|main menu | forum | standard categories | authors | new stories | search | links | settings | author tools|
|WORDS (standard:romance, 1068 words)|
|Author: femalechauvinist||Added: Feb 25 2008||Views/Reads: 1315/0||Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)|
|Have you ever taken time to really think about the words that you so casually use? Have you ever thought that words have lives of their own that you can't control once you have uttered them?|
...He caught the glint of clear grey eyes; and then he shivered, for it came suddenly to him that it was the face of one without hope who goes in search of death. The words came to her as clearly as the crisp, keen feel of the fresh morning air on a mountain top. Words that she had read in some book; one of the many books that she, an avid reader, had devoured in her eagerness to finish the current book and move on to the next. How the words resonated with her fey mood! She now knew only too well what it meant to have a face of one without hope; a crushed spirit. She sighed, turned for the umpteenth time in her bed that seemed to offer no comfort. Sleep evaded her. The pain in her heart consumed her but this time there were no tears; not anymore. She gave up the battle and allowed herself to sink into the depths of pain. And in the midst of her agony, words came to her. He was angry, he was hurt and he put forth all his anger and pain in the choice of words. You take me for granted; you are selfish; I am tired; you can't prove it to me; don't act deaf and dumb; I'm not a mind reader nor a super angel ... The tirade flowed and with every word he uttered a small piece of her broke down, shattered and was destroyed. The man she loved, the man with whom she had experienced inexplicable joy and happiness, was looking at her in disgust, almost loathe; and his fury burned and it consumed her. But this time, she was not going to cry. Words, words, words, words! What is it they say? Stick and bones can break my body but not my spirit? Those who said that must have known that there was another innocuous looking but more deadly weapon; one that can cut through the sinew of the body, heart and touch that hidden, undefined part, the soul, the spirit. Like a sharp sword, forged in fires assured to sear any that stood in its way, a sword hammered on an anvil of pain, the words he uttered took the shape of the sword and tore into her heart, past it, till they found its target; her spirit and ruthlessly, they plunged, breaking her. Tears started to form, threatening to fill her eyes but she blinked them away, furious with herself. No more tears. She looked at her watch, 2 am in the night, still sleep was a rumour that she had heard of far away and as yet, it didn't knock on her door. It was a distant thought, still roaming wildly in the plains; its journey down the plains and up the stony hills to reach her not yet begun. There was nothing else to do but continue on the road appointed for her; she was now immersed in the pain. I love you; I want to spend the rest of my life with you; you are so beautiful; you saved me; you are so good to me, you are an angel. Another set of words, uttered in the ecstasy of love; words just as strong as the hurting ones; only that these were healing words, and he had said them to her. She smiled; a grim bitter smile. How fickle and unpredictable life is! How things can change in the blink of an eye; how easy it is to lose one's whole life in a matter of seconds, and watch as the only one, the love of your life walks out of your life without a trace. All in a matter of words. His words had touched her spirit, in them, she heard distrust, exhaustion, threat to her future with him; and they poisoned her spirit. She was flooded with questions. Could she never do anything right? How can he love her yet distrust her so much? What was it that she wasn't doing? Despair started to set in. But she was no saint either; she had used the same tool, words, and inflicted pain on him only it was employed in the reverse. If his sin was the sin of commission, then hers was of omission. It was what she had not said and done that had started the war. She was more the non verbal type; actions speak louder than words; and it hurt him terribly. He took it as a sign of disrespect, of taking him for granted and yet, she was so used to this form of communicating that as much as she tried, she found herself slipping back to omission. Old habits die hard, they say. When she did use words, they came off as selfish, quarrelsome and rude. And yet, she too could use them to bring him joy. You are my man; my love, you make me insanely happy; you are so understanding; you drive me crazy; I want to marry you; I'm yours for life. She recalled his smile, the feel of his strong arms as he drew her close, the touch of his lips, the beating of his heart as she started to drown in him and the look in his eyes when he said he loved her. How she loved him; how he brought her happiness and yet; how he could bring her pain! And how she could bring him pain too! She thinks he over reacts but so does she. What would it have hurt to say I'm sorry sweetheart; I know it hurts you when I do that; and I'm not sure that this is the last time it will happen but I promise to try to improve. But would he believe her; would it just be words to him? When he tried talking, she became defensive and a deadly silence ensued; both of them left to brood in their dark thoughts. Ironically, she sits and writes this; another set of words! And the last words that she pens are a cry of help to the Almighty; God, I love him, please help him see that and Lord, help me be a better person, and accept my mistakes when I do make them. If it is your will for us to be together, and for this thing to work; then please help us make it work. Tweet
Authors appreciate feedback!
Please vote, and write to the authors to tell them what you liked or didn't like about the story!
femalechauvinist has 3 active stories on this site.
Profile for femalechauvinist, incl. all stories
For a quick, anonymous response to the author of this story, type
a message below. It will be sent to the author by email.