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The Pen is Mightier than the Sword

Orbits


Peredhil

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He spun out from his electron orbits, an electric presence, now wave, now particle, depending on the observer's needs and eventually came back around spinning, spinor up, spinor down, orbital places, slung his back pack to the floor.

And he said,

 

I'm back it was interesting; they paid for my way;

New books to read. New games to play. Their life was hell -

They were very drained. They're getting married! My advice I explained.

I gave them a breather; They were magnificent together, kicked out the evil,

The storms they weather. I met some people, they were all so nice!

I hope it was worth it to them...

As she reached up and extracted the crimson pen of correction from the gold-with-silver-strands-peering-out hair, to mark the red smiley by an answer quite apt, she murmured, as he paused for breath at the last,

What advice did you give?

He spun to a halt and looked at her way, recalling he'd heard of a divorce in her past, and his mouth flapped windless as he tried to recall.

For her question was not empty.

 

He ran back and forth lithely and deft, spinning the plates on their rods with great speed, stepping on shards but ignoring the pain, catching a few and putting them back in their place, occasionally gaining the time to pick up and repair, intent in his focus.

A phrase from her way catches his attention and as he runs, his words burble up.

And he says,

Despite the obvious differences that exist between you and I, I can't help thinking as I hear what you say, that there are similarities that lie underneath, if you will. The empathy you mention resonates deeply and did you mention kindness? I often listen well, and I'm thinking we're positive and really you see, I'm a likeable guy so apparently with all these things in common it's no wonder we write as friends and, (excuse while I catch this, pardon me while this shard mends,) where was I oh yes, I think you'll agree we have commonality, (back in a minute, over there is disaster!)

He spins three more plates to give himself a chance to catch one on a foot and two in one hand, ignoring the increasingly shattered crockery at his feet.

The steady rhythm and response from her side, as she patiently recites back her daughter's lines for the play, pauses for a moment, as she inquires,

What do you see as our differences?

Which leaves him frozen in an odd plate-bearing posture as he actually has to look at himself and contrast.

 

The lights are out in the office but the eye he uses for life, the left eye that has visions of people as they could be, should be, is filled with rainbows and tingles and is so overflowing with light that he simply has to use the right eye, the cynical eye, which feeds the reality-threads it spies to the Other eye to be transformed like stained glass windows from dull reality greys into wonderous potential visions, but not today for it is overfull and so he turns the right eye into himself as he bends into fetal curls of resistance to the bleak realities he sees and he just can't help but to wonder.

And he says,

You know this really doesn't make sense, the world's an evil modern place filled with selfishness and stalkers and obsession and lusts willing to consume and own others with no regard for them (and as I tell so many I love) you shouldn't open yourself up to chance-met strangers because you're far too precious to risk your heart to someone like that; how can you know that when I say I'd never hurt you that I won't, for all liars start with lies of love and protection until they can eat your heart and identity away and leave you dependent on only their poison: addicted to come back for explanations of reality; and you should really beware. This, all this, doesn't make sense, for since I saw you laughing on the stair I haven't had any defenses against you and one of us should be realistic according to the right eye's view and retreat and defend because unreasonable Middle-Ages Romantic Love which exists in writings but not realities, consider: love just isn't prudent and far too vulnerable and while this whole thing could frighten me (if I were the type to listen to fear (it's just negative believing and believing creates realities you see and where was I before I digressed? Oh yes! Reality and stress and why you should be wary for you simply can't know what lies behind the masks that others will show you, although), I'm tough enough to survive; so you see it is really in your interests that this I say, you should consider why you take time in your life (which is full and abundant and really doesn't need me) and -

She put a single finger to my lip (which fell silent immediately in astonishment for she never interrupts) and her lip curled in amusement.

And she said,

 

Why not?

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Hmm... Odd. I could actually read this as a poem. I think the formatting managed to convey the hurried, frantic pace well.

 

(excuse while I catch this, pardon me while this shard mends,)

I loved that, and I'm not sure I can quite explain why.

 

*Hugs* Nicely done.

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Moving at the speed of thought!

 

 

The style and the pace of this piece was deliberate. It gave me a window into the authors thought process as if written to keep pace with your own stream of thought. As I read this I thought to myself this exchange could have taken place in but a brief moment. Perhaps only a minute or two tops. What an interesting snippet you caught Peredhil. It was almost like your eye was a camera freezing moments and thoughts as they happened.

 

Wow.

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Thank you all who posted, it's an obscure read because it's me at a very naked write.

 

Heh, whether fortunate or unfortunately, this is how a part of me *always* thinks - slowed and frozen into a point in time, thrice woven into a braid.

 

I only wish I could've written what was in my mind when I awoke, for this is a pale shadow of such Wraithing thoughts.

 

-P

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I am...

 

 

Humbled. And reminded once again that there are only people in life... people at different stages of progression and regression. All we can do is hope to progress rather than either of the alternatives. Logically, these are either staying put or moving backwards. It is obvious why moving backwards is detrimental, but staying put...

 

"Even if you're on the right track, if you're sitting down, eventually you're going to get run over."

 

Someone wise said that once. I don't remember who.

 

But, I am humbled by this. Well done, Peredhil.

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