firaafics (firaafics) wrote,

Creative Writing Assignment - Forever Autumn

As an assignment on Thursday, our wonderful teacher Mrs. Twiss gave us the assignment to write two pages of a surrealistic story. Surrealistic is, as according to,
1.of, pertaining to, or characteristic of surrealism; surreal.
2.having features typical or reminiscent of those depicted in surrealistic painting or drawing.

So, anyway, this is my story for that assignment. More like poetic crap put into paragraph form, but it's poetic crap I'm proud of. ^^ Read AND COMMENT, people! ^^

Forever Autumn
Rated: PG
Word Count: 974

    I’ve been waiting here for you for what seems like forever. Bleeding, dying, being passed up by everyone around me. The other soldiers couldn’t care less about their fellow man now that the war is over, now that the crisis is gone. I lay there, wondering when you’ll come looking for me, because I know you will someday.
    Spring turns to summer, and still I wait, feeling a little better one day, feeling a little worse the next. The skies above change from overly cheery blue, to dank, depressing grey, to where I can’t even see anymore because of the heavy rains pouring down all around me.
    Some days, I’m not feeling at all, others I can’t remember. Summer feels like it passes by in the blink of an eye, and for that, I’m glad. I feel weaker with every day, now, and I’m wondering how long it’ll be until you find me here.
    The field around me remains green, but the leaves turn brittle around their edges, turn stiff and brown, and fall from their branches, covering the still green grass and flowers with a light blanket of death and renewal. By now, I’ve lost all real feeling.
    I can swear I hear you making your way through the leaves, the lack of crunching meaning that it can only be you. You have this entirely graceful way of walking without making a sound, the sheer aura you carry with you alerting others to your presence.
    You approach where I once had laid, though I know I’m there no longer, not there to hold your hand, not there to speak to, or even there to sit above and cry about. I’ve disappeared completely, the years between us making me fade from the world’s record.
    I see you give a trembling smile, trying your hardest not to cry as you realize I’m gone. Gone from the physical world, but not really, in a sense. I wipe your cheek, my arms wrapping around you as warmly as I can without alerting you that I’m still there, in a way.
    You leave only after a few moments, unable to think that I may be dead. You brush off the fact that you feel me against you, in my embrace, and reason against all reason that I must have gone off to town, gotten sidetracked, amnesia, anything that could have kept me from coming home to you. You only ignore the possibility that Death, the ultimate warrior, has taken me. That, no, could not be true, you tell yourself.
    I don’t see you there again for at least a week, maybe more. I’m disappointed. Maybe in the time between then and now, you’ve found someone else, and came only in the briefest of hopes that I may still be alive, to smile, laugh, cry with you. To hold you when things get too rough, and kiss you all the other times.
    I subject myself to the fact that I’ll never see you again, before I hear that same silent rustle of yours, feel that small movement of yours. You haven’t aged a day, and yet, I know time’s past. Not only have all the leaves rotted away, feeding the earth, feeding my own spirit, but a blanket of snow covers the ground. I know it’s no longer your favorite season, which was always fall.
    You sit in the middle of the clearing, right where we had first met, right where I was struck down in the fight, right where I had become the earth. You sit there and cry, and I’m all around you, crying along, not for the loss of my life, but the loss of our life together. You sit there, crying your heart out, and then lay back, watching the sky that is just as much a part of me as anything else is now.
    Finally, you get up, and leave, but return every day, for nearly a year, sometimes leaving earthly presents, a flower we always liked, a piece of paper with a love letter written on it. The only present that wasn’t swallowed up by the earth was a small golden ring, the same one that’s counterpart rests on your ring finger. It remains there, in the soil, and not even an animal picks it up. It’s left there, before it’s buried by shifting dirt.
    Almost a year passes again, and it’s autumn once more. Your favorite season, and yet, you look sad, you look miserable, to tell the truth. In a broken voice as you sit in my garden, you explain how the last year has been the hardest on you, because you actually tried to learn to accept the fact that I’m no longer alive and breathing. That I’m no longer held to those vows of mortal eternity I once swore as fealty to you and only you.
    You lay back into the blanket of golden leaves as I smooth your beautiful hair with tendrils of wind, my fingers, and comfort you with sweet butterfly kisses of air. You stare, unseeing into the sky, my eyes, and one of your hands plays absent-mindedly with the soil, drawing designs on my heart. You couldn’t look more beautiful on a bed of roses, I realize as you close your eyes one final time, and I realize it’s time we’re together once more.
    Suddenly, I see you before me as we were intended, gorgeous, natural, and above all else, mine once more. I gather you in my arms, and spin you around.
    After all, it’s been twenty years since I last saw you, since the war started and ended, since I died and became the earth, the trees and wind, the stars, and everything else that surrounds and nurtures us as we dance this final, never ending waltz, in what will be forever autumn.
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