Failed SMP story: R
Monday, June 25th, 2007 08:59 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
tsaikoTo celebrate getting back on the internet, I bring you a DEPRESSING AS HELL STORY. I actually started this for a ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
snail_mail_porn challenge and then went "I can't send this to someone. It's too depressing." So I wrote Writing Fairytales instead. I mentioned this story to maderr and starparty over the weekend. Which of course meant that I had to dig up the notebook and type it out.
This is about half of what I have written on it. It's not complete because I needed to do some research. Strangely enough, the ending is already written. It's just the middle that needs to be finished.
On Mother's day each of her children brought her a different colored rose. Her youngest, a girl, brought her a yellow rose. Her youngest son, the middle child, brought her a rose in some shade between pink and orange. Sometimes it was more pink, sometimes it was more orange and she'd laugh when her children would fight over the color. Her eldest, her first born, brought her a yellow rose edged with red. A bloody rose he used to say, thinking that he was being devilishly clever.
Her husband had always given her a red rose. He had died almost ten years ago, and on Mother's day her vase stood with one less rose.
This year, on Mother's day, her eldest son showed up on her doorstep sopping wet, a bloody rose in his hand. His cheeks were hollow, his eyes bruised, and his skin paper-thin. She imagined she could count his ribs through his wet shirt.
"Momma... I'm dying." That much was obvious. It was not unexpected. Her eldest had been dying for a long time.
"Come in then," she said as she wiped her hands on her apron. "I'll make some tea."
---
The doctors had said he could live for years if he stuck with the drugs. Years of life, pulled from death's grasp one pill at a time. But the drugs made him sicker than the disease sometimes and sapped his strength as well. What was the point of having years if you couldn't live them? Besides it wasn't like he'd ever be cured. There was no cure. The disease was still there, slowed down and weakened, but still there.
One day he'd looked at his doctor and said "Do you know what I want?"
"Hmmm?" the doctor had said in her distracted way. She was looking at the latest results of his bloodwork: red blood cell counts and white blood cell counts, T cells and viral loads.
"I want to die in peace where I grew up."
They couldn't make him take the drugs. They could threaten. They could plead. They could rationalize and reason at him. But they could not make him take the drugs. He smiled and nodded politely, and on Mother's day he packed everything into his car and went home.
---
When Rolan was little, the forest behind his house was magical. The trees were huge, ancient, and their tops were lost in the clouds. There were shaded waterfalls where nymphs played and mossy caves where wyverns lived. There were sun dappled meadows strewn with flowers and groves of aspen that whispered in the wind.
Magic was every where.
Children were not supposed to go into the forest. It was too easy to get lost. Rolan never got lost. He might not always know where he was, but he always knew how to get home. Sometimes, when a child or an adult went into the woods, Rolan could find them and bring them home. Not always, but sometimes.
People were scolded about wandering off. Children were warned against entering the woods. They got lost. Rolan didn't. So Rolan decided that the warnings weren't meant for him and ignored them.
When Rolan was twelve he was caught in a sudden summer storm in the woods. There was rain and hail, white hot lightning and roaring thunder. He tried to out run it, but failed. In the end, he'd ducked into a small cave to wait out the storm.
The cave was already occupied. Rolan had blinked in the watery light. It was a unicorn: pale as starlight. More colt than stallion, the unicorn had tried to bolt.
Only to slip on the cave's muddy floor and go down in a tangle of too long legs.
Rolan had laughed. The unicorn had looked both annoyed and wary. "You can leave if you want. I won't stop you. It's hailing something fierce outside though."
Slowly, the unicorn had gotten to his feet and stayed. Rolan talked the entire time. When the storm finally ended, Roland and the unicorn were friends.
---
"I'm thinking of going walking in the woods today," Rolan announced one morning. His mother was making breakfast. He'd tried to help, but had been banished to the role of seat warmer.
"I wish you wouldn't." She was cracking eggs into a bowl as she spoke.
"Why?" Rolan was genuinely confused. "I've never gotten lost before."
"You're sick."
"Momma, I've been sick for a long time." Rolan smiled as he was handed a cup of hot tea. "Today is going to be one of my good days. I can tell."
"This close to the mountains..." Her voice trailed off. "There are things in the woods. They left you alone when you were young and healthy. You are not a child and you are not healthy. I worry."
He smiled bitterly "What difference does it make if I die in bed or from something come off the mountains?"
The slamming of the frying pan against the burner was so loud Rolan jumped. Hot tea sloshed over his hands. "Rolan Caleb Michaels! Don't... don't you ever say anything like that again."
Rolan ducked his head. He'd been home less than a week and already he'd made his mother cry.
---
The unicorn had been his best friend. Jacob, his younger brother, was the athletic one. Marie, his younger sister, was the popular one. Rolan was the smart one, but he was also the odd one who knew things when he shouldn't. No wonder he had so few friends.
Some days he saw the unicorn. Some days he only felt his presence. Some days he was allowed to touch; to stroke his hands over fur so finer than silk and paler than snow. Some days the unicorn shied away from Rolan, prancing and skittish.
