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The Go-Between by David Gardiner Everybody in the big city is looking for something. The trick is to find out what. [1,638 words]
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Winston (Part 4) by Wolfa Continuing story about a pitbull and a crazy woman... I don't really see the need to describe ... [3,116 words]
Till Death Do Us Part by Sorcha Colleran A chilling tale about a grieving husband. [873 words]
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The Serpent by Simon King Beware your sins... [6,543 words]
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The Official Brown Envelope by Anna J McGuire A short story based on the challenges faced in war, by the men at war, and their wo... [829 words]
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You Verbally Bruise
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You Verbally Bruise
Just fnding no depth in peope in general.
A Delusion Of Adequacy
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|AUTHOR'S OTHER TITLES (3)
Confusion Sets In (Poetry) Just a poem about feeling inadequate about yourself, ad who you are, to the point that you have become a ontradiction to yourself and unsure of what it is you are, and yet still trying to take care of... [34 words]
Describing (Short Stories) The only thing I've written that I like. [532 words]
Greatest (Short Stories) The most brutal writing I've ever done. [967 words]
You Verbally Bruise
A Delusion Of Adequacy
After months of prolonged aggressions, one night can release any format of aching into condensed breathing. With claims of imperfections, and words that are dense yet seep no deeper than the tension of the surface, you begin to take notice of your surroundings as you’re a being beaten with punches in the form of phrases.
I saw something different in her eyes that screamed various shades of green. I saw a darker shade that did not blend with the rest. You can explain it to yourself as it just being the way the light is catching her callused tears, but all that is is a lie claiming to be an explanation. After so long you begin to believe that it's something deeper. That there's something inside ripping new holes aside the ones that have paved the road for all her best dressed feelings to just leak out into the open where she can't hide them anymore. There's something different about tonight. My un-preparedness is all I can manage.
She could always tell a great story. She constantly speaks of these letters that she writes to ones who care. The most common response seems to be "return to sender". I get the sense that I am the only one would listen to her stories. Stories about her day, how she sleeps until noon, only to lay in bed until the stars come out to welcome her back to sleep. In every story that she tells there always seems to be a piece that is missing. She is never quite sure of where the story begins, and is even more vague in how it ends. Like she is describing a dream that has been told to her by some one else. Seeing as how her disbelief in dreams is far greater than any belief that she holds. There are no names in her stories she tells, only their actions remain after they have left. She always puts her words face down so nothing is as it seems unless you are willing to turn them over to find out their meaning. In my days of turning I found nothing but words that only intend emotions but fall short in what they dream to become. I will never be able to tell a story like her. I have names to my faces, and my attachment to the characters lasts long after they have ended a paragraph with me.
In each story that I've heard every syllable that she speaks. Each one seems to be screaming for help or just praying for attention. That is how the un-preparedness consumes you. When you can't answer the cries or the prayers. All that you are capable of is sitting back and them drown and whither away.
So tonight I let go, because I'm not sure I could stay and continue to feel inadequate to her needs. I try to convince myself of this. But all I am doing by sitting in this chair that only supports my wait is wait for a resurrection of feelings that were never there. I can only retain her words that are smothered with shreds of what she claims to be a heart. As she handed me these words I let the shred fall to the floor, wanting no part in the process of impaling her delusion of her heart.
My view is sure to be welcomed by her presence within a day or two, since the stars won't be quite as welcoming as before. I'm sure I will see her with others that are willing to listen to her stories. It's then that I will realize how I've been deceived. How I've made story out of her lies, and looked for deeper meaning amongst her words that mean nothing to her. My impact on her will be just as deep as her words. And now all I've become is a supporting character in her story of collapse for some one else to hear.
|READER'S REVIEWS (3)
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"come over tomorow... i love you...joey :)" -- Jillian, doylestown, pa, 18901.
"This piece finally shows the talent you proved you were capable of in "Confusion sets in". Watch your word usage, this continues to be a weakness of yours; along with incomplete thoughts, missing/omitted words, and sentence fragments. Despite these things, this piece shines through with depth, clarity, and rich meaning. I believe it to be your best yet. KEEP WRITING! You show tremendous promise." -- AJ Magy.
"Its good work" -- Cherie.
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© 2002 A Delusion Of Adequacy
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