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beautiful sorry eyes. january/24/2008 age 14 |
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this story in my comp,is 14 pages long.please read and comment.it's a story that i find very awsome,and i'm still working on the second story.
so,please and thank you!!!love ya guys! heart
1981:it was a cloudy, dry day. The dry dirt crunched under my shoes as I walked through the abandoned lot to the old house. The house may have been old but not scary story old. It wasn’t dark, rickety, cold or a rundown shack with bits and pieces falling off. But instead, a pale milk color which was chipping, black shingles, shutters, and doors, built on a slight hill, and a grey stone walkway, and a few bushes. The only thing really weird about the house was the big, metal, rusty gate and fence. It had barbed wire wrapped around it, spiked tips, and was about 7’2. And the other thing creepy about it really was, the guy that lived there. This guy was big. 6’9 I’d say. No one ever really saw much of him, but the one time I ever saw him, his face burned it’s way into my memory. I still remember his beautiful yet somehow regretful saddened gold-brown eyes, his pitch black hair sticking out in every direction, his olive colored Italian skin, sad mouth, and odd goatee that looked like two. Yes, despite his angry, rock look, he was beautiful. In fact, this man was the very reason I was there. I really didn’t want to, but when I saw his eyes, those eyes, I changed. for life.
I knocked on the front door. The big, black painted, chipping door. I was about to knock a fourth time when the door swung open. And there behind the screen door, he stood. Black make-up smeared and smudged around his eyes like he just rubbed them. I stared for a moment, quiet. Astonished by the soul I found in those eyes in just seconds. It’s been a long time since I’ve seen a young kid like yourself, boy. Why are you here? All I could say was, package. I held it up, literally, until he took it from my hands. He looked surprised. Hm. I don’t know anyone. Don’t have any family left. He looked at the note on it, stared down at me, then closed the big black door. I stood there for a second, thinking, wondering, about the package, what was it? I heard huge, creaking footsteps from in the house, getting closer, so I ran away from it, down the street.
I couldn’t sleep that night. I was still wondering about the package. I still saw those eyes burned into my memory. I couldn’t figure out what was so special about them. I wanted so badly to know. I eventually fell asleep. As I was falling asleep, I felt like my mind had melted, and I couldn’t fix it. The next day, I took a long walk, trying to clear my mind. I came across a tree near the house. It had something carved into it. I walked up to the tree to read what it said. “these beautiful eyes all made up of lies, a badly broken heart right from the start. Why couldn’t I have been alright, why couldn’t I have changed. the one who doesn’t face the world, because to them it is so strange.” it seemed obvious, but I couldn’t figure it out. But I did like the poem. So I wrote it down.
It was getting dark out. I wanted to get home as fast as possible. I was so close to home. Walking past the house, then I heard something. I looked over and saw the man standing on his porch, a cigarette between his fingers. What’s up kid. I walked up to him. Unafraid unlike most of the kids I know. Just trying to get home. I answered. Why? He asked confused. It’s a beautiful night. You should be taking a long walk. Maybe. I said staring at the sky. um, if you don’t mind me asking, what was in that package? He stares down at me and puts on a very happy smile. Well, I really can’t tell you. But I can show you. How ‘bout it? I thought to myself. I’ve grown to kind of like the guy. Trust him to a bit. Alright. I said. When we walked in, it smelled pungent and dusty. I heard opera music playing somewhere farther away in the house. It was dark inside. Pictures inside black frames hung on the walls. The pictures were mainly of one woman. A woman of dark hair and lovely eyes. I stopped to look for a second. That’s Venessa gale. He said taking a swig of J.D. she was my first and only wife. She died ten years back. She was an alcoholic her liver failed. He threw the empty liquor bottle in the trash and kept walking. I walked a little more through the house then a huge German Shepard ran past me. And that’s whiskey. I need someone to keep me company. Finally, we got to the upstairs closet. He pulls out a box, and out of the box, a doll. It was from vennesa’s sister. This was Vanessa’s favorite doll. She had it since she was two years old. She died at forty five. He held the doll in one hand, a tear ran down his face. She would always say that when she died, she wanted me to take care of this doll. Miss molly she named it. He held it close to him. He looked down at me with sad eyes. You should get going. You’d probably get in trouble for being out so late, right? Well, actually, I don’t have parents he stared at me confused. In fact, I live alone. Alone? At your age? Shouldn’t you be in a home or something? Nah. I refused to be. He smiles. Smart, kid. Hey, what’s your name? Honore. You have a last name? no. no I don’t. hm. Well, I’m Gunther gale. I stared at him. Well, I should probably get home. Then I turned and left.
