Our story is over...
over again...
Each action has a reaction...
Each one has another ending in store.
My friend is sleeping... never to wake up I believe...
She took his rose chanting words of curiosity.
loves me, loves me not, loves me....
and tore yet another petal from the blue flower.
My friend gets weaker and weaker, encouraging me to run ahead.
He says he'll be there if i need him...
loves me, loves me not, loves me, loves me not...
I turn back to find him dreaming...
leaning against the doodlings of a child...
so i borrow his lighter to set the yellow roses afire...
there she is... plucking the the petals of his rose.
loves me, loves me not, loves me!
The last petal is gone...
I see the painting on the wall...
A yellow haired girl in a pretty green dress, her canvas surrounded by shattered glass.
I ignore her voice and move forward, lighter in hand.
The flames spread and the room grows red...
but when I blink there is nothing there instead.
I leave seeking a way out... find the door turn the pink key, and once again...
I'm in the black gallery...
The fabricated world is my way out...
ONCE YOU GO IN, THERES NO GOING BACK, ALL YOUR TIME HERE WILL BE LOST.
WILL YOU STILL JUMP IN ?
the lights flash and I prepare to leave...
but then I see, my friend Garry.
Its him. But not...
I linger in confusion... but choose to leap.
The not-Garry is angry and reaches to grab me..
but im gone. I have left the fabricated world behind.
~~~~~
What is going on? where am I?
oh. Im at the museum. where are my parents?
Im walking dazedly. A painting catches my eye.
"Forgotten Portrait"
there is a man, sleeping. With blue roses all around.
his clothes are strange, differnt from what all the other paintings wear. But they wouldnt be strange on a person out here.
I can almost feel the fabric of his coat. And somehow I know that should his eyes be open, they would be gray blue.
"Ib!"
I turn reluntantly away from the Portrait, to see my mother. She is fussing around me, but Im more focused on the man in the portrait.
One of his eyes cracks open, seeing me. He smiles a sad smile, mouthing the words "I'm sorry". No one else sees, but he pats his pocket.
I do the same, reaching into mine. Theres lemon candy, and a lighter, and a slip of paper.
' Is it alright if I keep this handkerchief a while longer? It wouldnt do to return it as it is...
I'll have to... make it clean and then give it back. Because we will see eachother again! '
I glance back up, seeing the man in the painting press a folded up hankie to his lips. The cloth was white, with a splotch of red. Blood.
I blink and the portrait is the same as it was when I first saw it. Asleep.
I remember his words now...
"I dont want to lie to you... but I dont want to tell you the truth, go ahead if you run into trouble I'll come running."
__________________________________________________
This is based off of the Ib All Alone and the Promise Of Reunion endings.
YOU ARE READING
Imitations of Immortality
PoetryPoety. I guess that makes me a poetess, or a Lady Poet. They both sound funny. I like to be called storyteller, world-builder, bard. I tell stories in epics, and legends in rhyme. They are all futile attempts, as it is merely clumsy poet's song. Tho...
