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A group of children stood playing at the side of the road. One of the group, a little boy, was not like the rest for he was made entirely of glass from head to foot even though his clothes concealed the majority his body. If you looked at his limbs, you could see straight through them, and his hands were as cold as ice to touch. The children played with him carefully because the slightest of falls and the little glass boy might smash into pieces. So they played gentle games and watched in delight as the little glass boy's little glass lips formed a smile that refracted the light into rainbow-like colour. He could not speak, only smile but that was enough for the children and they accepted him as one of their own.
When the sun began to set over the highest of the mountains, the children all had to set off home, leaving behind the little glass boy, as he had no home to go to. He would sit in the quiet night and await the morning when the children would come again and make him happy. So in the tender green grass he would recline his head softly, lest he shattered it, and stare up into the perfect night sky. He tried to form the stars into patterns and gave the patterns names according to those of the children who came to play with him. There was John, a collection of dim stars that had once shone brightly, and Daniel, whose stars were shining afresh after a slight wane. Burning most brightly above them all was Aurora whose stars glowed with a permanent vigour, and next to her stars were his own, Krishna, and he willed them closer with his heart and watched sadly as those of Brutus burned incandescently next to Aurora and his own, though bright, seemed muted in their presence.
Aurora. He trembled at the thought of her name as he saw her shape in the starry night sky and smiled hopelessly. She was the softest, gentlest of the children with whom he played, and he knew that they all loved her, each in their own different way. He loved her more but had no way of telling her. So when he sat playing cards or other games with her he would just smile and hope that somehow she would understand. Once she had smiled back and he had felt as if he might be made of flesh too, but the feeling had worn off after she was absent from the group for a few weeks. A single human tear ran down his transparent cheek and dropped silently to the ground. This was the only emotion that had ever made him feel and act as if he were normal.
When the sun dragged itself wearily above the horizon he knew that soon he would be with is friends again and could savour some hours of happiness. However, no one came to him that day. No one except solitary Aurora who explained that she had told the others a little lie and they would not be coming today. The little glass boy smiled and if his constellation had been visible it would have radiated the same golden light that he did. She moved towards him and took his glass hands in her own. After the initial frostiness they became warm and almost human. He looked into her eyes and she looked back seeing through the pale glazed green into his soul and for the first time they spoke to each other in words detached from lips and mouths. Krishna. She knew his name and she smiled fondly at him, not needing words to communicate, only the purity of her soul. She raised her lips to his and the perfect smile parted in two as she touched the warmness of his lips.
They stayed in that position for what seemed to be an eternity and in that brief moment Krishna knew for the first time that she loved him. Treasuring this in his heart, he began to remove his shirt, with increasingly supple limbs. For the first time she saw his glass body, and the brilliant red crystal heart at it's centre. Krishna fumbled and then opened a tiny glass door in his chest and removed the red crystal heart.He opened up her hand and placed his heart on her soft palm before closing it again. She smiled hopelessly because all the emotion that she wanted to convey was impossible, leaving only a pathetically humble smile to tell him that she was in love with him. Extemporising, she reached in to the bag she had brought and withdrew some paints. Telling him to close his eyes she painted the transparent eyelids black and then told him that she had to go before the others realised where she was.
As the sun set Krishna spoke her name softly in many different ways and talked to her as if she were there. Aurora lay in her bed pretending that he was next to her and that if she whispered to him, he would be able to respond. Somewhere, someone was letting off fireworks and Aurora looked out of her window and in that butane epiphany she saw him lying in the grass and he, watching the fireworks spiral and twirl, had only her name on his lips and he imagined her looking out of her window into the night. Slowly the soporific lull of sound left by the fireworks caused him to feel tired for the first time. His eyelids began to close and in the blackness she had painted he found tranquillity such as he had never felt. In the blackness a dream began to form and she came to him with open arms and he relived each moment of the previous day in rapturous detail until the morning sun woke him and he realised that he had slept the night away.
