I occasionally write out random stuff.
I haven't ever really shared it before though. Idk... I just Feel weird sharing my writings.
Here's something I wrote:
She tosses and twirls, her dress sparkling in the stage lights, creating a fiery halo around her, creating an illusion of a woman dancing in the flames. Her red gold curls bob to the beat, the gold dust in her hair setting her tresses like a waterfall of embers as she spins across the floor, her voice, a rising cadence, her moves getting faster and faster as the song approaches its inevitable end, rising, rising, rising until.... It slows in a long stretch of melody and she slowing with it, her dress spinning, spinning, spinning, the fiery halo lifelike, spinning, until the song finally stops and she with it, one arm going to her dress as she drops in a beautiful curtsy and the hall explodes with clapping and cheering.
It is as the guest of honor makes his way to the stage to offer his condolences that the screen goes black and he jerks in his chair, brought back to reality with a brutal tug. His vision is blurry. Something in his eye? Sweat? Or perhaps tears. Yes it is tears that flow down his cheeks, down down down in rivulets as he finally comes back to his own world, his lonely reality, her ghost still wandering the halls of his cottage, her laughter still echoing in his memory, her smile still beating at his heart. He takes a shuddering breath as he looks toward his window, towards the horizon, the setting sun casting a fiery glow on the dew covered grass littered with lilacs, that same fiery glow she used to burn with, that same dew covered grass that now surrounds her gravestone, those same lilacs that used to be her favorite, that he used to lay beside her pillow every morning, that now litter her grave.
He takes a deep breath and as the sun finally dips below the horizon out of sight, as the sky finally greets the night, he also locks up her memory in the deepest recesses of his heart, where she will remain, treasured, protected, until his soul is ready to greet hers again.
And yes. I tend to write tragedies đ
