plenty.
He sighed softly, closing his eyes and leaning against a wall he stood by, placing his hand against it; his feet shifted so he was slightly slanted on the wall, his shoulder leaning more heavily than his hip would. His eyebrows shifted, turning down and relaxing and he felt a piercing in his right eyebrow shift, turning slightly in the skin; his hand briefly flickered to earrings in his ears, touching them and wondering why he had gotten his body pierced in the first place before placing his hand back onto the wall, roses loosely held in his other hand as they continued to die.
Perhaps he had pierced his body to feel something. A physical pain to replace the mental pain that he didn’t understand and would never understand. He remembered someone saying to him now, just an hour ago, that he would suffer a great heartbreak from the rejection as it was from someone he deeply cared for. Blue eyes and lips of cherry pink…He had seen those features many times in his past hour of thought.
“Heartbroken…” He murmured then, looking at the wall; a little smile of confusion and understanding on his lips. “Is that what I’m feeling…”
Make me feel…
_________________________________________________________________
Leave me be…
He stood in an alleyway, looking down at his hands as if they were holding the answer to life and God and humanity. There were speckled in drops and flecks of blood; tiny compared to the pooling stuff on the cobblestone ground by his feet. He looked at the sticky red, stepping back from it unconsciously so it wouldn’t touch the boots more expensive than he could remember. He wiped the blood on his hands onto the shoulder of his coat; soft feathers tickling his cheek and nose as he looked at the stain on the white before looking away, eyes of heavy blue staring at nothing but contemplating.
Two swords were hanging by his hips, dripping blood and staining the ground he walked along in a simple little line, curving with the movements of his hips, causing the blades to move and shift subtly. He stopped at the end of the ally, hands moving to rest on the walls on either side of him. He glanced back into the shadows where he knew the body of a young peasant boy laid stabbed and slashed and bloody; he had been in the wrong city at the wrong hour of night, and the blonde was sure he’d feel some sort of remorse for it later on. He then turned away from the shadows where wide grey eyes still stared at him, looking at the street in front of him in thought; he felt blood on his cheek drying and he knew that would be itchy soon enough, but he didn’t do anything to get rid of it.
‘I love you, be mine.’ Had been the words haunting him the entire night. This night of nightmares and murder and blood. He took in a shaky breath, closing his eyes, his hands fisting lightly against the walls they rested on. How could that foolish man say something like that to him? Asking him to give away something that only loosely held him together…
He didn’t understand. How could anyone love him? He showed no love in return; he did not love people. He hated them; distanced himself. He had courted that man for a few months, yes, but it hadn’t really been anything serious. He’d been with another at the same time, behind the one’s back. It wasn’t like he actually felt anything for either of them.
He closed his eyes, raising his face to the cold wind, trying to shake him from hearing those words again and again, over and over in his mind. IloveyoubemineIloveyoubemine. No…No, he wouldn’t! He wouldn’t be anyone’s! This heart was his!
He opened his eyes, staring at a pitiless sky with empty eyes, lips of cherry pink opened slightly as he breathed into the quiet night; a puff of white cloud appearing from each exhale before dissipating. This heart was his, with its unfeeling coldness and empty lightness. He felt no connection, no need to stay with one person for too long. He felt no need and no remorse for when he told the redheaded man with the roses that his heart would never be his; that he would never be his and that he could just forget about seeing this face ever again. He knew that the man wouldn’t understand; he’d feel some sort of emotion but he wouldn’t comprehend it. And that was the thing that he envied the most about that man. How he could at least feel and be able to throw his heart away to others because he didn’t depend on it for his very survival.
But the blonde’s empty heart was the only thing keeping him from shattering and becoming nothing but nobody and a shadow; his empty heart was the only thing that allowed him to associate with people and blend into crowds at parties and meet the people that he broke. His empty heart was how he survived.
And if he didn’t have it he would be broken and under the hand of the one who held it, so easily crushed to fine dust by their much stronger, emotional hand.
“This empty hollow is mine…And it will never be anyone else’s because I will never let it go…” He whispered, looking blankly in front of him, determination and distrust in those eyes that had bewitched many. “It’s mine…”
Leave me be…
_________________________________________________________________
Come save me…
He laughed dryly behind his mask, his eyes watching the people around him as they giggled and danced and twirled together; getting tipsy and giggly from the glasses they held and swimming in his sight like a mass of colourful fish, all jumbling together to create art that he knew meant something but he didn’t quite understand the meaning. The mask he wore was decorative and light; with an expression of a slightly opened mouth, the corners of the lips turned up into a secretive little smile that only the cleverest would understand. Behind his mask was a smile of fake and plaster; of lies and deceit but no one commented when they saw it as he took off his mask to take a drink; no one wanted to see the true him after all, as they all came to this ball of masks and deceit so that they wouldn’t and couldn’t be their real selves. They were all role playing a different, happier person. No one wanted the truth here.
