this is one of my new lyrics, i wont be postin many more as theyre getting a bit too personal, well this one should give u an insight to why:

Standing here
With this mask,
Gun to my head,
Looking to the sky,

Chorus:
Wondering why
It comes to this,
Why lifes betrayed me?

Lying to you,
Even though I know
You care

Chorus

Guilty for hurting you,
Guilty for what I did

Chorus

I’m heartless
I couldn’t see I hurt you,
I couldn’t see I killed you

Chorus

With this gun,
With this knife,
I cut myself out
Of your life
For all the bad times
I caused you

Chorus

i hope you all wont judge me for this

__________________
amo-te para sempre carla
http://www.evboard.com/showthread.php?t=31607 please check my art

It's really surprising to see this thread doing so well after all of the time that it went unused. I hope that you're all enjoying it, and using it as a helpful tool.

Anyway, I'd like to get some input on something I finished earlier for a new book that I'm working on. Like the one that is in production now, it has journal like entries that help it to progress as a story rather than just as poetry alone.

Please feel free to comment any way that you like, and be as honest as possible. Thanks so much in advance for your time. And as always, thanks for reading.

_________________________________________________

Solitude and Silence: Pre-Dawn

Silence is prevalent this morning. My little island is wrapped in peaceful slumber, and this pleases me. The only noticeable sound is the quiet and gentle ocean breeze soughing softly through the trees. At this lovely stage of pre-dawn, contentment is not fiction but very much real.

It's been a long time since I could honestly say that my worries seem small and meaningless. The trials and tribulations of life have no meaning for the moment; only the steady sound of my breathing, and the effortless chain of thought that is bringing this new memory into being.

This pleases me as well...

It's strange to think back, and remember my turbulent and violent adolescence without wondering how that hateful and introverted boy became the man that I am today; strange to think that something so painful could bear such an exceptionally opposite point of view.

Something is happening to me, and for once I am not only unwilling to fight it, I am delighted and intrigued to discover that it as well pleases me very much. I have finished my record of those long and seemingly endless years. I have finished it to discover that my story is not yet complete, but only beginning.

I have never experienced love in the way that I am experiencing it now. I have no focal point for these emotions; no physical, tangible source, that can be given credit for this change in my reasoning. I have no particular catalyst that could possibly explain this sudden and unexpected difference in thinking. There is no "Special Someone." There is nothing different about my lifestyle, my family, or my friends. The difference is me...

But what has changed?

Perhaps with dawn my answer will arrive. And yet, perhaps an answer would only strip me of my newfound optimism and leave me cold and weak; left again to deal with all of the things that have no business troubling me.

I have come to believe that I will never be a rich man; such a thing holds no interest for me. Similarly, I find it harder and harder to see myself leading the same sort of life that the majority of the people I see have chosen for themselves. My appeal for objects that I cannot possibly keep forever has decreased as well. I have no need for expensive possessions; I have no need for an abundance of possessions either. My belly is full, and when it rains I have shelter. The clothes on my back, and in my drawer, have a little life left in them. And my friends and family are still here.

Was it without purpose that I endured the mental and physical torture that almost killed me? I should think not. Without that pain; that chaotic stage of my life; I would have never grown to appreciate the things that need to be appreciated.

I have come to terms with my own existence. I no longer question it's reasoning, instead I strive to give it one of my own. I patiently wait for my term on this level to be complete, and impatiently I wait to see what lies beyond. Is it another world? Perhaps it is another dimension. One where all the laws and principles that hold this one together are unimaginable. There's no point in wondering, when an answer can never be reached, but I wonder regardless...

I won't pretend that there is nothing material that I want, or that I will buy for myself. I won't lie to you, or to myself and make a statement as transparent and ridiculous as that. But I have come to find that it is more fulfilling to want than to have. To have something, you must ruin the dream of acquiring it, only to find that there is something else that you want. And what you acquire will surly pass away in time. Perhaps to admire it from a distance is to truly have it forever.

For now, I want only to laugh and cry; to live and die...


And be remembered...


And this, above all else, pleases me very much.

__________________

Nameless: Whoa... this isn't hard to critique, it's damn near impossible to. Ok, lemme break this mega-critique in two: objectively and from a writing point of view, and from a content.

