Is an action before it is a feeling.

Proven when you set time aside for them and make them feel like the rest of the world doesn't matter.

When you surprise them with dinner or a gift they weren't expecting and show them they cross your mind and aren't someone disposable.

When you voice how you care for them and encourage them in their pursuits.

When you let them see the side of you that is falling apart because you trust them to help you put it back together.

When you love someone, you don't have to say it.

“At what point do you stop? Or do you just keep going? Keep hurting?” I scream at Mason through my tears.

“You will never understand me Elise. Don’t try. Don’t bother.” Mason keeps his eyes off of mine as he speaks.

“So what, you just ignore anyone who could care about you because you’re afraid?”

“The thing is, people don’t care. The sooner you learn that, the better off you will be in life. I’m sorry you haven’t grasped this yet, but because I’m a jackass let me open your eyes!”

He continues, playing off of my silence.

“For starters-“ Mason holds up a finger and his eyes brush over mine. “Trip doesn’t care. He cares about his cause, and ways to make his cause succeed. Marie seems like she cares, but she is selfish and only cares about her individual success, should you get in the way of that, you will be ignored and cast off to the side.”

Mason holds up a third finger, a hunger lights up in his eyes and in this moment I know the only thing he wants is for me to feel the pain that he does, to suffer like he makes himself suffer. To believe the lies he’s telling me. The same lies he tells himself.

“Mick doesn’t care. He cares about maybe two people in the entire world and one of them is dead.” His voice drops on the word. “Aubrey doesn’t care because she’s a fucking psycho who managed to murder a quarter of you idiots.”

Looking up is like looking into a hurricane. The wind of his words cuts into my heart, and the force of his eyes makes my breath shallow.

“I don’t care about you. You were the catalyst of this destruction. You got the only person I cared about killed.

“You’re wrong. You’re wrong about everyone and how you think they don’t value you.”

But everyone is lost. Everyone is gone. Everyone is dead. And they aren’t coming back. They won’t see success or failure anymore. The sun, the stars and moon. They won’t love or be loved. They won’t cry over the things we’ve cried over, they won’t ever be here.

Be strong. A whimper forces its way in between quick breaths. “I’m tired of being strong.” My body aches with the realization of everything I tried to put behind me; everything I thought I had begun to heal from.

Loss cripples me and gravity pulls me. Dust explodes into my face, latching onto every tear shed, its thirst evident and hungry. I hit the earth. Lost. Again. Gone. Again. Dead. Over and over I think these words. I claw at the earth until the sight of blood reminds me of physical pain.

Inhaling deeply, I let the sting of shredded flesh soak into my nerves, I feel the dirt fuse with my pain, making mud out of my blood and tears. I sit on my knees relishing the warmth of the sun in the midst of a dying day and think of how I must look right now. Sooty and unstable. Desperate. Broken.

Having gained some sanity, I look down at my hands.

“Oh, oh, oh” Heat swells in my veins bringing a different kind of tear to my eyes. My knuckles have turned into a bloodied, indistinguishable mess of loose skin and soot.

“Give me water.” I don’t look at Mason as I make my demand, I’m afraid of what I’d see.

Mason stands idle, and I imagine him proud of himself for my agony and the tightness of my chest, the tears and the loss of mind, the way he’s reminded me of everything I lost.

Be strong. Be strong.

Sooooo.... I literally have not written in a year and have lost all of my ability *cries many tears* I am trying to gain it back and am hoping to get better again. As usual, any thoughts, insight, tips, and constructive critisism are SO GREATLY APPRECIATED AGHH okay bye for now

ALL RIGHTS BELONG TO ME

COPYRIGHT @wandress 2018

#action#book#sneakpeak#advice#help

  This boy. This beautiful boy.

Through tears I look at his face, hair black as coal, and eyes like oncoming thunder.

Then I look down at the knife he plunged into my side.

Breathe.

The blood flow is begining to slow, but the searing heat of the separated skin makes it hard to think of anything else.

"I asked you to come with me, and now look."

His words sting because they are true.

Going would have made me a criminal.

It reverberates in my mind. I take a deep breath, and it feels as though the tear in my flesh rips itself even further.

"You want to kill people."

I force myself to look away from him. I should be filled with disgust, hatred, and loathing. The only thing looking does is make me long. Make me hurt.

"So do the people they want dead."

He leans in closer, and speaks in a rough whisper, one that I've heard so many times under different circumstances. Circumstances that rest easy in my mind.

"You have to decide who's right."

I turn my head from him, I can't turn him into something he's not, no matter how much I thought I saw of him. The sound of his lulling voice shouldn't change that. The ship's metal body creaks, reminding me I can't get away from him. The port hole. I'm small enough. Then what? Swim? How far are we from land?

"Enough for now."

The man who steps in is shorter than someone in charge typically is, but his lighting rod voice makes up for the missing height; it strikes fear into my damaged body, the cold draft in the metal chamber settling illy around me. The boy I know stands from his kneeling position beside me to join his commander. Before they leave he turns to me, and I see him. He hasn't changed. He hasn't lied. This is him, his eyes are still deeper than an ocean and ever thinking. He still looks at me the same. I haven't seen all of him, and I made the mistake of thinking I knew his depths.