The golden sunlight rendered all of his surroundings radiant and free. He sat to wait for Aurora, not caring whether the others came or not. He passed the time by shutting his eyes and seeing her again locked in a timeless embrace with him. The sounds of crickets clicking and the gentle hum of nighttime invaded his second dream. When he opened his eyes all was dark and on one had come to see him. When he looked into the stars he saw Aurora in her incandescent glow and felt an overwhelming sense of sadness that lapsed into solitude. Storm clouds gathered overhead, but even through them it was possible to see the freshly burning constellation of Brutus. He closed his eyes again and she reappeared just the way he had envisioned, and then it began to rain down. The first drop permeated the paint that rendered his transparent eyelids opaque, and Aurora began to fade from his vision, replaced by the unforgiving brutality of the rain. Soon all the pain had flowed away in rivulets into the sodden ground. And the low rumble of thunder drowned his thoughts.
When the morning came an insipid dankness had pervaded every corner of his formerly radiant landscape. And yet she came for the second time, looking mournful. Aurora scarcely dared to look him in the eye as she opened his cold glass hand and placed his red crystal heart inside. As she closed his fingers, he tightened them impetuously and the fragile crystal shattered into a million pieces. She still refused to look at him and turned away to where Brutus stood. He tired to smile but his lips refused to part and he willed her to come back towards him but her mind was closed to his and he begged the choirs of angels and all of the gods to make her turn back. Aurora did not. She took Brutus by the hand and walked away and Krishna, if that was his name, stood motionless as his limbs hardened. Such a stellar monument to loneliness, laced with brilliant smiles and shining eyes. And in the hopeless air of solitude he tried to cry but he couldn't. He tried to feel anything at all but the only emotion that became his current state was a desperately nomadic solitude.
Although his limbs were frozen rigid, from somewhere he found the life-force to rock backwards. The earth looped away from his eyes, replaced by the darkening sky and the stars. The stars. Shining always. And out as his body hit the hard ground and shattered into an infinite number of broken shards. In the moonlight they twinkled in the brightness of the Aurora with the forlorn hope of a hopeless broken dream.
When the sun began to set over the highest of the mountains, the children all had to set off home, leaving behind the little glass boy, as he had no home to go to. He would sit in the quiet night and await the morning when the children would come again and make him happy. So in the tender green grass he would recline his head softly, lest he shattered it, and stare up into the perfect night sky. He tried to form the stars into patterns and gave the patterns names according to those of the children who came to play with him. There was John, a collection of dim stars that had once shone brightly, and Daniel, whose stars were shining afresh after a slight wane. Burning most brightly above them all was Aurora whose stars glowed with a permanent vigour, and next to her stars were his own, Krishna, and he willed them closer with his heart and watched sadly as those of Brutus burned incandescently next to Aurora and his own, though bright, seemed muted in their presence.
Aurora. He trembled at the thought of her name as he saw her shape in the starry night sky and smiled hopelessly. She was the softest, gentlest of the children with whom he played, and he knew that they all loved her, each in their own different way. He loved her more but had no way of telling her. So when he sat playing cards or other games with her he would just smile and hope that somehow she would understand. Once she had smiled back and he had felt as if he might be made of flesh too, but the feeling had worn off after she was absent from the group for a few weeks. A single human tear ran down his transparent cheek and dropped silently to the ground. This was the only emotion that had ever made him feel and act as if he were normal.
When the sun dragged itself wearily above the horizon he knew that soon he would be with is friends again and could savour some hours of happiness. However, no one came to him that day. No one except solitary Aurora who explained that she had told the others a little lie and they would not be coming today. The little glass boy smiled and if his constellation had been visible it would have radiated the same golden light that he did. She moved towards him and took his glass hands in her own. After the initial frostiness they became warm and almost human. He looked into her eyes and she looked back seeing through the pale glazed green into his soul and for the first time they spoke to each other in words detached from lips and mouths. Krishna. She knew his name and she smiled fondly at him, not needing words to communicate, only the purity of her soul. She raised her lips to his and the perfect smile parted in two as she touched the warmness of his lips.
