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Prologue to an unfinished tale

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Joined: 30 Nov 2005
Posts: 43
Location: Budapest, Hungary
Prologue to an unfinished tale  Reply with quote  

SO here's the deal. I've been stuck here with this story for over 6 months. And I dont want to abandon it. I am in love with the characters I've created, which may blind me from being able to use them productively, but I still dont want to quit here. I like it, and for as short as it is, have put a lot of work into it. I hope you like it as much as I do.

Sometimes in the twilight it is hard to know what is part of reality and what is just the imagination. The line is drawn so vaguely that it is easy to make a mistake. It is during this part of the day when the mind is completely free and therefore able to pursue its deepest hopes and dreams, where its darkest secrets are exposed, and where life can truly begin.

London sat at the top of the hill, his bare back against the rough bark of the tree. This was his spot. He could look out over the brilliant, bustling city and still feel surrounded by silence and darkness. He could be an observer without being observed. It was here, braced against the oak, that he knew he existed. Dried tears stained his sun beaten face and his breathing was heavy as he watched the stars begin to appear in the sky. He trembled, crying silent sobs into the nightís breeze. His world was engulfed by shadows and he felt alone.

In the shadows around him he would think that he saw Jaxon approaching, preparing to greet him as he always did at the end of a long day. Even from a distance, Jaxon would be telling London about his new adventures in the city. Every seemingly trivial detail, every new face, had its own story; these stories, no matter how unimportant to anyone else, came out of his mouth like they were more precious than gold. Just thinking about it brought fresh tears to Londonís eyes. He vowed, silently, to the stars above him, that he would not cry again, but then he would remember Jaxonís infectious laugh and his vow would break. His whole body would tremble with pain and he would collapse and hug his knees to his chest. Their fight had been so terrible that the words echoed through his mind. They haunted his sleep, and reminded him of his mistake every time he looked in the mirror. He found himself checking time and again for Jaxon to come from the shadows with a smile and a story, even though he knew there was no way the boy would come back to him.

Jaxon was dead.

The two boys were twins. Either one was the better half of the other, almost inseparable. That year had split the two apart in space, but they were slowly learning to deal with the separation because at heart they could never be closer. Jaxon had taken up a job in the big city as the assistant to a prominent businessman while London had decided to spend one more year working in the town. Londonís dream was to travel overseas, and that money he made would finally make that dream possible. Jaxon had looked down upon Londonís plan, but never once tried to talk him out of it. This was just the beginning of a necessary separation, not a breaking of bonds.

Jaxon was the stable one. He was reliable and always knew what was going on. He was the one that people had always expected to go far. London was the dreamer, the artistic one. People used to call them the prime example of twins. Each one complimented the other beautifully. One got the brains and the stability while the other was creative and spontaneous. But they got along perfectly and could never stand to be separated for long periods of time.

London had begged Jaxon to not take the job in the city and to take the trip overseas with him. A last thing; it would be a final adventure for the two before they began to worry about settling down. Jaxon had started a little early on worrying about his future. London was the one who could focus on the present and do things as they came up, not Jaxon. Jaxon relied on London to keep the spark alive in his life.

London had done everything in his power to do just that, but sometimes a spark can never turn into a flame. Sometimes a spark just goes out before it can become great. That realization hurt London more than he could have possibly predicted, and his heart and mind ached with the thought. Who was he now that his brother was gone? Who was he when he didnít have his other half to keep him sane? Who was London?


"In the book of life, the answers aren't in the back." - Charlie Brown

Post Wed Nov 30, 2005 10:15 pm   View user's profile Send private message
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