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"Release"

She stepped forward and took a breath - the sweet, fragrant breath of freedom.
No-one understands the life she had led, locked away in a dark prison since birth which was always around her, always over her like a damp sheet, hindering her every move and blocking the light.
Those who came to see her never understood what she felt, what she thought. They just stood and stared like all the others, unable to comprehend what they saw. Then they remembered themselves, remember who they were, how they knew her, how frighteningly closely related they were to the prisoner.

Then that smile.
That oh-so-fake turn up of the lips.
That faded photo of happiness the eyes could not mirror.
The eyes. The eyes always cold and dark. Looking on appalled at what they saw. Looking on regretfully at who they saw. Looking on relieved as they did not see themselves.
But always staring openly, assuming her blind to their looks and unable to think.

But she always thought.
In her skin-tight prison she always thought.
She thought of the light and of the air. She thought of infinite fields of flowers. She thought of blue skies and birds on the wing. She thought, she dreamed, she wondered at the colours of life.
She thought of freedom.

And now she could taste it. She could touch and smell, caress and hear her wonderful freedom. Sweet release from the one room, the one bed, the one machine that dominated her life.

But one sad feeling stayed with her. She’d had to free herself.
No-one else even talked about her freedom. They would sit near her and say how everything would be all right, how they would care for her, how they’d never leave her.
But she didn’t want that, she wanted her freedom.

They were all too selfish to realise. They couldn’t bear the thought of it - to let her go, let her be free. They all thought she wanted to stay there with them. They thought she appreciated their visits, their attention, their chats.
Just because she couldn’t voice her opinion because the clinging prison smothered her speech, they assumed she’d be happy inside, optimistic that everything would be all right and pleased that they’re tried everything to free her.
But they hadn’t tried everything. If they had tried everything then she’d have been free years ago.

But free on her own, not free with them.
They couldn’t understand the difference.

She’d never been alone. There was always someone there beside her, someone oblivious to the prison she was living in and had always been living in. Someone thinking and acting for her, someone living her life as they wished it would be lived. But it never would be lived, because she was trapped.

But now she was free.
She took another deep breath of freedom then turned.
Her father sat there snoring. Beside him, her prison.
Wheelchaired, shrunken body hooked up through wires and tubes to the machines surrounding it. Oversized head droops on a shoulder, a line of cold drool traces silver down the arm. Crippled fingers on crippled hands on crippled arms clutch at nothing. Useless legs strapped tightly to metal supports twitch no longer.

She turns again and smiles at her freedom, long white dress rippling behind her.
She walks slowly, in awe that she can, towards anywhere.
The world seems so much bigger now.
Freedom.
Eternal freedom.

I did know it was you, and the new name's a good one.
Death did rear its head in your story, but the ending was 'kind of' happy. Either way, t'was a cool little piece.

In case you didn't realise, Black Glove, it is me - FinalFantasyFanatic.
This was supposed to be the nice story about nice things ... but didn't really turn out that way. You can see where it was going with the first line, but death came along.
Again.

I wrote a desciptive piece for my english coursework which is actually properly nice - if I can get that back I'll put it up and be rid of death forever. Or until the next story.

Cheers for your comments you two.
'Tis nice to be appriciated - keeps me writing : )

Gotta say, I really like your writing style. And the story was excellent.

Brilliant, I loved the very abstract feel to it, giving it a dark a brooding atmosphere. :-)

Great.

bUmp

Well, erm, you posted in it! And erm, yes! Nicely written anyway!

Yeah, I saw some tosh about that around here somewhere cluttering up the place. Who writes crud like that?
Oh, wait .... itwasyou.
A-hardy-har-har.

Thankee kindly.

Brilliant. Excellent twist.

Although, it's a little known fact that humans cannot be free. In fact, I think there's a thread about it somewhere around...

She stepped forward and took a breath - the sweet, fragrant breath of freedom.
No-one understands the life she had led, locked away in a dark prison since birth which was always around her, always over her like a damp sheet, hindering her every move and blocking the light.
Those who came to see her never understood what she felt, what she thought. They just stood and stared like all the others, unable to comprehend what they saw. Then they remembered themselves, remember who they were, how they knew her, how frighteningly closely related they were to the prisoner.

Then that smile.
That oh-so-fake turn up of the lips.
That faded photo of happiness the eyes could not mirror.
The eyes. The eyes always cold and dark. Looking on appalled at what they saw. Looking on regretfully at who they saw. Looking on relieved as they did not see themselves.
But always staring openly, assuming her blind to their looks and unable to think.

But she always thought.
In her skin-tight prison she always thought.
She thought of the light and of the air. She thought of infinite fields of flowers. She thought of blue skies and birds on the wing. She thought, she dreamed, she wondered at the colours of life.
She thought of freedom.

And now she could taste it. She could touch and smell, caress and hear her wonderful freedom. Sweet release from the one room, the one bed, the one machine that dominated her life.

But one sad feeling stayed with her. She’d had to free herself.
No-one else even talked about her freedom. They would sit near her and say how everything would be all right, how they would care for her, how they’d never leave her.
But she didn’t want that, she wanted her freedom.

They were all too selfish to realise. They couldn’t bear the thought of it - to let her go, let her be free. They all thought she wanted to stay there with them. They thought she appreciated their visits, their attention, their chats.
Just because she couldn’t voice her opinion because the clinging prison smothered her speech, they assumed she’d be happy inside, optimistic that everything would be all right and pleased that they’re tried everything to free her.
But they hadn’t tried everything. If they had tried everything then she’d have been free years ago.

But free on her own, not free with them.
They couldn’t understand the difference.

She’d never been alone. There was always someone there beside her, someone oblivious to the prison she was living in and had always been living in. Someone thinking and acting for her, someone living her life as they wished it would be lived. But it never would be lived, because she was trapped.

But now she was free.
She took another deep breath of freedom then turned.
Her father sat there snoring. Beside him, her prison.
Wheelchaired, shrunken body hooked up through wires and tubes to the machines surrounding it. Oversized head droops on a shoulder, a line of cold drool traces silver down the arm. Crippled fingers on crippled hands on crippled arms clutch at nothing. Useless legs strapped tightly to metal supports twitch no longer.

She turns again and smiles at her freedom, long white dress rippling behind her.
She walks slowly, in awe that she can, towards anywhere.
The world seems so much bigger now.
Freedom.
Eternal freedom.