They stayed in that position for what seemed to be an eternity and in that brief moment Krishna knew for the first time that she loved him. Treasuring this in his heart, he began to remove his shirt, with increasingly supple limbs. For the first time she saw his glass body, and the brilliant red crystal heart at it's centre. Krishna fumbled and then opened a tiny glass door in his chest and removed the red crystal heart.He opened up her hand and placed his heart on her soft palm before closing it again. She smiled hopelessly because all the emotion that she wanted to convey was impossible, leaving only a pathetically humble smile to tell him that she was in love with him. Extemporising, she reached in to the bag she had brought and withdrew some paints. Telling him to close his eyes she painted the transparent eyelids black and then told him that she had to go before the others realised where she was.
As the sun set Krishna spoke her name softly in many different ways and talked to her as if she were there. Aurora lay in her bed pretending that he was next to her and that if she whispered to him, he would be able to respond. Somewhere, someone was letting off fireworks and Aurora looked out of her window and in that butane epiphany she saw him lying in the grass and he, watching the fireworks spiral and twirl, had only her name on his lips and he imagined her looking out of her window into the night. Slowly the soporific lull of sound left by the fireworks caused him to feel tired for the first time. His eyelids began to close and in the blackness she had painted he found tranquillity such as he had never felt. In the blackness a dream began to form and she came to him with open arms and he relived each moment of the previous day in rapturous detail until the morning sun woke him and he realised that he had slept the night away.
The golden sunlight rendered all of his surroundings radiant and free. He sat to wait for Aurora, not caring whether the others came or not. He passed the time by shutting his eyes and seeing her again locked in a timeless embrace with him. The sounds of crickets clicking and the gentle hum of nighttime invaded his second dream. When he opened his eyes all was dark and on one had come to see him. When he looked into the stars he saw Aurora in her incandescent glow and felt an overwhelming sense of sadness that lapsed into solitude. Storm clouds gathered overhead, but even through them it was possible to see the freshly burning constellation of Brutus. He closed his eyes again and she reappeared just the way he had envisioned, and then it began to rain down. The first drop permeated the paint that rendered his transparent eyelids opaque, and Aurora began to fade from his vision, replaced by the unforgiving brutality of the rain. Soon all the pain had flowed away in rivulets into the sodden ground. And the low rumble of thunder drowned his thoughts.
When the morning came an insipid dankness had pervaded every corner of his formerly radiant landscape. And yet she came for the second time, looking mournful. Aurora scarcely dared to look him in the eye as she opened his cold glass hand and placed his red crystal heart inside. As she closed his fingers, he tightened them impetuously and the fragile crystal shattered into a million pieces. She still refused to look at him and turned away to where Brutus stood. He tired to smile but his lips refused to part and he willed her to come back towards him but her mind was closed to his and he begged the choirs of angels and all of the gods to make her turn back. Aurora did not. She took Brutus by the hand and walked away and Krishna, if that was his name, stood motionless as his limbs hardened. Such a stellar monument to loneliness, laced with brilliant smiles and shining eyes. And in the hopeless air of solitude he tried to cry but he couldn't. He tried to feel anything at all but the only emotion that became his current state was a desperately nomadic solitude.
Although his limbs were frozen rigid, from somewhere he found the life-force to rock backwards. The earth looped away from his eyes, replaced by the darkening sky and the stars. The stars. Shining always. And out as his body hit the hard ground and shattered into an infinite number of broken shards. In the moonlight they twinkled in the brightness of the Aurora with the forlorn hope of a hopeless broken dream.
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Mr. Happy wrote:
No you are not losers, not at all.
---------
'Fraid you all are. Except for me.:-D
Great writing there, hippy.
No you are not losers, not at all.
---------
'Fraid you all are. Except for me.:-D
Great writing there, hippy.
