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Ying and Yang (standard:Fan Fiction, 1489 words)
Author: femalechauvinistAdded: Jun 15 2007Views/Reads: 3333/2063Story 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 

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 

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