This is me, bearing my soul completely. It is a bit long, but I would love some feedback, but if it seems too deep for your taste, then that is okay. But since many of you are writers, then I hope you understand what I am currently going through.
This post is littered with excerpts from my most beloved story, which you will find out about if you read on, please be kind.
I’ve had this strange feeling inside my chest for about three days now.
A tightness, an ache, like I’m craving something, like something is trying to get out, I’m missing something terribly.
No no, it’s nothing medical, I am not suffering of a broken heart, I do not have cravings for chocolate or peanut butter or mini bocconcini’s.
While I was staying another long stint at James’, I felt a little niggling in the back of my mind. I started to think back to my HSC, and my major works.
For all of my teenage life, I was a writer, I wanted to be a writer, I would read and read and read and write pages upon pages upon pages.
I would stay up to all hours, fill up the backs of my school folders, spend my pocket money on pens and pretty notebooks.
“Looking for this healer?” Kasimir’s voice was cold and disturbing, and made a shiver run through the healer’s spine. He spun around and clenched his teeth, as he watched the blonde float in mid air before him, his head resting on his chest. Kasimir touched his middle and forefinger to the blonde’s forehead, and grinned as he tensed, and a yelp of pain escaped the smaller man’s lips. “Very interesting… oh yes… defiantly, in trouble with the villagers are you? Seems like you both partook in something that you were not supposed to… mmm, he has veeery strong feeling for you this one.”
Cry when I could’nt get the words out, smile when i did, crave comments, read it over and over again, rewrite, write, correct, tear it up, write it again.
It was my passion.
And how I adored it. I was proud of it. I won awards. I used to think about, how when I started work, I would be able to get through the repetition of being a Pastry Chef by having my stories, writing, in the front of my mind.
Then somehow, after my schooling ended, I started working, and well, it took a backseat. And when I felt like I wanted to write, the words would not come.
This made me frantic and depressed, that I had lost something special and I would never get it back.
Kahn simply nodded and hoisted Christopher higher up his back; the blonde sighed and tightened his hold on the healer’s neck. From the pace of his breathing and from the lack of speech, it seemed as though he had started to drift off. He smiled at Christopher’s soft hair brushing against the side of his face, ‘I’ll protect you, I promise.’
But now, things are different.
I realise now, that when I had thought I wanted to write, I really didnt want to, I had never felt the way I do now.
I want to write.
A few days ago, I thought of one of my lost stories. The story I had put almost a year of solid work into, only to be stuck with the word limit and leave for a series of short stories.
“I have chosen… but you would not want a share in this power young one?” he took Christopher’s hand, and covered it with his own, causing him to tinge red around the cheeks. “Why wouldn’t you want any part of this? When you can obviously do great things…”
I found the incomplete novel of my Extension Two English Major work on my harddrive, and read it, and read every single word document associated with it, and read them again. And again.
And my heart just ached.
I burst into tears, I felt my love for my creations flooding back into me, and I cried and cried and I read it again and again.
Today was a blur, as I worked and dealt with the stress of it, my characters were in the background.
Kasimir.
He was a gorgeous sight to behold; there was no doubt about that. His blonde hair shone in the light of the fire, more white than gold, and his eyes were defiantly unique, one blue and one green. His physique was perfect, strong and defined, with tanned skin. But the anger pent up inside him, the evil emotions and state of mind masked him, and the darkened looks clouded the beauty of his eyes.
Christopher.
He turned his head tiredly to look at Christopher, who was peacefully asleep in the bed, curled onto his side with the blankets drawn up to his chin. His shock of blonde hair now clean from the bath, it was still somewhat damp and left his pillow darkened with moisture, but it did not faze him. Such beauty and it was all his. Kahn had really never gotten over the fact that Christopher was in love with him, it was by some divine action in heaven that he had come to him.
Kahn.
He scrubbed a hand over his own face, feeling the scar tissue and crevasses that his injury had cost him years ago, he traced the scar down his face and neck, and down the material of his shirt and pants to where it reached down past his navel. His hand then trailing over to his left shoulder, where another wound was deep.
Kahn knew he was not perfect, his skin was marred by scars and markings, not smooth and creamy like the blonde’s. His right eye was white, the scar damaging it beyond repair, Christopher’s eyes were green and bright, and held much life within them. But was focused on showing Kahn the beauty within him.
Mana.
The spirit was a picture of beauty, her honey brown hair was short, falling to her shoulders, beside a long braid down the right side of her face. She was dressed in fur leggings, crude but sturdy leather boots, the rest of her clothes was made with simple material, all except the gold band that adorned her head. The only thing that seemed unusual about her was the simple design that seemed like it was burnt into her skin.
And Seneca.
His black hair shined in the little light from the fire, and he closed his eyes, only to open them again and stare directly at him. The young man was in slight awe at the color, such a deep and alluring blue. They looked kind, but changed completely when he turned his gaze towards the men bothering him. Christopher whimpered and stared pleadingly at the man, who frowned and stood up from his seat. He was tall, and the intensity of his beauty made Christopher blush, he was dressed in some rather unusual clothes, silks and soft cotton; he too was out of place in this dark and troublesome hole.
That was all I could think about.
I could not believe I had left them behind.
I had characters before, I have characters now, but these were the first.
So I have made a promise.
I will start to write again. Little by little.
I have bought a little pretty notebook, just like old times, and I shall start there.
And hopefully, one day soon, I shall be able to rewrite this story that I miss so much.
Do not worry, my dear friends, I shall bring you to life again soon.
In a little cottage upon the outskirts of the town, the last embers of the fire glowed in the grate, and Christopher awoke with a start, panting heavily, shooting up into a sitting position in the bed.
“Christopher? Love, what is wrong?” The blonde turned to face his lover who sat up in the bed next to him, hands stroking over his hair and shoulders in a soothing manner that he loved.
Christopher paused for a moment, eyes searching Kahn’s eyes, one grey and one white. But he simply smiled, pressing a gentle kiss to the older man’s lips, and moving into his arms once again.
“It is nothing, let us sleep.”
