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Falaise

TaJuan is an aspiring writer hoping to gain experience and growth through publishing passionate works, like this one, online for the world.

Let me write you a scene from a movie, a movie that you will

never see, but I’ll let you

star. It starts with a couple cuddling in a dark room, their bodies

silhouetted by the soft moonlight, listening to

“Medicine” by Daughter. Like a mother to her newborn, one held the other.

You are the one holding. You are gripped tightly by love’s

mysterious powers. Every single day for months, you have

concentrated all of your energy into three little words,

and delivered them to your lover’s ears. You continuously gave

your all, and then some, to make sure your lover was happy. Though they were flawed, you knew, like Daughter sang, they had a beautiful brain, a warm heart, and an

unbreakable smile which made the problems seem miniscule. Eclipsing love. Now,

let’s have you play the one being held. You are gripped tightly by depression’s

mysterious powers. Every single day for months, you have

been broken down by the wrath of your mind’s darkest thoughts. You

adore your lover, you really do, but you know, deep down, that you

can’t love like them. You attempt to

reciprocate their pure love to the best of your ability, but you know it will

never be enough, for you are

broken. Love is a foreign feeling for those who can get out of

bed in the morning. Love is a vigorous virtue for those who have a

clean past, and an actual future. Love is

a beautiful emotion, you understand that, but you also understand that it was

never designed for people like you. You have tried to love many times before, but it

always turned into you leading them towards a cliff, them

begging you not to jump, you

jumping anyways, them

struggling to hold you up, and, in an attempt to be noble, you

cut your arm off as they finally close their eyes and move on,

refusing to watch you fall. You say you don’t want to be this character anymore?

Fine, I’ll let you be the sober one. You watch your treasured lover replace

all of the oxygen in their lungs with whatever is being contained in their

disposable pen. They call it their “Golden Ticket” not because of the

gold hue it possesses, but just like Charlie in whatever rendition of the story one

fancies, it brings them tremendous joy. To you, however, it is a slow acting

poison, killing your lover from the inside. You’ve tried to persuade them from the habit, but it seems to be an impossible task. No matter, you

always remind yourself. As long as they’re

happy. Aren’t you curious about the other one? How about you play the

high one for a bit. You know you’re everything but happy. You abhor inhaling the medicine, but you have realized that you can’t

function without it. What once was a fun escape from a world of troubles

became an infinite crutch, and you fear you may never walk without it

again. You smoked an inexplicable amount that night because work was

hell, and you were tired of feeling. You’re a server at a little breakfast restaurant where

the customers treat you inhumanely, your coworkers don’t respect you, and your

happiness is neglected. You need to work there because money is a necessity, and your

dreams of becoming a writer seemed to be reserved to that realm forever, so you suffer and suffer and suffer and suffer some more, and you continue on suffering and suffering

until, finally, you decide it’s time to end

the suffering. You leave your body and see yourself exiting your lover’s hold, grabbing the knife you have hidden in your drawer, and cutting yourself, and before you know it,

you’re doing just that. You have the knife in your hand until you don’t. You

have the knife in your hand and you’re bawling your eyes out. You always feared

this was a possibility, that your joined path was leading to this moment, and now, your

fears are realized. So, tears are pouring down from your eyes and you watch your lover in

utter shock. You can’t produce words, so you just stare into your lover’s crimson eyes

and cry. You want to see them fixed, but you

question if that’s even possible. Those

squinted eyes were not the same eyes you fell in

love with. You are in utter shock. You always knew this was a possibility, that your joined path was leading back to the cliff, you just didn’t want it to end so soon.

You can’t produce words, so you just stare into your lover’s glassy eyes and

laugh. You want to see them happy, you want to console them, but you’re so high

that you can’t feel anything but glee. You’re laughing in pain. You’re crying in pain.

You’re one step out the door. You’re one step into the grave.

You’re traumatizing. You’re traumatized. You’re a

star, and this is your movie. Now, what should we call it? How about

The Life of Ciel? Yeah, I like that.

It has a nice ring to it.







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