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I LOVEE YOUUUUUUU IT'S RUINING MY LIFEEEEE

The White Knight’s Hero

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read the next comic —> coming soon

read previous comic —> here

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start saga from the beginning —> here

BEAUTIFUL IN WHITE

Context: For our Creative Writng class, we were tasked to either write a short story or poem using figurative languages. I’m really proud of how it turned out! Hope you’ll enjoy it as much as I did! :]

Genre: psychological thriller

“Hello?” I called out in anything but confusion, yet all that ever answered me was my very own voice – each reverberation was intensified until I felt too numb to attempt to find secondary voices aside from my own. From where I lay, I could only stare directly back at the void, who stared back at me like a father looking at his son in chagrin.

Ah. Was what escaped my lips before I looked at my hands in futile.

Recounting what everything looked like before I was set in a field of vacuum, I remembered standing someplace elsewhere.

It was the crows yelling blasphemies in the distance that woke me up from the trance, and I was greeted by seagulls shaking their heads in disdain. For some reason, I had forgotten that my feet were buried underneath a pound of pulverized coral skeletons. The warmth was intensely pricking my skin, plucking it red and rash; yet I had not noticed it.

Raising my head to drink in my surroundings, all I could see were people animatedly conversing among themselves. I needn’t to hear the intensity of the crowd; the vibrations travelling through my system were enough of an evidence to tell me so.

What blockaded all my senses were the turmoil within my heart and the flurry that brewed within my mind. It had gotten hazy. It was so hazy that..

Clutching my chest before I was to be fully enveloped in the haze, someone silently  announced their presence like that of a wave sweeping the bays.

She got all heads turning her way.

A ring and a bouquet of sunflowers clutched in palms, illuminated by the sun plastered on her lips. An everlasting linger where amber and green mix willingly, that I asked myself if this was a dream.

“Darling,” you called out to me as you floated across the pathway like a balloon. I could only glint at the ringing of bells as I slowly watched your figure grow into size.

“You look so pretty.” She tells me as she joined with me. She looked, to a fault, beautiful in white as the sun inhabits every flesh of the dress – hanging a mirror in the living room, and putting up curtains to trap the outside heat; I asked myself if this was a dream.

My hands began to sweat as it was tucked behind.

For some unknown reason, as I took in the sight of her wholly, it did not help the tremor that I withheld. It worsened. What was the reason? Why is it shaking? Maybe I needn’t to delve more into it as I knew that it was linked to her overall presence.

How could you laugh as I stood here in comfortable misery, as all wires in my neurons are short-circuiting – all because of you?

“You look beautiful in white,” I whispered to her, and she smiled yet again.

Oh darling, you look beautiful in anything. Purple skies would suit a majesty like you. The pinks of the fragrant roses could wrap your fragile body perfectly. Citrus colors, too, would ideally capture your quirk. But, oh.. Would red perfectly suit you best as well.

You dripping and stained with red from my sleeves that I am not coy to unroll, and we’d dance the night away as you smiled helplessly with your head thrown aback with laughter that was past its ember.

I smiled to myself as I could not wait to see her buried in sheets, stained with her very own maroon.

“Indeed, you look so beautiful in white.” I repeated myself, ensuring that she heard every meaning of each word was packed with.

She looked at me, smiling with pretty crimsons that rivulet down her powdered chin. Her eyes shone darkly at me though, despite the appearance that she is insisting to the public. Of course, no one in the crowd was foolish as they all fell into a collective gasp of terror.

I remember now; I needn’t a light to know that my hands were stained of her maroons that occurred days ago.

I could only laugh to myself as I recalled that very scene. Her, holding that bouquet of flowers tightly as if it were hers – shamelessly facing her own family with a beam.

I regret nothing.

She was nothing but a poser who ensured her sister was now lying in a field of white chrysanthemums.

If your able to can we get some scarian?

this was supposed to be just a sketch but i am unable to chill, apparently