I opened my front door and my dog lullaby immediately came to see me. I fed her, and walked her. That night, something happen about around the time I was going to bed. Close gunshots. Not the ones I’m used to either. I stumble out of bed to my window. I found out that a group of teenagers, maybe my age or older, were shooting through Gunther’s windows. It scared me half to death! So fearlessly, and frantically, I ran out of my house in my pajamas when I got close enough to the house, I started yelling at them, “what the hell are you doing!? Stop! Leave him alone! He’s a lonely old man who’s never done a damn thing to anyone!” they stopped and stared at me. I got close to the group. Then, one kid, whom I’m guessing is the lead of all this warfare(as I’ll call it)got all close in my face with a gun. He stared at me like I was supposed to be scared. I just kept my pissed off face and said, “you can shoot me. But don’t you dare go near that man.” he stared at me confused for a second. No way was I backing down. Gunther gale was my best friend, and I put the responsibility of taking care of him until he dies, into my hands. Eventually the kids left. I ran into the house stopping by the front door. Gunther! I called for him a few times, before realizing, he wasn’t going to answer. I was scared. I think I was even crying a bit. I ran through the whole house before I found him. I found him in his den. Sitting in his chair just staring off into nothing. Gunther? You okay? He looked like he was about to cry. Or was already crying on the inside. Gun-whiskey got out. And now, he’s gone. He was shot. Dead. That dog was all I had. I loved that dog. That’s when a single tear fell from his eye. I sat on the couch next to the chair. Now I’m alone. Completely alone.
I don’t want to. I thought to myself. I can’t just leave. Even if he wants me to. I was walking down the street, kicking a rock as I went. I can’t just leave him in a time like this. Especially in his condition. He’s fifty years old , an alcoholic, lives alone, anything else? That’s exactly what I mean. not all that mentally stable either, god knows that’s true. I turn and walk over a hill going to the river. I stop at the edge, sit and stare into the water. The reflection of the blue sky and white clouds softly floating a cross the water. All is peaceful except for the little frogs bouncing around. Then, I see something shimmer in the light for about a split second. It’s caught on a twig. It’s a silver locket. It takes a second, but with a rusty gritty sound, it opens. And inside is a picture of vennesa and a little girl by her side. I could guess that it was gunther’s daughter, but couldn’t say. Then, I found a ring sitting on a rock. It’s gold and diamond shined so beautifully. I picked it up. But something inside me said to put it back. Now. And so I did. I stared at the river for a few minuets more, then headed off into the woods across the river. And in the woods, is where things got a whole lot more weird. Walking deep in the woods, I saw something waving in the wind like a flag. I walked up to I. it was a (now hardly white) wedding dress, tied to a branch. It had little tears and rips. I felt it. Still silky smooth like it was just made. It’s lace and silk whipped around in the wind. Then it came loose and fell to the ground. I picked it up. I stared at it, then tied it back up, Doing so because it was probably Vennesa’s. was. I walked back. At the edge of the river I heard something. Something that sounded like foot steps. So I darted out of there, just to be safe.