Rolan never pushed the issue. Sometimes he wanted to be around people. Sometimes he didn't. Why should a unicorn be any different?
Two days after he turned fourteen, Rolan went into the forest. There was frost in the shaded hollows and color on the trees. Halloween was two weeks away. He went to the edge of a meadow and sat down on a newly fallen log.
It wasn't long before the unicorn appeared.
"I started High School this year," Rolan said. The unicorn's ears flickered towards him. "I hate it. I don't want to go, but I don't have a choice." Helplessness and frustration bubbled up and flowed out. It was like a crack in the damn. Soon Rolan was telling the unicorn everything: his thoughts, his dreams, his fears.
As he spoke, the unicorn stepped closer. Without warning, he lay down and put his head in Rolan's lap. Rolan stroked the unicorn's white ears, like moonlight, and spoke about his childish worries while trying to understand the infinite sadness that came from the unicorn's heart.
---
When Rolan was sixteen, he fell desperately in love with a boy named Matthew Carson. It scared him. To make up for the fact, he pursued Heather Carson, Matt's older sister, with a single-minded passion. Everyone remarked on in. Even Heather was impressed.
After two months, Heather invited Rolan to the Carson's house when he parents weren't home. They had sex in her room, surrounded by stuffed animals and cheerleading trophies. It was awkward and uncomfortable, but at the same time warm and kind of nice. Rolan couldn't decide whether he liked it or not.
The next day, Heather wouldn't even give him the time of day.
Matt cornered him in the locker room and beat the shit out of him a little over a month later. Heather was pregnant. Less than a month later, she had an abortion. She refused to say who the father was. People knew.
Rolan just felt sick and numb.
He didn't go back to the forest after that. There was no reason. Everyone knew that unicorns only came to the innocent.
All title suggestions are very welcomed.
snail_mail_porn challenge and then went "I can't send this to someone. It's too depressing." So I wrote Writing Fairytales instead. I mentioned this story to maderr and starparty over the weekend. Which of course meant that I had to dig up the notebook and type it out.This is about half of what I have written on it. It's not complete because I needed to do some research. Strangely enough, the ending is already written. It's just the middle that needs to be finished.
On Mother's day each of her children brought her a different colored rose. Her youngest, a girl, brought her a yellow rose. Her youngest son, the middle child, brought her a rose in some shade between pink and orange. Sometimes it was more pink, sometimes it was more orange and she'd laugh when her children would fight over the color. Her eldest, her first born, brought her a yellow rose edged with red. A bloody rose he used to say, thinking that he was being devilishly clever.
Her husband had always given her a red rose. He had died almost ten years ago, and on Mother's day her vase stood with one less rose.
This year, on Mother's day, her eldest son showed up on her doorstep sopping wet, a bloody rose in his hand. His cheeks were hollow, his eyes bruised, and his skin paper-thin. She imagined she could count his ribs through his wet shirt.
"Momma... I'm dying." That much was obvious. It was not unexpected. Her eldest had been dying for a long time.
"Come in then," she said as she wiped her hands on her apron. "I'll make some tea."
---
The doctors had said he could live for years if he stuck with the drugs. Years of life, pulled from death's grasp one pill at a time. But the drugs made him sicker than the disease sometimes and sapped his strength as well. What was the point of having years if you couldn't live them? Besides it wasn't like he'd ever be cured. There was no cure. The disease was still there, slowed down and weakened, but still there.
One day he'd looked at his doctor and said "Do you know what I want?"
"Hmmm?" the doctor had said in her distracted way. She was looking at the latest results of his bloodwork: red blood cell counts and white blood cell counts, T cells and viral loads.
"I want to die in peace where I grew up."
They couldn't make him take the drugs. They could threaten. They could plead. They could rationalize and reason at him. But they could not make him take the drugs. He smiled and nodded politely, and on Mother's day he packed everything into his car and went home.
---
When Rolan was little, the forest behind his house was magical. The trees were huge, ancient, and their tops were lost in the clouds. There were shaded waterfalls where nymphs played and mossy caves where wyverns lived. There were sun dappled meadows strewn with flowers and groves of aspen that whispered in the wind.
Magic was every where.
Children were not supposed to go into the forest. It was too easy to get lost. Rolan never got lost. He might not always know where he was, but he always knew how to get home. Sometimes, when a child or an adult went into the woods, Rolan could find them and bring them home. Not always, but sometimes.
People were scolded about wandering off. Children were warned against entering the woods. They got lost. Rolan didn't. So Rolan decided that the warnings weren't meant for him and ignored them.
When Rolan was twelve he was caught in a sudden summer storm in the woods. There was rain and hail, white hot lightning and roaring thunder. He tried to out run it, but failed. In the end, he'd ducked into a small cave to wait out the storm.
The cave was already occupied. Rolan had blinked in the watery light. It was a unicorn: pale as starlight. More colt than stallion, the unicorn had tried to bolt.
Only to slip on the cave's muddy floor and go down in a tangle of too long legs.
Rolan had laughed. The unicorn had looked both annoyed and wary. "You can leave if you want. I won't stop you. It's hailing something fierce outside though."
Slowly, the unicorn had gotten to his feet and stayed. Rolan talked the entire time. When the storm finally ended, Roland and the unicorn were friends.
