brendon urie imagines

Almost The Death Of A Bachelor

A/N: Hey, guys. I haven't been too active because there are two other stories I'm also working on, but they're only saved to drafts. I'm not sure if I should start publishing them, though. Because that way I could be more active. I'll leave that up to you guys, but, anway this is the first chapter in a book I'm writing called If Music Is All We Have. Once again, I haven't published it yet.

Aurora's POV:

"I want to die!", Brendon screamed, cascaded in red. I can see that very color of hate flashing off of him and into the air between us.

His words rung through my head like the addiction a cherry blossom tree's victim at first gaze is granted.

"You get attached to beauty too easily.", Mama
would say.

She wasn't wrong. I would stare at that tree in our front yard for hours on empty, until it turned back into a revolving eyesore. I would get so disappointed when the light pink flowers float and fluttered off of the light brown branches and disappear into Neverland, knowing I am only left with the remanence.

Year after year, the same pattern would replay itself as if I knew nothing else but it. Repeating days for the sake of a feeling of constant. Out of sheer predictability and comfort it brings. Because nothing else in this world is at a constant state right now.

"I want to die!"

I am puzzled at his word choice; his lack of eloquence, more relevantly. A songwriter can't think of a better way to say something so darkly poetic? What a shame, he could have made a moment out of this.

"I want to die!"

I'm stumped. Lost at words. There's no right thing to do, so should I do nothing? No, I can't do nothing. He'll break apart. Shatter into pieces like a dropped vase.

Beautiful chips of artwork scattered across the floor. It has a tendency to disappoint, yet it's utterly gorgeous when you think about it. They can't seem to accept the beauty found in unlikely places such as the colored chips of glass spread on the floor.

How cautioned can one be when processing the lacking want to live in another? I'm not sure of the answer, and so, like the broken-record-mind I have, I just repeat what he told me in my head. Over and over, like nothing else mattered.

In a way, nothing else matters, I guess. Just his dark brown eyes and the way they leak salty tears as he stares into my face, looking for an answer. He's trying to read my thoughts. I know it. I can tell. I can see it in his eyes.

The way the rims of them are coated in a mysteriously deep brown color, same around the pupils. Shocks of it aline from the ends and shoot towards his pupil. Streams of light brown coat the rest, in a wave of intoxication. I can't see straight through his eyes.

"I want to die!"

I let out a breath I yet to acknowledge. This doesn't affect the crying man in front of me. As the tears thoughtfully stream down his face, in rows of disappointment, he cocks his head and waits for me. He's waiting for me to speak.

"How come?"

It's been minutes now, since he told me the a awfully dreaded four-worded sentence. Me thinking, him regretting what came out of his mouth. I wish I didn't rush my words, because now, like him, I regret what I had said.

It's such an insensitive question, the phrase itself is in desperate need of emotion and concern. Of course, I do care. That's why I'm thinking too much. Yet again, I always think too much. Knowing what caused the abrupt statement will help with my next unanticipated response, at least to my belief.