Okay, I said this in the other story in Life, about the person and the sea, killing themselves y giving themselves to the sea, but where do you get the inspiration for these?!?
Brilliant stuff.
Brilliant stuff.
That. Was. Brilliant. Really totally fantastic. You write superbly, Happy. It sounded like a poem to me, really really amazing.
Grix Thraves wrote:
> That was excellent. It felt much like a song, or a piece of
> music.
Personally, I would have wrote it a lot different. With a boy made
> from glass that couldn't speak, I would have made him fall in love, but she
> would only glance in his direction, and refuse any glare, because after all,
> he's made of glass, how could he fall in love with her?
Ahhh, but the little glass boy is anyone who has never been in love before, who doesn't know what it is to feel alive and in love; to have a selfless purpose to be alive. He is made of glass because he has not yet experienced emotion and when he does he starts transform and he can dream brilliant dreams. But she rejects him. And rejection leaves him alone and nothingness returns. Except now that he has felt love the nothingness is more acute and so it hardens his glass limbs until he cannot move. He can bear to live without her love, but he cannot bear to live with her love with another, so he kills himself, and the shattered glass is a broken heart and a broken dream, because no one can live in their dreams, as it only brings unhappiness.
> That was excellent. It felt much like a song, or a piece of
> music.
Personally, I would have wrote it a lot different. With a boy made
> from glass that couldn't speak, I would have made him fall in love, but she
> would only glance in his direction, and refuse any glare, because after all,
> he's made of glass, how could he fall in love with her?
Ahhh, but the little glass boy is anyone who has never been in love before, who doesn't know what it is to feel alive and in love; to have a selfless purpose to be alive. He is made of glass because he has not yet experienced emotion and when he does he starts transform and he can dream brilliant dreams. But she rejects him. And rejection leaves him alone and nothingness returns. Except now that he has felt love the nothingness is more acute and so it hardens his glass limbs until he cannot move. He can bear to live without her love, but he cannot bear to live with her love with another, so he kills himself, and the shattered glass is a broken heart and a broken dream, because no one can live in their dreams, as it only brings unhappiness.
The best line in it:
Such a stellar monument to loneliness, laced with brilliant smiles and shining eyes
is a Dashboard Confessional lyric that like.. from the song "The places you have come to fear the most"
Album out tomorrow in all good record shops.
Such a stellar monument to loneliness, laced with brilliant smiles and shining eyes
is a Dashboard Confessional lyric that like.. from the song "The places you have come to fear the most"
Album out tomorrow in all good record shops.
Mr.Snuggly wrote:
> Brilliant, just brilliant. You really are far too good a writer to be wasting
> your time here with us losers.
Well, um cheers Snuggly.
No you are not losers, not at all.
Anyway, thank you for reading everyone.
> Brilliant, just brilliant. You really are far too good a writer to be wasting
> your time here with us losers.
Well, um cheers Snuggly.
No you are not losers, not at all.
Anyway, thank you for reading everyone.
Wow.
Stories like this always seem to be entertaining to read, unlike most of the others, that's what makes this one so good.
I haven't seen you around much, but that was excellent.
I'll be looking forward to reading some of your other stories.
Stories like this always seem to be entertaining to read, unlike most of the others, that's what makes this one so good.
I haven't seen you around much, but that was excellent.
I'll be looking forward to reading some of your other stories.
Brilliant, just brilliant. You really are far too good a writer to be wasting your time here with us losers.
That was excellent.
That was excellent. It felt much like a song, or a piece of music.
Personally, I would have wrote it a lot different. With a boy made from glass that couldn't speak, I would have made him fall in love, but she would only glance in his direction, and refuse any glare, because after all, he's made of glass, how could he fall in love with her?
Personally, I would have wrote it a lot different. With a boy made from glass that couldn't speak, I would have made him fall in love, but she would only glance in his direction, and refuse any glare, because after all, he's made of glass, how could he fall in love with her?
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