The Im.Possible

Im.Possible

Water strode down his cheeks, cheeks so tinged with a raw red colour that I couldn't make the difference between them and a cherry tomato. An ever present cloud seemed to have scattered across his brain and the rain that was hammering his skull, pounding every orifice and making him suffer, was draining from his eyes. The crescent shapes seemed to form at the bottom of the eye and slide further down until crescent shapes moulded into the rain. Those crescent shapes became a crumbled architecture, with so much untold and unfinished history contained in the single blob. And then they collapsed onto the ground, sinking into the earth and never to be seen again.

He'd sunk onto the earth just like his rain.

I'd walked away. I'd never been sympathetic. Not since they were taken away. I didn't see why I had to remain pleasant and polite, pumped with etiquette. But like a balloon pumped with helium, I had to burst. Every single shred of courtesy flying to the sky, the opposite direction of that man's rain.

He was tailored perfectly, a black suit moulded his body perfectly, the black creating a mood. I knew what that mood was. The black. Dull clouds seeming to choose those days only to haunt the skies with such an impure malevolence, claws ripping away the pink hues and creating a new gloom. It was disgusting. The suit's connotation usually brings forth a dapper, smart feel, the kind of formal attire needed to impress. But the dusting of a meant-to-be-there five o'clock shadow and eyes so dead there may have just as well been a concave empty space said otherwise.

The emotions that ripped him inside and out and coursed through my veins after I looked at him, through him, were no given plea to impress. They were there because something, someone, was taken from him. His eyes were raw and lifeless because said thing had left him. Because that's how he felt: Alone, deserted, violated... I knew exactly how he felt.

Yet I walked away.

Controversy pummelled my insides. Was that vulnerability I'd felt, was it embarrassment, idiocy, a pure cowardice? Or was it determination not to re live that day. Because I'd suffered.

Why shouldn't everyone else?

I hated that mindset I was in, yet I had no desire to claw my way out of it.

Selfish.

Coward.

Heartless.

I called myself these names every day, I felt sick knowing what I'd become.

I stopped as two large black Friesians, blinders in place and slick hair so fine they should've been showing, pulled their way through the streets. Shoulders set into determination, eyes covered but I know the courage they held was so blinding the sun couldn't even penetrate them. Their harnesses pulled tight as the cart heaved and groaned behind them, mourning the journey and the loss.

Blisters of ice were provoking my spine and neighbouring spines as the sullen silence that snapped on like a switch moved right through the entire town as the horses pushed on. It was almost as sickening as the image of two sets of limp, blanched fingers upon the grey ground I could see in my head.

I sensed it. A woman. She lay there.

I walked away.

Callous.

As an immortal I'd lived knowing that weakness was failure. Of course where strength was always expected, how could one show weakness?

I'd lived through many battles, including the strenuous war of blood and tears on that day. Strangely I believe my strength is a pole in a hurricane and one day, it will blow over.

My resolve has. Faith has. I don't see why there is any reason that my strength should too.

So I continued on, moving like the breeze through the icicle humans, who were so frozen, so sharp in their silence that I believed they'd all cut me. So I whirled on, my pace quickening to match the erratic beating of my decomposed, mess of a heart.

And I never looked over my shoulder. Not once.

Sickening.

But I wouldn't ever get those dead, but seemingly beautiful cerulean eyes and strong set jaw out of my head. I may not have had sympathy then, but maybe I will. Maybe not.

HEARTLESS.

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This is a rewrite of chapter one and has been posted on a separate story. I would like you to give it a go because the other version was just... well to say lightly: poorly written.

Working on a strong plot line as we speak so listen out!

Thank you,

Lauren x