This story is written in 3rd person about a female centaur. My writing style I choose for this story I wanted to have a bit more rhythm and flow. This story is about an unrequited longing for someones feelings that are unreturned and.
In this story 'she' (the centaur) is depicted as a bit naive waiting for her "rescue" to me her knight in shining amour (which is so cliché) but innocence doesn't bloom or mature until love is experienced in different forms. I just felt it was something different I could add in and the way this is written I really liked of the symbolism and metaphors included.
The image used for this inspiration is by an artist Marzia Palomba. Anyway enjoy part 6.
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The Wounded Centaur
Crackling eruption on the bone, molten pours into her oesophagus. Branding her torment of the inevitable, her heart Twists and Falls.
Whirlpools escaped her golden rays, manifesting shadows to rise and crawl. Words unspoken, with no escape, She wanted to hide - but humiliations unavoidable.
Stunned and inflamed, Feverish Haste turns. With a tart in his embrace, he stares at fruitless desperation. It was clear in his eyes, pessimistic and hollow, the truth of it all was - he did not care at all.
Tears of hail hurling down, her tearducts swollen as a cloud. Blending with her heart stained sleeves, darkness journeys, beyond no return.
Alone at night, she would dream of a rescue. It was planned and perfect, ready, allusive. Vivid as pen to paper, ink seeping the pages... as much as she dreamed, it never came true.
Wishful thinking was her fault, to believe good comes without a cost. Heart stained sleeves, she raises light, never seeing darkness becoming the blight.
Forevermore her heart will go on, standing at the top of the hill, looming at the ground. If only she wasn't naive, she could save her heart from broken dreams.