Thanks for reading guys! Should I continue this? And as always, any comments and opinions are appreciated greatly! This was a pretty quick type up (15 minutes) so if you peoples like it, I will fix it up and persue a future for it :

This boy. This beautiful boy.

Through tears I look at his face, hair black as coal, and eyes like oncoming thunder.

Then I look down at the knife he plunged into my side.

It hurts.

The difficult part is separating physical from emotional.

"I asked you to come with me, and now look." His words sting because they are true. Think about the cost. It reverberates in my mind. I take a deep breath, and it feels as though the tear in my flesh rips itself even further.

"You want to kill people." I force myself to look away from him. I should be filled with disgust, hatred, and loathing. The only thing looking does is make me long. Make me hurt.

"So do the people they want dead." He leans in closer, and speaks in a rough whisper.

"You have to decide who's right."

The ship's metal body creaks, reminding me I can't get away from him. The port hole. I'm small enough. Then what? Swim? How far are we from land?

"Enough for now." The man who steps in is shorter than someone in charge typically is, but his lighting rod voice makes up for the few feet of height he is missing.

Thanks for reading guys! Should I continue this? And as always, any comments and opinions are appreciated greatly! 

I shiver on the log, thinking too much, replaying too often. Thinking about the cost of freedom. What even is freedom? Have I ever even felt it? Maybe if I’ve been living this long without it, I can survive the rest of my life. I can make it out and no-one else has to die for it. No-one has to fight. I want Yun back. I want the sunny day when I first met him at the café back. I just want peace. I don’t want to be a fugitive, and I don’t want to die. But I can’t go back now, so I have to go forwards; even if someone has to drag me onward or push me, I have to. Wind whips me in the face and I gasp at the front of cold air it brings, and as I suck it into my lungs, I feel my body chill from the inside out. I look up and feel Trip’s eyes on me. Watchful and determining. As he turns away from me, I see his jaw clench in the feeble light and he begins to gather up dead leaves. I help him to occupy my mind, even though I have no idea what’s happening. While gathering them I focus on the leaves; crisp and dead. Death. My hands freeze and I feel the fury of grief taking my knees out from under me, crippling me and tightening my throat. As I sit on the frostbitten earth contemplating how easy my own death could be, a warmth like summer folds around my arm, and for a moment, the warmth trembles. It breaks for a split second, and then pulls at me, gently turning my thoughts from the chill of death. Trip releases his hand from my arm once he gets me over to the leaf bed. “I’m going to cover you in them, then put these pine branches over you so they don’t blow away.” He motions to a small pile of branches. “And for survivals sake, we’re going to lay next to each other.” I just nod. He doesn’t want to talk, I don’t want to talk.

Constructive critisism and opinions are extremely appreciated! Thanks for taking the time to read this, and I hope you all enjoy!

ALL RIGHTS BELONG TO ME (Wandress)

 COPYRIGHT 2017 Wandress

“I can’t believe you.” I mutter to Asaiah as we walk through the crowded marketplace.

“Just be thankful the priest is a man of piety.” His words are spoken so quietly, they barely reach my ears. As if the heat wasn’t enough, the bodies constantly swarming around us and my swelling frustration make Derbe seem to be the center of a blacksmith’s fire.

Althaia skips with us, completely unaware of our current horrifying situation, while holding our brother’s calloused hand.

“Where is the integrity that mother and father always spoke of when you were the subject? You’ve become impetuous and brainless! What are we going to do?” The fumes of my anger trail behind us, mixing with the heat.

“We can barely scrape together enough to buy our own food. This time we can’t get the money back magically!” I don’t remind him about the two times before this where he got us into a bad situation by lending money to the wrong people. Thankfully we were able to find a man to arbitrate in both cases and settle the stolen shekels. Asaiah takes it all in stride, letting me vent my anger and call him whatever it is that I desire. That’s why I can’t stay mad at him. He remains calm and collected while I am frustrated and insensible. The calm and the storm. It’s what mother and father used to always call us. Perhaps I should have outgrown my quick tongue by now, but it seems that the titles are still applicable to us. I sigh, and Althaia grabs my hand with her free one. Her touch offers a deep sense of consolation; it’s as though Asaiah’s calm is being transferred through her, one hand to the other.

“I just wish you would discern more properly. We are hungry and barely making any shekels as is.”

“I know. But while we may be hungry, we aren’t starving, and the man on the corner is. We always have something to give, he has nothing.” Asaiah has a formidable voice, fit for a leader, and it draws me to his shelter, calming me.

Althaia chimes in now that the conversation is lighter. “Yeah, we do have stuff. We have a lamb.” I give her a sad smile. Neither Asaiah or I have the gut to tell her that our “lamb” is just a cotton toy. At times, she speaks so vividly of it, it’s almost creepy. We both thought she would have become too old for such play by now, but she continues to prove our assumptions wrong almost every time we make a guessing game out of her imaginations.

"Solieil, wake up."

I cringe, squeezing my eyes shut as though I could force sleep to once again overthrow my senses. It almost works, except for the small hand nudging my arm. I groan. Sleep seems to be the only place where nothing goes wrong, where I can escape all of my family's misfortune. 

