|Ying and Yang (standard:Fan Fiction, 1489 words)|
|Author: femalechauvinist||Added: Jun 15 2007||Views/Reads: 1688/949||Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)|
|This story is about the battle within the self; battle between the heart and the mind; the will and the conscience; right and wrong; what you need and what you want; but more importantly it is about love.|
Darkness and light. Death and life. Good and bad. Love and hate. Man and woman. He was running fast. She was walking slow. He left a storm in his wake, a flurry, and he could not be ignored. She fleeted through, like a gentle wind or butterfly, stunning with her beauty but her presence barely traceable, imperceptible, after she had left. Two separate worlds; dichotomized by values, religion, cultural backgrounds, different dreams and yet, drawn together, like the sharp reining in of the lead horse, like a tightly strung lasso vibrating with the passion and anger of the unbroken beast, like, the thought hesitates, fleets, then with the sureness of his, her breath, like ying and yang. Janet sat up. She reached for her cell phone on her bedside stool and checked the time. “Oh no,” she let out a despairing groan. It was only half past midnight and she couldn't sleep anymore. She pulled her knees to her chest and hugged them tightly as she momentarily let her head dangle. Slowly, she stretched out herself and wrapped her blankets tightly around her and she let her mind churn. The thought that had been on her mind for the last three weeks reared its head again, but she repressed it by thinking about her childhood, her job and stupid boss, her plans ...ying and yang, the words hit her like a well aimed punch knocking the breath and life out of her. It was no use. She surrendered. The previously confined thought, like a prowling tiger, pounced and she let herself be consumed, overwhelmed. Hot, burning tears rolled down. Her chest tightened as she felt her heart being torn over and over again into a zillion pieces by the pain that had gripped her with an iron fist. She shook and trembled as her whole body was taken over by the racking pain. “I will definitely die,” she thought. She had lost him, she was bleeding, it was ying and yang, irreplaceable, scarred for life and yet, yet, she had reached the zenith of love, ying and yang, two sides of the same coin. “I have a question,” that is how it had started. He had said this as he studied her face. She had lifted her eyes and peered at him through her spectacles, slightly irritated at having been interrupted from ‘The Untold Story,' the book she was currently reading. “What?” She had asked as she cast a disinterested glance across the table at where he sat. “Is there anything else you do apart from reading books, for instance talking to people?” Her face changed. The disinterest was replaced by an arrogant, sneering look. She placed her book down and rested her head in her hands. He stared. She stared back. Their eyes met, they held. “She is proud, arrogant, haughty,” he thought. “He struts like a peacock, has an inflated male ego which needs to be deflated, rude, too sure of himself,” the thoughts played in her mind as she finally dropped her gaze, picked up her book and went back to her reading. He burst out laughing, she ignored him. He was holding her hand and she was talking animatedly, heatedly, scandalized that he could make such a statement against religion. It was one month later. She was a passionate woman, she spoke from the depths of her heart and her whole body, aura communicated this passion. He was enchanted. It excited him to see her so passionate. “Does she realize I am holding her hand?” He wondered as she unleashed another harsh criticism of his irreverence and ‘liberalism and rebellism' as she put it. He smiled and she faltered, she smiled back. “He has a beautiful smile,” she thought but quickly wiped the thought away from her mind, he was a taken man, a no go zone. She wondered how it would feel to run her fingers over his face, and ... she checked herself again. “Don't be stupid,” she rebuked herself. She became acutely aware of her hand in his, she panicked, she needed an escape. “Why are you staring at me?” She said in her most arrogant voice while at the same time strategically pulling her hand away. He laughed, that laugh that was so endearing, that enthralled her. Ying and yang was beginning to take shape, from a fluid slippery form like that of mercury or quick silver, a fuzzy almost invisible but nevertheless outline was beginning to take shape, ying and yang. Three months. She looked at him and she shuddered. She loved him, without a shadow of a doubt she loved him. He was nothing she had pictured. He was so different from her, but she loved him. He was committed, but she loved him. He loved someone else, she still loved him, he probably didn't give her a second thought, notwithstanding, he Click here to read the rest of this story (61 more lines)
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