life's hard when you're ridiculously nancy. (midnightsausage) wrote,
life's hard when you're ridiculously nancy.

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this isn't fanfic

just something i wrote on a whim. and i'm probably going to regret posting it where people can se. oh well.

How it shines, he thinks.

There’s a morbidly inherent beauty to this act, he thinks.

Something perverse, wrong, but so right.

The way the ruby droplets squeeze out of that thin line, sliding a slow path down his wrist, bungying off the edge, and then eventually coming to rest on his jeans, pooling then soaking a small, dark crimson patch in the denim.

The delicate ache radiating from the cut, that comforting sting that tells him he’s still here, he’s still mortal.

Still here.

Why, he asks himself.

Why am I still here?

Someone up there obviously likes me.

Or hates me.

He looks down at the cut milking red life force out of his body, away from him.

He can’t help but feel relief. He has too much emotional baggage to carry around to have an unimportant component like blood weigh him down.

Too hard.

I’m in the too hard basket.

He laughs almost inaudibly, at the impossibility of it all, the absurdness of it all.

Because his mother used to say that, and she always meant that he was the one that put her there. With his fucking problems.

Problems she couldn’t fix.

Problems she wouldn’t believe in.

Problems…that weren’t hers.

He wants to touch it, make sure it’s real, that something that beautiful and perfect could really come from his ugly insides. But then, that would break the illusion.

So he watches.



And soon it stops, and the beauty is gone.

Leaving another ugliness.

Again, he thinks.

But then that too will end, and then he’ll have more ugliness to deal with.


Or less.
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We have similar writing styles. I love what you write, it's always fantastic.

This is gorgeous.

Just ... guh.

Love the sparseness of this, the placing of the sentences on the white space, it's like I can see the red on the white. Beautiful.

*does not prod*

no prodding? **looks disappointed** damn, you know how i love prodding...

*prods prods prods*

*prods some more*

C'mon, Nat, where's that hot heavy man-sex and hot heavy angsty talking you teased me about?

*most loving prods*'s in my history essay.

seriously. i was talking about hitler's trial, and i wrote "court" and i found myself writing my story into my essay...which was not so good.

but hot heavy man sex will come once the recount of hitler's rise to power has been finished, mark my words.

*prods the fuhrer to the mike*

*prods the court into the bunker*

*prods good ole eva into hiding*
no more, hitler, no more!!

tomorrow, there will be next to no sleeping done!! hurrah for the powers of distraction!!