---
"I'm thinking of going walking in the woods today," Rolan announced one morning. His mother was making breakfast. He'd tried to help, but had been banished to the role of seat warmer.
"I wish you wouldn't." She was cracking eggs into a bowl as she spoke.
"Why?" Rolan was genuinely confused. "I've never gotten lost before."
"You're sick."
"Momma, I've been sick for a long time." Rolan smiled as he was handed a cup of hot tea. "Today is going to be one of my good days. I can tell."
"This close to the mountains..." Her voice trailed off. "There are things in the woods. They left you alone when you were young and healthy. You are not a child and you are not healthy. I worry."
He smiled bitterly "What difference does it make if I die in bed or from something come off the mountains?"
The slamming of the frying pan against the burner was so loud Rolan jumped. Hot tea sloshed over his hands. "Rolan Caleb Michaels! Don't... don't you ever say anything like that again."
Rolan ducked his head. He'd been home less than a week and already he'd made his mother cry.
---
The unicorn had been his best friend. Jacob, his younger brother, was the athletic one. Marie, his younger sister, was the popular one. Rolan was the smart one, but he was also the odd one who knew things when he shouldn't. No wonder he had so few friends.
Some days he saw the unicorn. Some days he only felt his presence. Some days he was allowed to touch; to stroke his hands over fur so finer than silk and paler than snow. Some days the unicorn shied away from Rolan, prancing and skittish.
Rolan never pushed the issue. Sometimes he wanted to be around people. Sometimes he didn't. Why should a unicorn be any different?
Two days after he turned fourteen, Rolan went into the forest. There was frost in the shaded hollows and color on the trees. Halloween was two weeks away. He went to the edge of a meadow and sat down on a newly fallen log.
It wasn't long before the unicorn appeared.
"I started High School this year," Rolan said. The unicorn's ears flickered towards him. "I hate it. I don't want to go, but I don't have a choice." Helplessness and frustration bubbled up and flowed out. It was like a crack in the damn. Soon Rolan was telling the unicorn everything: his thoughts, his dreams, his fears.
As he spoke, the unicorn stepped closer. Without warning, he lay down and put his head in Rolan's lap. Rolan stroked the unicorn's white ears, like moonlight, and spoke about his childish worries while trying to understand the infinite sadness that came from the unicorn's heart.
---
When Rolan was sixteen, he fell desperately in love with a boy named Matthew Carson. It scared him. To make up for the fact, he pursued Heather Carson, Matt's older sister, with a single-minded passion. Everyone remarked on in. Even Heather was impressed.
After two months, Heather invited Rolan to the Carson's house when he parents weren't home. They had sex in her room, surrounded by stuffed animals and cheerleading trophies. It was awkward and uncomfortable, but at the same time warm and kind of nice. Rolan couldn't decide whether he liked it or not.
The next day, Heather wouldn't even give him the time of day.
Matt cornered him in the locker room and beat the shit out of him a little over a month later. Heather was pregnant. Less than a month later, she had an abortion. She refused to say who the father was. People knew.
Rolan just felt sick and numb.
He didn't go back to the forest after that. There was no reason. Everyone knew that unicorns only came to the innocent.
All title suggestions are very welcomed.
I don't know about a title but...
Date: 6/26/07 07:13 am (UTC)*clings to story and pets it* Moooar plees. I have nothing to add to this except... omg depressing. ;_; Angst is my drung. I crave it. I need more. You wouldn't want me to like... die of withdraw, would you?
It's so shiny and I'm so tired!
Re: I don't know about a title but...
Date: 6/26/07 03:12 pm (UTC)I am such a tease.
(no subject)
Date: 6/26/07 07:44 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 6/26/07 03:10 pm (UTC)Matthew is "Sir no longer appearing in this story because he has already player the part of the asshole."
(no subject)
Date: 6/26/07 03:13 pm (UTC)...scratch that.
Pfft. we all know Rolan ends up with the unicorn.
(no subject)
Date: 6/26/07 06:17 pm (UTC)Anyone who has ever read my stuff would have been amazed had he not wound up with the unicorn.
(no subject)
Date: 6/27/07 08:28 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 6/29/07 12:38 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 6/26/07 05:21 pm (UTC)I'm terrible with titles, so I can't help...? Sorry. :(
(no subject)
Date: 6/29/07 12:37 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 6/29/07 01:15 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 6/27/07 02:06 pm (UTC)I have no title suggestions. I'm useless at them. I normally infer my titles from a line of the story.
I hope the unicorn does come back! I'll be sad if it doesn't.
(no subject)
Date: 6/29/07 12:40 am (UTC)I cannot let people know if the unicorn shows up again. It would be a spoiler. Besides, it's fun to torment people by not telling them. XD
(no subject)
Date: 6/30/07 02:07 pm (UTC)I love how you mix the fantasy with the reality and how it seems to flow so naturally in Rolan's world from one to the other. He doesn't even question that he can talk about high school and see unicorns at the same time. *hearts* It's so awesome!
;_; *huggles Rolan* More? please? Pretty please? *puppy eyes*