First of, writing: Nicely written. It's a very coherent essay (or piece... whatever you want to call it) that flows together very nicely. First paragraph grabs the reader's attention, not only by starting a little out of the blue, but by using relaxing imagery to draw the attention. You go on to your introductary paragraph. I liked how you didn't make it the first one, as it allows the reader to be presented the topic after his/her attention has already been captured. Excellent job. Now, these two lines were personal favorites:

These re-capture the reader's attention, by giving him/her an extra thought to dwell on while introducing the next part of the composition. You keep going back to ideas mentioned in previous paragraphs, giving the composition a great feeling of cohesion. No thought is left hanging, no idea is left discussed briefly. Now, your last paragraph... not exactly a conclusion, but it works amazingly for closure. You not only conclude some things, but leave the reader with an interesting thought. You conclude with your entire piece. You were closing subjects as you moved along, which I thought was brilliant. Now, some may argue that you lack a constructed conclusion at the end, but for this specific composition-thingy, it works perfectly. To give it such closure at the end would be to kill it. Your style is definetely unique man, don't change it. This piece rules.

Content wise: Really deep piece, full of feelings. You made this piece from your view point, always making sure it was yours and yours alone. The simplicity of the words creates a good contrast with the complexity of the situation, and your word choice gave it the traditional dark atmosphere your work has. Still, this was a brighter piece. I sensed a tone change s your progressed, especially in this paragraph:

Then, you withdrew from it, making it hard to catch. Very nicely done. You were pouring your soul into your work subtly. I need some help in that... But, anyways... great write, all in all. I can't wait to see more... this piece kicks some serious arse.

__________________

I'm surprised that it took me so long to find this thread. I thought I'd give it a try with one of my recent pieces to see what you all thought:

Daydreamer’s Lie

I know I smile all the time
And maybe I’m done waiting
Just a daydreamer’s lie
Just to keep on breathing
I know I’ve lost part of me
As I watched you leave
And though I seem charming
You should know I’m fibbing
Because, behind closed doors
While no one’s watching
I’m still here without you
I’m still bleeding this through

I don’t want to say goodbye
It’s like they’re tearing us apart
I feel it looming; you’ll be gone soon
And I don’t want to believe
Just keep telling myself this isn’t true

…

But you won’t see any tears
Like shadows that my memories fear
If keep on lying, keep on trying
Keep on feeling what I felt in you
I know I’m losing you Sunday
I should be better now, some say
Quicksand’s too thin I’m sinking in
I’m drifting into my dreams
Just to feel you near again
Just to feel that we’re one again
I need to say so much more
But cannot find the words to say

I don’t want to see you leave
It’s like they want us to believe
That it was never well, sickness can’t tell
And I don’t want to believe
Just to let you feel I’ll ever be okay

…

I don’t want to say goodbye
It’s like they’re tearing us apart
I feel it looming; you’ll be gone soon
And I don’t want to believe
Just keep telling myself this isn’t true

I don’t want to see you leave
It’s like they want us to believe
That it was never well, sickness can’t tell
And I don’t want to believe
Just to let you feel I’ll ever be okay

Lie to me; tell me you’re still here…

thats awesome i couldnt see anything wrong with it and heres one of mine (i cant think of a name for it) if anyone has any ideas please say:

who am i?
i dont know myself
anymore,
who does?
whats happening,

Chorus:
who's taking over me,
why am i so scared?
this isnt right,
why am i pushing you away?

pain isnt fading,
scars arent healing,
time wont pass,
god this hurts,

Chorus

i dont want to stay,
i dont want to hurt you
anymore,
i dont want to break you anymore,

Chorus

roses are red,
violets are blue,
no one will miss me
why should you?...........

this sort of sums up me at the moment, bad shits happened

__________________
amo-te para sempre carla
http://www.evboard.com/showthread.php?t=31607 please check my art

Please, don't take this the wrong way...but it's kinda BLAHHHH. Add some spice to it, use figuative language...make people think. Maybe make a steady rhyme. And the 'roses are red' thing...a tad cliche for my taste, but if you like it, keep it.

s'ok, its the first i've written for a while and here are 2 new lyrics:

Where are you:

Falling alone,
Failing alone,
Crying alone,
Dying alone,

Chorus:
Where are you?
Where’d you go?
Theres so much
I want to say,
But I cant,
Cos your not here

Don’t know
What I can say,
Don’t know how to,
Everytime I
Have something to
Say,

Chorus

Can you see
These scars?
Can you be there for me?

