This is the first story-short, I write. It's pretty deep (and I'm proud of it xD perrisimamente) focuses essentially on account the feelings of a girl who has lost herself and the person who wants to "be like everyone else."
I really like this kind of melancholy stories, so I will write more than one ^ ^ U. Hope you like.
walked crouched, with the hair inside the hood of his sweatshirt to keep it wet. The translucent raindrops down his face, giving an excuse to streaming eyes that peered colorless tears threatening to end up overthrowing his pride and composure. Who would have thought that the always cheerful and talkative girl with white blond hair, pretty, popular and admired was a secret?
All his life was a hoax, and she, more than anyone, was aware of that. That day I was turning twenty. That day, when the sun was no more than a golden spot in the sky, and when the sky let go of tears of pain ... no one was at his side. Less than half an hour, I had smiled at his colleagues in the university. Now, he saw his reflection in a pool,-run mascara, eye shadow framing ghostly and sparkling green eyes and a tuft of blond hair hanging down above the right eye and in so doing, I thought it false, hypocritical, irrational as it was stupid ... and the shit that was his life.
high-heeled boots clattered on the pavement. His gait was struck proud, it was a habit she had acquired over time and now it was too hard to forget. But no. She was not. But all his life and his future-had focused on being like the others. Oh, yeah! She did not want to be a stupid marginalized ... Worth too much to be!
To achieve this, he had fucked the whole class, smoking dope and used to give the meth to stay awake in class. Not that he had lost everything-at least if we look at it superficially had gained much-which was lost and perhaps something much more important, was itself ... and the most stupid way possible. Had betrayed his friends to the real thing. He had what he wanted, or what he believed to want, "but instead, had to be billed itself, discarded. It was not the same as before. And could not be again.
When dimmed eyes were fixed on the road he was traveling, was informed that the direction taken was not to return home. The small square of sand, now swamped by rain, the lights of the lower-school building, burning, and a nostalgic song that emitted half a piano tune, which was heard through the open window.
Heels made a muffled noise when passing by the square of brown sand. He approached cautiously but eagerly at a time. I knew that song. "Tristesse" by Chopin. Had ever played ... while "he" looked at her with a tender smile and a look warm and bright as the sun coming through the window. And as her fingers glided across the keyboard ... She had whispered: "I love you."
"I love ... "She sobbed.
But this time no one touched her cheek, no one asked him for a kiss, and looked as if it were unique, the most precious and beautiful in the world. Only the rain, she and a nostalgic song lay there, so full of memories that were now empty and only one more to heal a wound in his heart.
"Memories are like a dream," he had told someone. "Seize the sleep duration."
But she broke down, covered him with lies and half truths.
... And now he knew the truth of the world, could no longer be the same.
Well she was in love ... was a mere memory and vain. Something that would never exist. Ephemeral as a dream. The day that was twenty years old, wept. Because "that memory would not come true."
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