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...Partially influenced by the book...
Petals: New Beginning --
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If not the nightmares, then it must be the dreams. Scattered, immobile memories of distant past, those that he prefer never to remember about again cascaded into his mind, bringing forth nothing but the same awful ending. The same awful remembrance of a life that was not his. Never was. Never will.
Those dreams which abhors and loathes his very presence. For those that he’d escaped, only to live in a deeper, more frightful dream than ever before imagined, he could not withstand the pressure for long, most of the time waking up from the nightmare only to comfort himself by the trembling hands of his. Curling up into nothing but a fetus position, hoping that this...ache, or feeling, would just leave him be, with each passing time...
Hoping to forget, and usually failing to do so.
And such occasion has again robbed him of his calamity as Snow rose out of his silent bed one early morning, sweating with the same memories playing over and over again. The same results. The same consequences that he gritted his teeth just to drive them away once more.
Despair.
Bittersweet. Or can it be summed up as...what?
A bitter laugh.
In the old, dusty inn that he'd managed to stay yesterday night, the weather outside is once more weeping in the form of rain. Through the old, wooden constructive which barred entrance for the water to seep through; nonetheless the rooftop above echoed the faint reminder of its presence, for that moment, and only that moment. A continuous soft drizzle of 'drip...drip...drip....’ felt...rhythmic to ones ears if he'd listened close... But to Snow, it only meant the faint reminder of the night, and day, in which he had gained something, and lost everything in the resulting end. His initial love and touch for the girl that left with another in his youth, and the girl which had eloped with the man that she loves…
He sighed, breathing out a long, withheld breath which he'd realized he'd been holding for some time.
Also in which Snow sat idly by, only to watch life pass him with a blank look on his face. The sake of compassion and love, destroying the conceptual manner of loyalty and faith. All destroyed in just one act of love for another. Snow may be a hopeless, but oh, that hopelessness is eating him inside out, over, and over again.
When will the cycle stop?
The rain continues to fall, and only silence remains to answer his biding question.
Eventually in his state of realization, the transition from dream to reality, Snow finally propped himself up to sitting on the soft, creaky bed of his, looking over to the window next to him, peering down upon the teeming masses of society moving along with intentions of stopping. Fall season, a year after the fateful time when he left his job as a guardian to merely promote the welfare of a woman that was not his, a heart that was not his.
Never an expression of love. For her heart is given to another, and ever so to the man that she, she, loves. To whom can he beg for just the sake of affection by a woman that was never his, or even loved him in return?
No.
Nay. Even if she had loved him in return, she is the wife of another...and such pact, Snow cannot intervene, for the vows are given. He cannot intervene. He must not intervene. The vows are spoken. That is her life...and for him, he is...but the shadow of the dreams.
He closed his eyes, ridding himself of the perilous thought that threatened to tear his fragile soul again, immediately descending off of his bed to retrieve his cloth, adorning it to the soft, lithe body of his own. Ignorant of his naked presence, for there is no living mind to watch his act, he staggered unwaveringly to the cabinet nearby, withdrawing the things that he requires, the thing that is needed of him to move on for today.
Rain continued to pellet the world outside his domain.
After a few moments of buckling the belt, adorning the simple cloth and such that is supposedly all of his possession, he proceeded to move out of the room in quick strides, finding the atmosphere as well as the mood quite unsettling for his feelings to comprehend. Perhaps if he can...remove and shed his despair and longings, perhaps things would’ve been much different. But lo, woe is he, for he cannot forget, and neither can he let go of the past which cannot be his.
The door opened. His body moved without the commands of the mind, walking out the door and proceeding down the steps to the main lobby of the inn. The stairs creaked under each step he took as more memories flooded back through his most unfortunate mind. Small, lavish chandeliers which were hung on the ceiling pave an old, foul mood for his senses to be appealed to. He has nothing left but the memories which can never share, nor the feelings that he can never express.
What am I, but a beast that loathes my own misgivings?
Another trembled sigh, followed by an enraptured state of control to his own breathing. Shaking his head repeatedly to push away the insecurity and the fear of losing under his own mind, Snow then greeted the innkeeper who, by then was busy inscribing some information unto the parchment beneath his old, dried hands, scribbling away. With a simple nod as Snow proceeded out the door, and into the rain for comfort, the innkeeper of course didn't look up from his duty, but Snow can feel the old man's eyes on his back. The curious stare as well as the strange understanding the innkeeper has for a beast like Snow.
Strangely, the problem arrives, unaware to Snow's oblivious thoughts. As Snow sees himself as a man ridden with guilt and despair in the form of such a beast, do others percieve him the same way, or with a different outlook? They may see mystery along with peculiarity for this man, because of his acts and actions which are so largely different from others. Some may say it’s just a man who lost a love, and some may say that it is but a man who is depressed.
But if neither were correct, then what is Snow, but neither a beast nor man?
The question is left unanswered as Snow felt the faint drizzle of rain on his hood, hearing the melodic thumping sound of rain falling ever so freely, ever so casually into the world which has given it meaning.
Neither calm nor serene, but a simple expression of both.
Ah. The expressions. Can he live up to the thoughts. That is the question. And each thought of that moment, the times he had lost to those around him -- Celestine, Alicia...
Them and their loved ones, holding each other, embracing each other...
It only deepened the absolute loneliness that again robbed Snow of his stature, forcing him to control his wrathful breathing to quell those disturbed emotions. The mere memory of losing them all over again, and to be tormented by things that were illusions to his feelings -- mere figments of his sad, sad imagination.
He wanted a life. He wanted to be known. He wanted to be understood. But breaking down in front of someone is as good as committing an atrocity for life. He can't stop. He can't halt. And no matter how much he wants to be held, to embrace a warmth that he starves for...
Oh, but the barrier that separates him from the longing for such...warmth. Even a bit. Could he handle it? No -- Can, he handle it? To hold it, cherish it...and to treasure it forever in his memories, even if it is but a moment...
Snow didn't know. He honestly didn't know if he could break down and reveal his most tattered weakness for those that prey on his world. He cannot. He must not...
And with it, the city awaits his call.
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((...Comments, anyone?))
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