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The Pen is Mightier than the Sword
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OxygenPlant

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My feet are blurry as I look down at them, fidgeting in my discomfort. Blurred by that leaky substance that hints that my composure may be crumbling. MY left hand is tugging at the end of my sweater. Straightening it and re straightening it, an externalization of my attempt to get my thoughts in line. They disobey. My right hand is incessantly running through my hair, to soothe my confused mind as if it were a child's aching stomach. I gaze away. I find inanimate objects to hold my glares to find some kind of mental footing so I don't just... slip.

 

She speaks to me again. As I hear her lips move my emotional shell curls into the fetal position. Awaiting the lashing that is certain to fall. Motionlessly I sit. It takes all of me not to decompose into the cesspit of a person within me who longs to throw myself into a rage. A rage that would see to have no limits. Confined to stone, I am eroding. A single tear falls. A reaction of any scale is all she needs to trigger her verbal weaponry. I am indulged in her story of my tear being the bullet in her heart. MY release of life being my fault and her burden to carry. She awaits a reply.

 

As my silence offends she withdraws to her inner child. Sulking and pouting. How could I love her as little as not to reply? The silence continues. It seems as if my life could have passed in those loud minutes. the strength it takes to withstand a soundless war. Like a comical piano accompaniment to an old silent film, my thoughts turn manic. Aching. Time passes. Aching. Finally, she moves.

 

A staggered walk to her bottle to refill her empty vessel. Her own externalization of sorts. I cringe again, knowing that the action is a catalyst to an already slippery slope. Her dependency has come to bemuse me. A status I never suspected to claim. Indifference being my lifeline, I cease to suffer. Closing the curtains on a too familiar act, I exit, stage left.

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An interesting little vignette, OxygenPlant. :-) I found it a very poetic read, with many of your metaphors and manifestations of emotions worded nicely and conveying the mood of the piece well. It also felt like a very personal work, possibly based on real events, and the rough feelings and harmful actions were made apparent in the writing. Though the curtains and stage metaphor at the end are interesting, I found the choice to have the first person narrator "exit, stage left" a little odd, possibly because the idea that things may have been rehearsed many times over and staged conflicts with the very emotional reactions of the different characters towards one another. Still, there are certainly people who are painfully harmed many times over in the same way...

 

Anyway, thanks for sharing this here OxygenPlant, it's nicely done. :-) And apologies for the gender confusion in the previous thread, I'll be sure to edit the post!

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