Chorus

Falling on my knees,
Wationg for you,
Waiting for
Someone to talk to,

Chorus

I’ve lost myself,
Ignoring myself,
Living for you,
Dying for you…..

and a 2 part song called bitter:

Remember *2,
Remember, remember
Life isn’t
All its supposed to be,
These

Chorus:
Bitter tears *2
Bitter tears that come
From broken friendships,

Picking up the pieces,
The pieces cutting,
The pieces tearing
through and through,
bringing out these

Chorus

Run *4
Run away
From what I’m becoming,
Running blind
These

Chorus

Cutting through and through,
Burning deeper and deeper,
Blinded by wite light,
Blinded by burning pain,
Blinded by

Chorus
















Part 2

Ths is such a lie,
How can,
How can love exist,
Whenyour bleeding,

Chorus:
Bitter tears (of life)
Bitter lies (of love)
How long will it take?
For them to realise
Love died

Told so many lies,
Love never dies,
Love will save you,
Stop saying that,
You’ll realise,
I was right when you bleed

Chorus

Silence broken,
Tear out my heart,
I’m sick of this,
These

Chorus

All these bitter tears
Don’t fall, THEY CRASH DOWN!
You won’t notice,
You’re too blind,
Too blind to see

Chorus

Love, love, love (lies, lies, lies)
No-ones perfect,
No one could bleed all these tears,
Can some one tear this out,
I don’t want to cry anymore,
I don’t want to think of these

Chorus

ANYMORE!!!!

__________________
amo-te para sempre carla
http://www.evboard.com/showthread.php?t=31607 please check my art

I like this one, but it doesn't have a story...it's basically repeating the same thought.

Okay. This one has more of a story-type feel to it. But, what are the *'s about? I don't understand... And you can also add a little to the verses...otherwise when you sing it, it'll be a really short song.

Well, I know this is a "Part 2," but it doesn't add on to the feeling or the story or what you're trying to portay...it's just saying it in a different way. So unless that's how you want it, you might want to maybe make it so you add on...instead of just restate.

Where is everyone else?! lol

(Yeah I'm new but I been writing for all of my life. I would greatly appreciate any hardcore feedback anyone can give me. Thank you in advance. \m/

P.S. No! My character was not meant to be modeled after teh Ames. )

Chapter One:
“The worst is over now and we can breathe again
I wanna hold you high, you steal my pain away
There's so much left to learn, and no one left to fight
I wanna hold you high and steal your pain.”
- “Broken”, Seether feat. Amy Lee

***

I lay on the wet sidewalk, wondering dimly how I came to be there only to remember that I was there because I had no place in public society. It would be better for my health if I just locked myself away in my room and developed a perpetual computer glow from all the time spent writing. As if I didn’t already glow purple when black lights were around.

It was just my luck that I had been deposited by my attackers in one of the secluded niches formed by the shrubbery of residential areas. There was no luck that anyone of authority had heard my cries for help. There was no hope that anyone over the age of eighteen would’ve chanced a peek out of their window and notice that a short, black-haired girl was getting the stuffing beaten out of her. No one ever did. It was as if nobody cared for me when I was in trouble. Sure, my teachers boasted about how intelligent I am to the others, of course the school choirs praised my singing. The praises were empty and did nothing to fill the numerous holes in my soul.

How could they when I could see that there were people who desired nothing but to do me harm? Why was it that when I looked into the faces of the other vocalists I saw their unwavering desire to slip a piece of glass down my throat and watch the blood come out instead of my voice? Why was it that when I threw off the bell-curve on a test that I barely studied for that the people around me gripped their pencils harder as if they wanted to ram the little plastic things through my skull?

They wanted blood payment for a crime I wasn’t aware of.

I was sporting a bruised face, which I was sure was very dark blue and a series of purples because of my delicacy. Even trying to open my eyes was a challenge. Both my wrists had been injured inconclusively in my attempts to fight back, but I had never been a fighter. Fighting off the wrestlers that pursued me today would have been a miracle that the deities of the world would have had a hard time granting. I was sure I had numerous other injuries, though I had no desire to explore further.

All I wanted was to go home, fix some chamomile tea and curl up in my bed. Perhaps I would alternatively run into my closest friend and nestle against him on the couch. He wouldn’t mind. He never minded.

Finally finding my strength, I inched to my feet, grabbed the few things of my backpack that remained (they had stolen my CD player and my copy of the Silent Hill soundtrack I noticed), and began on the slow journey home.