I haven’t seen Gunther in some weeks, so I went and paid him a visit. When I walked into his house, something felt different. Empty. It didn’t feel or smell like death, just, depression. Sorrow. Like it’d been abandoned for years. I walked through a bit more. As I walked, I noticed that on every curtain corner, a small black cross hung on every right hand corner. I walked until I found one open door. The room was completely empty, stark white, and black carpet. Gunther was sitting in a corner by the window. He hadn’t noticed me. He was too busy mumbling to himself. But his mumbling was harmonic, it had melody. Maybe he was singing. I walked closer up to him. When I stood in front of him, he whipped his head up and stared at me. His hair more limp and flimsy than before. It looked like he was sweating. Or crying, tears all down his face. His face looked pale blue and his lips a milky purple. Gunther. What’s wrong? He took a deep breath, exhales. Kid. Sit. He gestures next to him. Honore, kid, I’m dying. What? I asked a little frail and panicked. I’m old. But that doesn’t mean I’m dying anytime soon. Besides, don’t feel completely bad, your dying to. We all are at birth. Which is why we get older and change. I stared desperately at him, somehow his words made me feel better. Kid. You can’t take forever, to heart. Unless you’re dead. When I die, I won’t be gone forever. Just some years. You’ll see me again. Just hang in there. Then, what he said, kind of shocked me. Then when we’re both there, we’ll be family. Forever happy. He smiled at me.you’ll meet venessa. And my daughter. We’ll see whiskey again to. His going of this, felt a worried young child. What happened to your daughter? He sighs. Gracious died from a medical error. They in injected her with the wrong IV, wrong medicine. Her body couldn’t take it, then just shut down. She started bleeding from her nose and mouth. I have some of her blood in a jar. I don’t know how creepy that may be, but it’s true. I don’t think that’s creepy. I see it as kind of a reminder of her and her inner self. He smiles again. Honore, thanks for seeing it that way. Well, I’m not a normal person. I see things differently. That’s just how I am. And that’s how you should stay. Well, c’mon. out of the alone. He was speaking about the room. And so out we went, the door closed. I stared at a window, then remembered. Gunther. What are the crosses on the right curtain corners for? Their to keep the bad thoughts, feeling, and evil spirits away. I kept quiet. Hey, I have something to give you. He gose downstairs. I follow. He pulls out a small but not too small, wooden chest. He opens it. It’s her wedding dress. He says. Her ring’s in there somewhere to. I couldn’t find the-locket? I ask. Yeah. How’d you know? I found all this by the riverside. The locket and the ring. The dress tied to a tree way back in the woods. I pull the locket out of my pocket. I have the locket. I held it up by it’s chain. Well keep it. Why are you giving me all of this? This was your wife‘s. it should be your memory. It will be. But not my possession. But it only seems right. Well, sometimes things that seem right, aren’t always right. So it is.
Life can be a joke sometimes. It is unfair, it is brutal, it is harsh, and it comes at you so fast, you’re slow to react. Something’s in life you just don’t want to know. You just don’t want to see, hear. But you have to face it. You have to know the truth. Move on with life and forget. And for me, that all came in handy, sooner than I thought. Hey kid. Gunther said slamming the fridge door closed, taking a big swig of JD. Once again, I got something else for you. What? Well, I have it with me somewhere…ah-ha. In the drawer. He opens the drawer, rummages through it, his hand stops. He slowly pulls out a white piece of paper with a gold sticker stamp on it. It’s the deed. Deed? To my house. W-why? Because the way I’m going, I may not live to see another year. I actually believe you there. I said with a bit of a chuckle. Yeah, when I die, this place is yours. Thanks. It means a lot to me. I hoped it would. You know, this is probably the happiest I’ve ever been. Ha. I actually find that kind of sad. Yeah. Hey Gunther. I don’t know, nobody knows, when you’re going to die. So, would you mind if I came to live with you? He stared blankly at me, and put his hand on my shoulder. Kid. You’re doing fine on your own. I know you don’t need no one. Especially some old guy like me. Then he very faintly smiles. Sure you can, Honore. I’d be happy to have you aboard. A huge smile spread across my face. Then I hugged him. For some reason, I felt like things were going to get a lot better. For the both of us.
