Let's play a game!

[momebie]

For today's thewritinggame prompt we were to pick a primary or secondary color and then write something to evoke it without actually mentioning it. The fun part is where you lot read it and guess what the color was. I think I've made it easy for you. I hope anyway.


TITLE: The Way I Remember Being
AUTHOR: momebie
RATING: PG
WORD COUNT: 306
FEEDBACK: On || FEEDBACK TYPE: Any
WARNING: None.
SUMMARY: She'd hold her breath if it would help.
PROMPTS: Guess the Color
A/N: I was talking to theemdash the other day about the reason I like watching Skins. It's because it reminds me of what it felt like, to me, to be a teenager. Where everything was large and all consuming and every feeling was greater than every other feeling and how the world might end if it changed ever so slightly. So here's one of those memories. Sort of. Memories never really filter the way you think they will at the time.


It feels like the end of the world.

It’s not, and she knows it, but that doesn’t stop her chest from feeling like it’s caving in with every exhale. It doesn’t stop the humidity from feeling like it’s weighing her down and pinning her to the sand beneath her.

The sun is setting on the opposite side of the island. In the direction she’s staring the sky has already slipped into gloaming, but the edges where the sun is still managing to reach and stain are slightly lighter, slightly more bruised looking. The clouds are scraps, slowly tearing the sky to shreds as they drift south.

It’s the waiting that is the real killer. She’d hold her breath, let her lips and cheeks slowly turn from healthy to dim as the oxygen pushed against the base of her throat, trying to escape and get to where it was needed. She’d hold her breath if there was anyone there to notice, but there’s no one.

That’s why she comes to this place. A short trek across faded and splintered wooden boards and she’s suddenly in a whole new world of tossing dune grass and pelting sand and crashing sounds as the battered shore shrugs off the waves. Even when there is someone there who might notice, they don’t. Everyone is looking for an escape.

So she lets herself feel like the world is ending. She notes the different hues as the color slips from the sky, the last shred clinging to the darkness as long as it can. She embraces the dreadful stain of feeling, because one day she’ll be able to use this.

As she unclenches her fist, blood rushes back into her fingertips and paints her unvarnished nails the same color she’d seen in the sky and reminds her that nothing ever ends, not really.

Comments

[darkmachines.livejournal.com]

this is a good one, my dear.

i really liked this line: let her lips and cheeks slowly turn from healthy to dim

[momebie.livejournal.com]

Thank you, hon. I felt kind of awkward posting it, but I shouldn't worry about telling that person's secrets, since I'm not her anymore.

[darkmachines.livejournal.com]

that is an incredible way of looking at it.
i am really glad you posted it.
<3

[momebie.livejournal.com]

It's one of the reasons I think about making the Burst story into a YA novel instead of just fiction with a young protagonist. I so vividly remember so many feelings that I wish other people couldn't relate to, and it really would have helped me at the time to know that other people actually could.

But I have so many other things to work on before that one. I really should get to it. (Once I stop dying. *coughhack*)

[darkmachines.livejournal.com]

You should make it YA if you feel that way! I understand you on wanting to make the YA thing though. I'm not a major fan of YA novels, but, I'd love to write one about growing up in northern NJ in the late 90's. I just feel not enough people had that sort of experience I did and since it colors my world so much, I'd love to fictionalize it!