I was not prone to good luck, but when it came it was always in small favors, I was particularly grateful for them. The perk for today was that it was the beginning of summer break.

No more hideous looks.

No more threats secretly passed to me.

No more dangerous food offered to me at choir functions.

And there wouldn’t be any more disappointed looks from Mother when I came home from school with some kind of injury to be looked after.

It was rather a shame that the school year wasn’t the opposite way around. I would’ve much preferred a three-month winter break than an equally long summer break.

As I limped tiredly down the street of where I lived, I brushed away the blood from my lips and nose and straightened my clothing. I sighed when I discovered a rip that started from the hem of my school skirt and up to the middle of my thigh. Mother would definitely not be happy.

I walked up the driveway of our nondescript house and opened the deep red door that jumped out to my red-sensitive eyes. It took my eyes a moment to get used to the darkness inside, but no sooner had they adjusted when I was nearly smothered by my best friend and secret love.

I shuddered at his touch, loving it, yet feared it at the same time. I had never been able to handle affectionate human contact for nearly three years now. Ever since the Incident, I had found myself physically loathing all but Damian’s comfort to the point my brain would think that I was ill and cause me to be so stricken. It wasn’t like that with him though. I would quake violently sometimes, but I could stay there without feeling awful.

“Oh, Athana,” he said, his fingers running through my hair. “We were so worried when you didn’t come home. Thais and Chrys are out looking for you right now.”

He went on as such for a couple of minutes before pulling away far enough to take my face in his sensitive hands. I looked into his dark hazel eyes and drowned, my breath catching in my throat from the genuine worry that was embedded in the sightless orbs. Anger was there too, but was dwarfed significantly next to his sadness as he felt my face and neck. He ran his hand through his already messy, tawny hair. It never sat with him well that he was never there to protect me. Wincing visibly at my bruises, he lifted my hands to his face like they were diamonds that needed close inspection.

“They hurt your wrists,” he said more to himself than me after removing my black and red striped arm warmers. He peered in the basic direction of the scars going lengthwise down my forearm and I saw the year-old curiosity surface once more. “It’s lucky that scar tissue is harder to tear than normal skin, or else you would have bled out.”

“It’s fine, Damian,” I said faintly. “I’m fine.”

“Don’t lie to me, Athana. This is killing you.” He frowned at me. “Who attacked you?”

“What are you going to about it?” I asked him. I gripped his shirt and fought against the growing urge to shove him against the nearest wall and to kiss him for being protective of me. Instead, I buried my head into his chest and took in his sharp scent which seemed to act as a kind of antidote for my distaste to touch. “Do you plan to hunt them down and repay the favor?”

“No,” he answered.

The balloon of hate that had been swelling in his chest deflated quickly and he wrapped his arms around me, dejected. I just wanted to sink into him and cry about it all, not caring that my twin sister and my older brother were wearing the treads on Chrys’ new car trying to find me. All I wanted was Damian and all he had to offer, even if I wasn’t ready to accept all of it.

Damian was the perfect present. On my fifteenth birthday, news had come to my house that one of the English foreign exchange students had chosen to come to our home. Desperate for a friend, I had immediately phoned his parents. From March third to June twenty-sixth we jacked up the phone bills right up until he left for Heathrow Airport. Those hours in which I waited for him to arrive had been hell, much worse than those nights he and I couldn’t talk to each other because of the eight-hour difference. But when his plane finally arrived in Portland Airport and he came out to meet us, it was like finding something dear you knew you’ve been missing for a while and never knew what it was. What sealed the deal for me was that he didn’t seem to hate me like nearly everyone else did.

A soft kiss to the crown of my head brought me out of my memory. I looked at him and couldn’t help but manage a weak smile.

“Would you like some tea?”

“Chamomile, if Mother remembered to get some.”

“All right. I’ll go get it started and call your twin home. They’re probably looking in the Portland Powell’s Bookstore by now.”

“If I were there, they wouldn’t ever find me anyway.”

He laughed and nudged me toward the stairs. “Clean yourself up. When you come down we’ll watch some Johnny Depp and Kate Beckinsale movies and stay up all night, well in my case listen. Some pirates, a little bit of vampires and Alice . . . We’ll make a night of it, if you’d like.”

I nodded, climbing the stairs and shutting the door to the room I shared with my sister, wondering how he knew the way exactly to make me feel better. It seemed that he knew me better than I did.

