***
i once knew a monster. i loved him and he loved me too. we could talk for days without end. we could paint each other’s sentences.
sometimes, after a night filled with laughter that extended into every part of our body, monster would take my head and push it down a flight of stairs. he would curl up into a ball and sob afterwards. my head at the bottom of the stairs cursed him but my detached body hugged him. he didn’t mean it. it’s just that happiness writes white. i need my darkness. all you do is illuminate me, he said.
i loved monster and i didn’t know how to dissipate the brightness of that love. i made him too happy to write and he destroyed more and more of me with each passing day. eventually i became so broken that the pieces wouldn’t come back together. monster weeped and weeped and his sorrow began to form beautiful black, blue, red, and purple poetry.
monster lived miserably ever after until my love for him began to decay into a darkness that even monster couldn’t thrive in. he curled into a ball and sobbed when the colors of his poetry began to bleed. i didn’t mean it. i’ll put her back together, he said to the darkness. poor monster’s pleads didn’t work though. the darkness swallowed him whole.
–lissa


Very well done. The third stanza is exceptional…….
It reminds me of that saying, for some reason… “you never really know what you have until it’s gone.”
Creatures from the darkness belong to the darkness
i agree with Alexa. It’s pushing them back there that is the problem. You’ve done a brilliant job here. :)
oh i can relate to this.. i fund the melancholy left behind by the monster quite often,, and occasionally it provides me with a bit of verse as well… i love the prose style on this….
Uncontainable, your gift,
I like this story, monster knew what he was doing and yet he couldn’t help himself, when you break someone physically and it also breaks parts of their emotional self, at least that’s what I get from this story
Wow . . .
Wow indeed.
It is almost scarier to think of the monster’s pain over his actions rather than the horror of the actions themselves.