But you don't really. 

I fan the thought away and open my eyes to see my younger sister's slight figure, and bouncy honey curls.

"What is it Althaia?" I almost dont respond to her urging for fear that something has gone terribly wrong. 

"It's Asaiah again." 

Our older brother doesn't seem to know how to stay out of trouble; he caused much of it even before our parents died. He started being a real pain after they were put to the sword by a theiving band of Chaldeans while the three of us had been tending the sheep for the night. It wasn't that long ago: five years, but it might as well have been antediluvian times. I had been twelve, the others fourteen and two. The mere thought terrifies me that if it werent for Asaiah's forcing, Althaia wouldn't have been brought along, and she would have been beheaded next to our parents.

"What did he do now?" I note the carelessness in my voice, and force a worried look onto my face. Only for Althaia, who is still too young to understand that Asaiah can't keep apologizing to us forever and actually continue to mean it. 

"The priest told me to come and get you because Siah broke another covenant he had with the-" I stop her.

"You were out alone again?" I sit up now, my bare feet planted on the rug in our small tent.

"I was with Siah. Anyways," She draws out the A dramatically, and I smile at her antics.

"The priest said to get you, bring you to the temple, and make sure we bring the sum we owe-" She shifts feet, her brow crinkled in concentration.

"-we owe or... The sum we owe or an equal barter of fattened firstborns!" Her eyes sparkle with satisfaction and pride in her memory. My smile shrinks and turns into a firm line. My teeth find my lip and start chewing, a habit I haven't cared enough to break. Althaia still looks excitable, and I wish I could share in her positve, careless mood right now. She doesn't know that we don't have money. Much less any fattened lambs.

"Well, let's go to the temple and see what we can do."

        The day is searing, not unusual for Derbe, but uncomfortably sweaty for all it's citizens. When we reach the temple steps, we are greeted by Asaiah's bright smile. 

That smile tells me clearly that he is in deep and wants to leave with his head attached, so he better be nice. Don't think that will shirk off the knot I'm going to put on your forehead. He won't listen to me no matter how many times I tell him that we can't afford him be imprisoned. We can't even risk it. Yet here we are. Again. Perhaps a significant other would be able to hold back his compulsive nature; He has already had three men come to him and offer their daughters up as spouses. Of course, if we were in a better situation finance-wise, I'm positive he would have had more. Not to mention those offers had been before our family became known as poor as the dirt of which our tent sits upon. I would know, considering that our garden has failed three years in a row.

"Don't give me that." I say between my teeth. My head naturally dips in a courteous head bow, and Althaia follows suit. The old man returns it and gives an understanding look.

I turn to Asaiah and whisper so only he can hear. 

"How much and why?" His grey eyes bore into my chocolate ones, and I can see him calculating, forming meaningless apologies, and plausible escape routes. 

"Five shekels. Just food." He knows better than to shower me with a kind words. My eyes widen.

"I know we need to survive, but of all things holy! How are we supposed to pay that off? Asaiah, we didn't even get that much worth in food last time we stocked." Then I figure it out. My head leans to the side, dread sawing through every bone in my body. Every nerve.

"You gave it to the beggar on the corner didn't you?" My whispers are fierce now. 

Asaiah nods once. 

"We're still alive aren't we?"

"We won't be if we can't pay back what we now owe the priest!" I shake my head and close my eyes,  not wanting to think about the enmity this is going to create between the kind old man and my brother. No, not just Asaiah, all of us. 

The priest steps in.

"If you would like, I can ascribe to you a document detailing the borrowed shekels." He turns to Asaiah and raises his bountiful eyebrows.

"I presume you know that borrowed means you will return it, young man?" He smiles and pats Asaiah's shoulder.

I nod for my brother, unable to do anything else right now.

"Thank you."

"Behold, a Lady, whose hair is long and curled, whose face is powdered, and who is completely unrecognizable." He trys to contain his laughter with a snort as he examines me.

"I'm sure Lord whats-his-face will really jump at the opportunity to seperate and corner you like an unfortuante cow.

I look sideways at my brother.

"I'm overjoyed that you think cow is a suitable description. And I think that was the point. At least that was Mother's intentions for me." I frown at Aaden. 

"Personally, I'm not very fond of Lord whats-his-face."

"To be fair, you aren't very fond of anyone." 

"Maybe. Perhaps I just don't feel very agreeable towards nonsensical idiots who stumble on their words and prefer unintelligent hobbies such as gambling to ones that boost their intelligence rather than their ego."

Aaden's ocean eyes glimmer with amusement.

"I can't wait to see the tortured expression on your face tonight. A book in one hand and a glass of whisky in the other." His smile makes my room even brighter, and I want to wipe the dimples off of his face, instead I can't help but smile back at him. I know that he would be there to save me from Lord Nixxam should the need arise. Unlike my mother, who would prefer to get me out of the house sooner rather than later, even if it was a pig of a man who got the deed done.

"You know that Mother would never allow whisky to me."

"Then you'll just have to get drunk off of the champagne before his lovely voice reaches your ears."