Undressed down to my undergarments, I stood in front of the full-length mirror Thais had insisted that we get. It lurked in the corner directly opposite of the door like some silvery beast that threatened to devour anyone who entered. I didn’t use it often. Whenever Thais would stand in front of it to make sure her outfit was okay, I could feel a bit of her soul being sucked out of her. With every bit of soul missing, her visits to the mirror became more frequent and longer and mine grew to be rare and mere glances as if to accept that it was still there.

Now I chanced a few minutes to look over the damage. My face was far more swollen than I had imagined and, while not as badly bruised as my imagination had led me to believe, was obvious that it had suffered abuse recently. My throat had hand marks emblazoned into the skin, some of which spread to perch on my shoulders. Bruises and sores extended over my torso and limbs, the worst of which were concentrated to my abdomen.

Everyone wanted to hit me there. They were trying to kill whatever evil they believed was growing in me, trying to kill the manifestation of the sins committed against me.

Cleansing me . . .

They were purifying my soul in the best way that they knew.

People could be very perceptive at times.

Feeling my eyes grow weary of my image, I gathered some toiletries, disappeared into the bathroom and let time escape me completely. The running water served me well, banishing my thoughts of the day to swirl listlessly down the shower’s drain and carrying the stinging dirt and blood with it. It was interesting to watch the patterns two liquids created as they danced on the perforated edges. It had the same effect as watching the clouds pass overhead on a summer’s day.

Like it had been today after the rain had stopped and I was pushed to the ground.

I looked away and tried to set my mind away again. It was only a matter of moments before a hazy memory would come to the forefront and cause misspent and piteous tears to crawl down my cheeks. That one cold memory of when Thais had found me bleeding on the floor, half-dead from being drained so.

Why had I done such a horrible, horrible thing to myself? Why?

“Athana?” came Damian’s voice from the other side of the door. “Are you all right? You’ve been in there for an hour.”

I shook my head, “I’m fine . . . I was just thinking about . . . about some things.”

Silence.

“I made hot cocoa instead, if that’s okay?”

“Yeah it’s fine, but don’t come in like you did last time. That was a bit of a shock for me.” Involuntarily, I closed my arms about my chest as though he could really see my nakedness. “Have Thais and Chrys come home yet?”

Again stifling silence met me before he answered. “They’re stuck in traffic. It seems there was an accident on the 26 just outside the tunnel on the western end. It’ll probably be a while before they come home.”

My heart sank. “Do they know if anyone was seriously hurt?”

“No, I’m sorry.”

“I’ll meet you downstairs in a few minutes then,” I said, pushing my hair out of my face. I listened to his cane tap the wall as he felt his way back downstairs, fading to nothing. Soon I would join him on the couch in the den and let myself go, perhaps laughing as Johnny Depp danced with a dog he deemed a bear or cringing as Scott Speedman was nearly killed by Tony Curran. Damian would let me pick what we were going to watch, and I had just that in mind.

But it was never the movie that mattered to me. It helped, but in my heart I knew that it was merely a filter. A distraction so I didn’t have to see the friendly looks he was passing my way analyze them to the breaking point.

So I didn’t have to see that he didn’t love me back.

Clean and dressed in my nightclothes, I joined him downstairs to take part in our fragile dance.

* * * *


“Just a dog? Porthos dreams of being a bear, and you want to shatter those dreams by saying he's just a dog? What a horrible candle-snuffing word. That's like saying, ‘He can't climb that mountain, he's just a man,’ or ‘That's not a diamond, it's just a rock.’ Just.”

I lingered on that little speech and wondered what the girl in my arms dreamed of. Everyone knew that she dreamed of becoming a great author or being certified to be a professor of the fine arts. It was common knowledge that she would get loads of money and give 90 percent of it to orphanages in Romania and other related charities, going on to live a comfortable life in Budapest, Cambridge, Athens or move back to Bucharest to locate her father. She planned to do many things in her life, convinced that she would die when she visited the Carribean at the age of sixty-eight due to brain trauma caused by a falling coconut. Or was it getting crushed at a concert at twenty-three? I didn’t think either would happen, but there was a certain sense of fun in which she pictured her death. I could see her sitting under a coconut tree to watch the clear waters wash unto the white beach before a gust of wind blew her hat away had caused a ripe bit of the blasted fruit to fall. More vivid was the image of her singing with her favorite band in the audience before a rowdy bunch of drunk teens tripped over the seats and collapsed on her.

