The Two of Us Sunday, October 25, 2009 Labels: inspiration Monologues: unnamed Monday, October 19, 2009 The last time we saw her, there were flowers just blooming on the trees. There birds were just returning, and there was a nippy wind like there always was. Everybody was dressing up in our best, going out and about to visit their kin. Everybody was just getting out their lighter cardigans and sweaters. Everybody else was keeping away their heavy coats and scarves. The last time I saw her, it was spring. I heard from her mother, what happened. I myself went into her room, and saw what happened. It was surprisingly quiet, unlike how she usually was. Everybody knows her. Everybody knows who she was. Everybody knows who she used to be. Nobody bothered to find out how she is. I remember how she was though. I think everybody remembers. How could one forget? The black hair, always windswept and messy; the lips, glossed and plump, always pulled into a smile; the tanned face and the many freckles, like stars on her face; the eyes, sparkling and bluer than the sky, charming and laughing. Everybody loved her. Apparently, not anymore. I talked to her mother, (accompanied by one cup of tea that went cold) and she seemed surprisingly eager to talk, (as though she kept something inside for too long and it burst) she just talked and talked and talked. (and I thought that she would never ever stop) I listened and nodded. I left when she started to cry. (I hate it when people cry) She told me that she never saw it coming. I don't think anybody did. It was just another chilly night, on the fifteenth of January. She had dressed in her pajamas, (blue eyes, brown hair, brown skin) and the last words anyone heard her say was "I'm going to sleep for a while now. Don't try to wake me." Nobody's heard from her since. She's not dead. I sat by her bedside, in that white wicker armchair she liked so much. I sat there, on the green cushion that padded the hard seat. I sat there, and watched her, as she whiled the hours. She was indisputably asleep. Just like she said she was. It's so quiet in the room. When I sit there, I feel like an intruder. The creak of the wicker sounds like thunder. Everything seems so pristine and calm, undisturbed. When I sit down in that wicker chair she used to occupy, I feel like I have somehow spoilt something, disturbed the peace. When I sit by her and watch her still, unmoving self (well, she breathes, so she does move a little) I feel like I'm looking at something private, something she doesn't want me to see. The last time I saw her, she was awake and smiling and chattering. The last time I saw her, it was spring. Spring is over. after dark by Haruki Murakami, insomnia at 1:13 in the morning. Labels: monologues about one xREDballoon about meIt was the username that was adopted either in late August or early September of 2009. It was the combined effect of too many games on Orisinal (especially High Delivery) and also her long-time love for how the large red carnival balloons when they fly away. about meFinalized as a digital signature only in November of the same year, it has since been used everywhere: her previous Gaia account, her account on bubbl.us, and of course every recent endeavor on web and graphic design. It was an aim of hers to use it as something of a brand. From her sketches to simple blog layouts, one xREDballoon presents is her favourite signature as of now. about meone xREDballoon is the internet handle of a girl, born on a wet day in the early morning of late February. Although astrologically she is a Pisces, she displays many of the Aquarian traits, possibly as a result of being born near the time. She likes the concept of beauty in its most primitive classical form, ruffles layered upon each other generously for flounce or decor, detailed black lace be it crochet or woven, a whole palette of colours from turquoise to grey. She is charmed by the way an old well-read book smells on a wet rainy day, and the way the pages feel, all crinkly and wise under her fingers as she turns the page. She loves the inviting appeal of a blank notebook, and a good gel-ink pen in the colour of the sky. about meLearn more about her in her personal blog. about And Then She Fell about meAndthenshe-fell@blogspot was named as such in October 09, on a whim and on a wish to match the layout that time. And Then She Fell was a lot of things back then: a roleplay layout (in bbcode), a roleplay idea (which was never developed) and also the words emblazoned in huge Ruritania upon an image which showed a falling girl. That was the beginnings of this writing blog as the all-new concept of And Then She Fell. about meFrom the start, And Then She Fell has always been a semi-personal blog. While visitors are not unwelcomed, no particular effort is put into censoring the content or to sound polite. Just as well that the blog touches on intangible unimportant things, for if it were to talk of life and its nuances, things would sour quickly and it would become a blog of cynical views and criticism. archives categories favourites |
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