Post by misaki on Aug 5, 2008 16:10:36 GMT -5
Okay, this is a part of the book I'm working on. Critique/advice very much appreciated, as are grammatical corrections. Oh, and btw, why yes, the main character is quite insane 
Banana's don't bleed
Her dress was red, deep red, the colour of life itself. Her dress was dripping, deep red – the colour of a spilt life, spilt lives itself. The girl was small, her build petite, like a bird’s bones, a dancer’s body, a princess’ body, a murders body. And her eyes, her eyes were worst of all – her eyes were a pale blue, a misty blue, an innocent blue –an empty blue. Her breasts went up and down sensually underneath her dripping thin lace dress. Her small breasts were visible through the soaked dress, and they went up and down still up and down – what kind of heart would they hide beating underneath them? What kind of heart would still want to beat? And beat it did, so rapidly, like she had a fever. A red blush matched the red blotches on her hands, the dripping red of her dress, the drops in her coppery red hair.
Bodies, all around. Some estranged like lovers – but they weren’t lovers, oh no, they were the visible leftovers of people clenching to each other, clenching to whatever other beating heart in fear, as if the beating of another heart would allow theirs to beat on. Blood dripped down the lashes that should hide the misty blue from the world, the wide open eyes, and coloured the world red. Nothing moved but the beating, the awful beating, like drums on Mardi Gras, the beating of one heart that had forgotten how to be human.
Crimson, ruby, sunset in the palace. The orange light leaked in leaked in through the veil of blossoms that grew around the entrance, in between the slim, elegant white pillars, colouring them orange, colouring them red, how suitable it matched the ground, now!
How utterly stylish, it even matched her dress! Oh, how would the noblewomen love this, yes, Morrigan would certainly compliment her on this, only she wouldn’t, she would nevermore. Her soft pink mouth was open, as if speaking, but she made no sound; her olive skin shone golden in the light, shone with small blotches of deep, beautiful red all over. But oh, she would surely dislike that, those red blotches. It looked utterly awful, awful with her wide open glassy green eyes, the colours awfully mismatched. Should she close her eyes for her, for dear Morrigan?
Oh yes she should, it was a good thing to do. Her feet felt heavy on the floor, her small, slim pale feet, with the beautiful red on the edges – oh dear, she hoped it would wash off. It looked great with this dress, this dripping dress, but it would look awful, awful with her formal yellow silk gown. Morrigan would most definitely have scolded her for it!
The skin was a little cold, but so soft, the lush, curly lashes now resting on the soft golden flesh. That was when she started crying, tears mingled with the blood on her lashes and soft pale cheeks, pink tears falling on Morrigan’s golden skin, her coppery curls stroking Morrigans’s crushed chest, colouring copper curls deep crimson. Her feet glided away on the slimy red floor, did not support her frail body any longer, and she landed in-between the other bodies, her pale skin between the golden. It reminded her of a banana, these colours, and she started laughing, but it soon became chocking, because she realized there was red, too, and banana’s don’t bleed, it wasn’t how it was supposed to be and it would never be that way again. The world was never how it was supposed to be anyway, there was a poison in every magic apple of wisdom that made you wish you were buried alive by lies again. And it didn’t get better at all, oh no, the world only got redder and redder, the sun burned everything morningred, and every tear she spilt made it worse, taking almost dry bits of blood on her lashes with it, blending it into a red veil before her eyes.
And just then, when she couldn’t feel anything but red slime, red losing, red sin – his hand wiped away the red before her eyes and coloured the world in the blue of his eyes. Icy blue, they reminded her of a winter’s sky, of the pure white snow beneath it, of snow without blood, without any trace of red. Would that still exist, she wondered, wouldn’t traces of red remain, she asked him.
And his soft hand, his long graceful fingers as pale as hers, they stroked the coppery red hair away from her face, the tainted tears from her eyes, and then his lips were on her mouth, taking the metallic taste of blood in her mouth way, and his scent replaced the scent of death all around, her death.
