TW: A lot of swears
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Everyday is always different in a way. Deep in dusk, I try to write. But the problem is, I can't think of any words.
What am I even trying to write? I thought of my own thoughts, but I got sick of it.
It's always 'Today,'
'Today I feel weird,'
'Today I feel exhausted,'
'I hated today,'
'Skipp was so goddamn pretty today,'
'Today,'
'Today,'
Today, beneath my coat, lies a crate-the crate. The same crate I pass out whenever I drink. I could even recall where the spills of my vomit were placed.
"What about... A pastoral poem?"
...
Pastoral-I try to remember, with my pen resting below my chin.
It's an easygoing poem written by a rural shepherd. A shepherd's love. It covers utopian fantasies, where society isn't the main focus. It's more like, entertaining your desires. Pastoral poems are peaceful, rewarding, and even... seductive.
"Holy grace... I feel like a pastor." I joked silently, as I flipped my hair back. Slowly, I veered back to check up on Skipp and-
"Vinnie?"
"G'mornin' Stone."
Why the hell did she wake up so early? "Oh."
"I swear," she stampedes to me, snatching my empty vellum. "Recently, you're always writing. Like, every millisecond, dude."
"Is there a problem?" I snatched the vellum from her coarse hand.
"No, nothing."
"Then why are you-" her pointer lands at the sleeping boy.
"You love him,"
"No. We're just-"
"Stone."
...
"I don't know, Vinnie." I sighed as she grabbed a crate, then slumped it down next to mine. She sits down quickly with a questioning smirk and a condescending glare. "Really, I don't know."
"You love him. He loves you too." Vinnie unsettlingly singsoned. "Am I right?"
...
"Stone," all the raspiness of her voice is gone now-concerned as a soft hum of a sparrow's melody. "You're... very talented, you know that? So full of passion..."
...
"You're not Vinnie. She wouldn't say that."
"Hey!" the imposter aims to recklessly tear my hair strands, but I dodged her strike. "Just because I gave you a single fucking complement for once! Are you kidding me?"
"Okay, okay. Sorry."
"I can't believe you! You fucking asshole! Fuck you! It's not fucking funny! You stupid fucking-"
I grabbed unused bandages from the medical kit then tightly wrapped them around Vinnie's mouth. Her words were getting too loud, I disliked them. They were clouding the air with unfiltered airy grease. I smirked at her after I tied them up, then instantly paused when I saw her teary cerise eyes. "Mmmmmph, mm..."
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Like Words || Ramshackle
FanfictionStone regains his interest in poetry. (SkippingStone Fanfic !!) Word count: ≈ 21,000 [HIATUS] Stone explores the complexity and power of words. Does it grasp love? Certainly-or absurdly. After retrieving his writing passion deep in the 90s, he pours...
