That novelet again.. pt 3.. :D

Trois

He wakes in agony of his stiff body as he looks at his phone and realizes that its been 2 days that he's been asleep on that floor, still with the painting in his arms.

He goes back to the place where the painting used to hang from and sees why it has fallen from its place. A rusty nail that gave into the weight of the small canvas painting. He stops and ponders on the moment.

"This rusty, old nail.." He thinks to himself as he hold the nail in front of him in a firm grip with one arm as the other holds the painting. There used to be a lot of things happening around him that he later realizes are actually related to whats in the near future.

And the nail.

Maybe its like their friendship with him. The people who means so much to him.

Rusty and old.

Maybe he's just trusting on their friendship that's about to break.

That behind him, he still thinks that the things that kept him upright and alive is still there and will forever be there. And that one day, someone would take him and put him in his rightful place. A place where he'll be safe and appreciated by someone.

But that nail's just about to break and let him fall to the ground. To be trampled on by the people who doesn't give a damn about anything except themselves. And to rot on the ground.

He shuts his eyes.

Screams.

Gives himself a sucker punch and falls to his knees.

Again, he tells himself to stop thinking that things like that would happen to him.

He has to believe in them.

To their promise.

He rises to his feet and fixes the broken nail

He walks back to that old chair again where he sat, to ponder on his thoughts. Thinking of the people who used to be there with him.

Once more, he cries for the long forgotten moments that keeps him in that place.

Novelet chapter 2.. XD

Deux

Not a day passes by without him thinking of what would happen if his own life was a mist. His deep sorrow of loneliness keeps on drilling into his thoughts and reminds him, day by day; what he had lost; what he longs for; what is never to come; and his heart, filled with depression and an insecurity for himself.

He spreads out his palms. Of what used to be to him was the most clarous, soft, and fine detailed things ever, is now filled with bruises which was the product of his own grief, a thick calous that act like bone plates making his hands heavy, like stones which grown onto him.
He stares at them. The once soft, gentle hands which held the ones he loved in a gentle, deep, carass. Now as numb as the hearts that he feels has abandoned him. Dark, rough hands that seem fit enough for handling heavy duty tools.

He rests for a moment. Leaning on the back of an old, broken down chair that seem to be still able to hold his weight.

He inhales deeply. and again, reminded of the smiles, that used to surround him. Haunted by images and ghosts of the people who held him tightly in their arms. Now just a specter of his lost love. A shadow that begs for light in order to be seen.

He breathes out and tries to calm himself down and comfort himself.

He stares at everything that surrounds him. Things left behind by the people who used to be always there for him. Symbols for every single moment, action, word, and face that he has witnessed.

A painting falls from a shelf and calls his attention. He approaches it a nd picks it up. He remembers who made it and the time it was made. A girl, someone who already was the real him. The one inside him that he hides from everyone. She was one of the few people in he knows who already was this side of him. But still, even though She knows how lonely and how deprived from happiness he is, She still hasn't come back.

He weeps for the past memories of her. The rare happy times that used to bring him up from sorrow in an instant. Those precious memories of the past, suddenly creeping up his head and drenching his body of a sensation he could only describe as anguish.

A tear crawls from the side of his right eye, rolls from his cheek to his chin. Drops onto the painting and clears the name of the one who made it. The person who once promised to be forever there for him as he also promised to be forever there for her.

"Where are they?" He asks himself.
"Where's everyone?".
He grasps the painting into his arms and continue to weep. Being pounded with his memories of their precious times, his vision starts to darken and his lings get heavy.

He passes out.

Falling asleep on the floor with his arms still around the painting.

His eyes, still drenched with tears.

My novelete.. Title suggestions are accepted.. XD

Un.

He draws eyes everywhere. In all of the pieces of paper he gets his hands on. He passionately draws each work with as much with as much detail as possible , but seems to be never satisfied with any of the ones he does. He stares at them, wonders if they mean anything to him, he just draws them as if it was already of second nature. A ritual that he's been practicing for weeks past. Starving for the perfect pair of eyes he could bare from his pen.

He doesn't look at anybodyelse's eyes as a basis of what to draw, it just comes to him as he sets his pen on the paper.

He often fails in satisfying himself for his search for those perfect pair of eyes that he seems to be searching for a reason he couldn't think of.

His spare filler, hidden in the way back of his binder, filled with scribbles, erasure of his failures that he keeps on scribbling on, trying to undo his mistakes.

He's reminded of whatever he has left in the range of his reach whenever he attempts to open the filler. the things that hasn't abandoned him yet, or as he thinks hasn't.
He remembers the past, the good times he's had,the times long gone,the times he wishes, prays, and prays to come back,yet he already bares the knowledge that they will never come back, never.

Haunted by the nightmares the brought him into this state, he keeps on drawing those things that hold no meaning to him or anyone.
The time's changed, everyone's moved on, everyone that he entrusted his life upon, they've left him in a place to wait all his life, clinging on the promise that they'll come back, someday.

Remnants of the past that surround him, crashes in and chokes him until he wakes up to the reality that he's asleep in that single place that keeps him from taking his own life. That place where he was the happiest he's ever been, now infested with parasites yet he still remains, holding on his hope that they'll come back.

"They'll come back, eventually. They promised they would. I did all my promises to them, I'm sure they'll come back. They will, they promised.." He keeps on telling himself these words. Doing his best not to think of takign his own life.
"That would make them sad..", he tells himself.
"Or would it? Do they even know I'm still here? maybe they've forgotten about me already and abandoned me."
"NO!! They promised they would! I'm gonna wait!!".

It echoes throught the empty, abandoned room that used to be filled with life and happiness, but now seems to be like a dark, cold, lifeless box that keeps him in until he dies in it.
He ponders on his thoughts, thinking of what'll happen when they come back.

If they come back.