“Yes” he said. “Yes my love, there is such a place”
And his voice erased the sound of the beating of that one, awful beating heart that had forgotten how to be human.
Banana's don't bleed
Her dress was red, deep red, the colour of life itself. Her dress was dripping, deep red – the colour of a spilt life, spilt lives itself. The girl was small, her build petite, like a bird’s bones, a dancer’s body, a princess’ body, a murders body. And her eyes, her eyes were worst of all – her eyes were a pale blue, a misty blue, an innocent blue –an empty blue. Her breasts went up and down sensually underneath her dripping thin lace dress. Her small breasts were visible through the soaked dress, and they went up and down still up and down – what kind of heart would they hide beating underneath them? What kind of heart would still want to beat? And beat it did, so rapidly, like she had a fever. A red blush matched the red blotches on her hands, the dripping red of her dress, the drops in her coppery red hair.
Bodies, all around. Some estranged like lovers – but they weren’t lovers, oh no, they were the visible leftovers of people clenching to each other, clenching to whatever other beating heart in fear, as if the beating of another heart would allow theirs to beat on. Blood dripped down the lashes that should hide the misty blue from the world, the wide open eyes, and coloured the world red. Nothing moved but the beating, the awful beating, like drums on Mardi Gras, the beating of one heart that had forgotten how to be human.
Crimson, ruby, sunset in the palace. The orange light leaked in leaked in through the veil of blossoms that grew around the entrance, in between the slim, elegant white pillars, colouring them orange, colouring them red, how suitable it matched the ground, now!
How utterly stylish, it even matched her dress! Oh, how would the noblewomen love this, yes, Morrigan would certainly compliment her on this, only she wouldn’t, she would nevermore. Her soft pink mouth was open, as if speaking, but she made no sound; her olive skin shone golden in the light, shone with small blotches of deep, beautiful red all over. But oh, she would surely dislike that, those red blotches. It looked utterly awful, awful with her wide open glassy green eyes, the colours awfully mismatched. Should she close her eyes for her, for dear Morrigan?
Oh yes she should, it was a good thing to do. Her feet felt heavy on the floor, her small, slim pale feet, with the beautiful red on the edges – oh dear, she hoped it would wash off. It looked great with this dress, this dripping dress, but it would look awful, awful with her formal yellow silk gown. Morrigan would most definitely have scolded her for it!
The skin was a little cold, but so soft, the lush, curly lashes now resting on the soft golden flesh. That was when she started crying, tears mingled with the blood on her lashes and soft pale cheeks, pink tears falling on Morrigan’s golden skin, her coppery curls stroking Morrigans’s crushed chest, colouring copper curls deep crimson. Her feet glided away on the slimy red floor, did not support her frail body any longer, and she landed in-between the other bodies, her pale skin between the golden. It reminded her of a banana, these colours, and she started laughing, but it soon became chocking, because she realized there was red, too, and banana’s don’t bleed, it wasn’t how it was supposed to be and it would never be that way again. The world was never how it was supposed to be anyway, there was a poison in every magic apple of wisdom that made you wish you were buried alive by lies again. And it didn’t get better at all, oh no, the world only got redder and redder, the sun burned everything morningred, and every tear she spilt made it worse, taking almost dry bits of blood on her lashes with it, blending it into a red veil before her eyes.
And just then, when she couldn’t feel anything but red slime, red losing, red sin – his hand wiped away the red before her eyes and coloured the world in the blue of his eyes. Icy blue, they reminded her of a winter’s sky, of the pure white snow beneath it, of snow without blood, without any trace of red. Would that still exist, she wondered, wouldn’t traces of red remain, she asked him.
And his soft hand, his long graceful fingers as pale as hers, they stroked the coppery red hair away from her face, the tainted tears from her eyes, and then his lips were on her mouth, taking the metallic taste of blood in her mouth way, and his scent replaced the scent of death all around, her death.
“Yes” he said. “Yes my love, there is such a place”
And his voice erased the sound of the beating of that one, awful beating heart that had forgotten how to be human.