I moved and took only my necessities. My clothes, my written things, and lullaby. Her two bowls to. The first few days were kind of
Weird, but I got used to it. I never thought it’d be weird at all. Guess I was wrong. I would help around the house inside and out. And life was good, real good. I didn’t live alone anymore, I had a bigger house, and best of all, I think I finally had a father. In fact, I know I did. This was the best thing that ever happened to me.
1990:
Gunther died this year. Age 59. Liver failure just as Vennesa did. A few years back, my dog lullaby died to. I have another dog now. A big, beautiful German Shepard named, whiskey jr. but he goes by whiskey. I’m 22 and already have a small family of me,my wife Naomi, and our daughter Nona. I still live in Gunther’s “ol’ tomb” as he called it. My family knows the story of my teen days, me and Gunther, all of that. To this day, I still have the deed, and more importantly, the name. my name, I finally have a last name, is Honore gale. My family, the gales. My life’s perfectly beautiful now, but still, every now and then I get down and depressed. Because sometimes, I long so much for Gunthers company. Long for my only father figure. My only and best friend. Because when I was on my own, Gunther was all I had. Every morning, every time I look into a mirror, I see him. I see the same saddened, regretful golden brown, beautiful sorry eyes. And that same person staring back. I’ve noticed that as I’ve grown, I looked more and more like Gunther. Eventually, I started making myself to look as he did. The outside, the hair, even the way I wore black kohl around my eyes and the clothes I wore. Hell, I even got a goatee. But,I really hope you’re having a good time wherever you are Gunther boy. I’ll see you someday.
Walking down by the river, still there and still crystal clear and clean. As is the woods that lie ahead. Sitting on a big rock by the river shore, I thought of when I found the dress, locket, and ring. I thought of how Naomi wore that dress on our wedding day. After I got it fixed up. Then I thought of how beautiful Vennesa must of looked in that dress. I closed my eyes tight for a few seconds, then shot them open. I had just remembered a very short poem Gunther had written for me one day. As I had for him in return. It was called “in desperation” . oh, how did it go again? Oh yeah.
“I lived though it. I got by. I didn’t touch a single blade and I refused to die. I paint my life with colors of the rainbow, I try my best to smile. And if I must, I’ll go the extra mile. You’ve got to keep going, you’ve got to move on. You’ve got to live life right or wrong. As shadows cover the earth, and the sun gently rises, as earth makes it’s way around away from our demises.”
Beautiful. I always have and always will think that. I loved my family, truly I did. But the deep, childish love I had for the old guy, was just as deep. That’s probably why on the inside, I’m just like him. Which brings me back to the thought, it seems that I’ve been scaring my daughter, somehow. It could be because of who I am, or that I can be really negative. Me and Naomi would sometimes argue about it, and from what she says, it apparently is because of that. But I always make it up to them
Both every time. And the habit’s been running less nowadays.
I was on my front porch, smoking a cigarette, when a boy, a young teen about 14, walks up to me and says, good afternoon. I have a package here for a Mr. Honere gale, that you? Yes sir, it is. I take the box and smile at the boy. He seems to be examining my eyes. Just like I did when I met Gunther. I think I got myself a new friend. Who’s the package from, kid? He rolls his eyes, thinking. Um. Oh yeah. A Mr. Gunther gale. I stop. A look of astonishment crosses my face. I look at the note. Yup, that’s his name in his writing. Thanks kid.I put out my cigg, and go inside. I go up to my attic, and open the package. It was miss molly. And a little black cross. One of the crosses that hung on his window. I went and found a silver chain necklace and put the cross on it. I put miss molly on a shelf in the bedroom. Naomi came in while I was fixing miss molly’s posture. Where’d that come from? She asked. An old friend. You mind it being in the room? Nah. And how about the cross. Again, old friend. Hey Naomi, can I have my space for a few minuets? Sure thing. She smiles then leaves. I stop, absent minded for a moment. Then it comes to me. I think about it for a second, get dressed, and go. I leave without a word.