He excused himself, picking up a glass of light white wine from a walking by squire, walking to the empty balcony to have some fresh air; to inhale the scent of flowers and rotting grass that would distract him from whatever it was on his mind. The chains on his gloves clicked together in a soft musical bell sound, and he smiled as he brushed shoulders with a young lady that giggled and waved to him, running her fingers through his long red hair before letting him leave. As soon as he stepped outside and the brisk wind hit his cheek, moving his hair about in a wild tangle, the smile that he had worn as he moved through the crowd of colour disappeared and he moved from the door and away from overall sight inside, into a shadowed place.
He sighed, leaning against the wall with his back leaning heavily against it. Above him he heard the murmurings of the red haired lord that owned and lived in this large mansion and was the one to initiate this ball for some big celebration he had been hoping to celebrate. He had yet to see the man, though, and as he listened to the soft, deafened murmurings, he had a loose grasp or concept of what was going on and he closed his eyes, keeping his lips shut tightly.
He felt so…Out of place in this house all of a sudden. As if the happy fakes and the smiling liars were suddenly all too much for him and he couldn’t stand the light and the cheer or joy anymore. It was as if his spirit of dancing and laughing and drinking had finally shrivelled and died, leaving behind the inner wrinkle of a man behind; a stain on a perfectly good white shirt was all he was. For all his jewels and fine clothes and wine, all he was, was an actor. He was nothing like he played himself to be. He hated people. He hated socializing. He hated everything…And he was always alone. No one was close to him…And whenever he tried to accept someone into his life they walked right out, trampling over him and leaving him behind with the roses and rotting grass.
He opened his eyes, looking out to the roofs of the city, seeing the lights on as many other lords and ladies held many different celebrations, dances and balls where everyone was, and where only the lowest on the chain were no invited to participate, or if they did they would be the ones serving the drinks or cleaning the dirt or collecting the coats and cloaks from the visitors since all they were was the slaves and servants and maids of the house. He frowned as he stared at the roofs and lights, his hair falling into his eyes as he thought over things that were bothering him more than the rich.
Like his little lover. Or was he just a person he knew that held him at night and kissed his brow, listening to him as he spoke of everything and nothing; of meaning and meaningless, acting as if he cared and listened and thought of it deeply every night. Maybe it was those empty blue eyes or lying cherry pink lips that had caused him to realize that the relationship had meant nothing. Maybe that was why he wasn’t too surprised when he had left him that night after having visited the lord of the manor, telling him not to follow him and that he’d see him when he’d see him. Maybe that was why he wasn’t crying.
He held his mask in his hand, the string slowly loosening around his neck, falling off as he stared at the sky, full of the answers yet he couldn’t read the stars. And he felt his stomach twist and his chest wrench at the thought of the blonde boy or of the words that he had lightly, emptily promised him. He should’ve known that such a hollow heart would never be his. He should’ve known that such a hollow person would never stay in one place. He should’ve known…But it still hurt.
The glass of white wine he held tipped down in his hand, his fingers loosely holding it enough so it wouldn’t drop but not enough so it wouldn’t slip, and the alcoholic liquid spilled to the ground in his shadowed shelter, where he felt most at home. Where he felt alone and knew he was alone because nothing was in the shadows. And he knew that he would never be able to reach out to have someone after this heartbreak…After this betrayal. No one would ever stay with him because they didn’t want his words and meaning. They wanted his smile and lies, and he wouldn’t be able to give it to them…
“…I am alone in my solitude and thoughts and feelings…And crushed by the traitor whom I thought I loved.” He whispered softly, closing his eyes as he thought he heard the angry voice of a blonde with empty eyes echoing off the street. “I am forever to be alone…”
Come save me…
Suggested Collections
So....
just put up a new picture called 'Untouched': [link]
LOOKIT IT'S AMAZING.
Anyhow, so I basically took the little 'descriptions' under 'The story of three men' and wrote those little stories in how it could all be separated but entertwined too. ^^ I hope I did alright!!
And apparently she was inspired by 'Untouched' by the Veronicas. Funny thing is, I'm OBSESSED with that song right now. xD But I listened to 'So I Thought' by Flyleaf. Soo...Yeah. xD This writing style is completely new by the way. Hope you like it!
Untouched (Art):(C)
Untouched (Story):
(C)
Kingdom Hearts II/Final Fantasy VII Characters: Square Enix (C)
just put up a new picture called 'Untouched': [link]LOOKIT IT'S AMAZING.
Anyhow, so I basically took the little 'descriptions' under 'The story of three men' and wrote those little stories in how it could all be separated but entertwined too. ^^ I hope I did alright!!
And apparently she was inspired by 'Untouched' by the Veronicas. Funny thing is, I'm OBSESSED with that song right now. xD But I listened to 'So I Thought' by Flyleaf. Soo...Yeah. xD This writing style is completely new by the way. Hope you like it!
Untouched (Art):
(C)Untouched (Story):
(C)Kingdom Hearts II/Final Fantasy VII Characters: Square Enix (C)
© 2008 - 2024 AngelWing1138
Comments9
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I don't know anything about Kingdom hearts, but I still think this is amazing.