His grave isn’t as faded as it should be. I remember the first time I took Nona to his grave. She knows him as her grandpa. Even though she’s only two years old, she seems to understand a lot. I look down at the tombstone. It read “Gunther gale. 1930-1990. Died at age 59.” then a piece of the poem I wrote for him. “but know that life after death I, is always worth living, so don’t give up on life that easy.” I held a rose in my hand which I got from a vase at home . I set the rose on his grave. I felt something cold and wet fall on head. It was raining. The sky was gray. My eyes still locked on his grave. His name. I feel the overwhelming urge to cry bolting through my chest to my eyes. Then the urge to yell, also bolting through my chest. I needed to yell at death for taking him from me. For taking away my only father. And I needed to yell at myself for not even trying to help him quit drinking. And then, it all came to me, and so I did.
“why did you take him!? It was too soon! He was innocent! It was my fault I never even tried! I should’ve been the one to die!” and then, in almost a whisper, I should’ve been the one to go. I hated the thought of me and Gunther being so many years apart in life and death. It was agony, on top of pain, on top of suffering, and suicide. I didn’t know what would happen just as much as didn’t know what would happen to me.
It seems like only the beginning. Just yesterday I met the old guy. But every story has an ending, and I say this one’s mine. I find a knife in my drawer. I grab some good strong rope and head to the woods. I’m walking through the woods. The cold blue of the moon gleaming upon the trees, waters and waterfalls. I come to a decent looking tree, strong looking. I tie the ends of the rope to a piece of Gunther’s old clothing, then tie it to the tree branch. I take the knife and put a slit in my left palm then let three drops of blood onto the white shirt. I sit against the tree. Thinking. What would life had been like if he was still around today? Would he still love one woman and one woman only? But most importantly, would he still be him? Would he still love me? Would he still acknowledge my existents? Then I smile to myself and say, yes. Of course he would. The leaves rustle on the ground. A fall moon directly over my head. I take in a breath of fresh, cool, night air, then begin to cry. A happy beautiful cry, knowing that, Gunther is now safe from all the horrid things in this world which was killing him. Never would my father have to suffer again. And neither does whiskey. I hope he’s okay to. I miss my childhood terribly, but Gunther even more. The only one I ever had growing up. I knew that they were both waiting for me. But I also knew that, they were always with me. Well, I should finish now. I’ve gone on for years and it’s become terribly depressing.
I wake up the next morning still leaning on the tree. I look at the early morning sun on the horizon. I should get home. Naomi’s probably worried. When I get home, I walk past Naomi and Nona, straight into the kitchen. I go to the cupboard, and pull out a bottle of J.D., then go stand on my porch. As I’m standing on my porch, that same boy comes up to me. With a smile. I smile back. What’re you up to boy? just passing through, hoping you don’t mind me asking, what was in that package? I stare. What’s your name boy? Halyard vyncini. I’m Honore gale. And do you really wanna know? Yeah. Well then I’ll show you. Come on in. I think I found another me. I think I’ll make a friend. That’s exactly what Gunther did. Who knows, maybe it’ll be a scenario. but until then, I’ll share my past with this kid. And hope his is just as great.
Later that night, when I was drinking, I thought. Then I raised my glass to my old friend and say, ”Gunther, the way I’m going, I won’t be surprised if I see you by the end of the year. So a toast, I love ya.” I put down the empty glass, and smile. As I fall into a beautiful, unconscious slumber. I know that everything, as Gunther promised me, will be alright. And to this day, I still believe him. And all I hope is, he still believes in me. Amen.
/END/
 XxImmortal_MachinexX · Tue Jul 29, 2008 @ 04:34am · 2 Comments |
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