I laughed to myself. Leave it to Athana to despise the idea of dying healthy and in her sleep at the age of a hundred and four.

She shifted onto her back, her head resting against my shoulder. For the past forty-five minutes, she had been curled in a little ball as though trying to fold in upon herself and disappear. But now her form had become calm and relaxed. I saw her hand come to rest on her abdomen before she fell motionless again.

I was not all blind. It was true that my world was shrouded in darkness 91 percent of the time but since my seventh birthday I’ve been able to see silver wraiths. Those silver wraiths floated around often when I was little especially the largest. It took me four years to figure out that the wraiths were actually people in real life, or more accurately, their auras. The ghosts often began to change into different colors and grow distinguishing features. Mum was a sunflower yellow to match her cheery disposition and Dad was a bright violet to refer to his rather distant royal relations. And Athana . . .

She had been the brightest and most lifelike of them all. I had looked out of the plane window to see the silver wisps in the boarding area, becoming distracted by the brightest beacon of auric energy spilling out of the giant windows, unbroken by anything that might have been in the way. I knew it was she. She was pressed against the glass, watching my plane roll to a stop. Many thoughts had run through my head at the same time, but the most vivid of those was also the saddest.

What had happened to her?

Athana’s navy blue aura rose from her frame in thick smoky tendrils that lingered several minutes before disappearing, broken by blood-red rifts that emanated from her wrists and her abdomen. Usually someone’s aura only had one color to it, but it was common for an injured or ill person to develop a second temporary color in the areas of the ailment.

But glee overran my musings and they were shoved away.

It was as if I was a sailor lost in the fog of the sea, seeing the persistent beacon of light that signaled his homeland. Never before had an aura appeared to me as hers did.

Sad, glorious, wise, loving, terrifying, all-consuming, unforgettable, holy, humbling, exalting, heartbreaking, tainted, ancient, broken.

It was all so much more than her voice had let on.

“You’re making me uncomfortable, Damian,” she said suddenly, pulling me from my memory. “Is every thing all right?”

I focused on her figure, which today was a rich violet from her pain, thinking quickly. “Um, I was wondering what you thought about Porthos being a bear,” I said lamely.

She snorted witheringly. “If that’s what you were thinking then why are you going off into your head and drooling?”

“I was drooling?”

She giggled – a lovely tinkling sound – and drew her thumb along the bottom of my mouth, ridding the area of the saliva that accumulated there. I blushed heavily, whether from the embarrassment or the excitement I felt from that simple gesture, I am not sure. I did notice that she hesitated a moment before wiping her thumb on my shirt.

“You – you goof,” she mumbled. “How is it you can cheer me up like this? Not even Dad could do it this fast.”

“I suppose it’s a gift of mine,” I said.

“So, flatterer, what were you thinking of? I have never seen you so focused on something that you looked like the town moron. Not that the look isn’t cute . . . ” Her voice faded off.

“Well, it just so happens, miss Flirt, that I was wondering where a family fit into you’re oh so glamorous life after school. Between the Himalayas and meeting Tim Burton I suppose? Or do you plan to live forever?”

“That’s a strange thing to think upon.” The violet was fading to nothing, leaving the dark blue to cling to her alone. She looked so strong to me, no frailty in sight though I knew that if I peered into her eyes I would be able to see through that defensive wall as a man might look through a specially made piece of glasswork. Some facets flung the seer’s reflection back at them some veered it into another direction. The ones that weren’t lined with that dangerous silver coating seemed rare but when you found a handful of them, the ones of her habits and subconscious behaviors, you begin to realize patterns between them. Once you found all the clear facets, you were able to gently manipulate the opaque ones to discover that they weren’t opaque at all.

I marveled at how ingenious this barrier was, though one well-placed blow would be enough to bring the whole thing down. I had yet to find all of those little keys to her soul, but since I began to pay closer attention to her throughout the year, they all seemed painfully obvious to me as a puzzle might start to look like its picture. If she would just look me in the eye . . .

“To be honest, Damian, I don’t know,” she said. Her voice had a teary edge to it as if she were trying to fight back tears. Then she said the oddest thing: “I’ve lost so much already. I don’t think I can bear the pain again.”

“Athana?” I asked. I knew her history of depression but I had never ever learned the source of it. I felt as though I had gotten very close to the answer, so close that I could see the outline of the problem’s festering flesh beneath all the nerves and sinew that I was unceremoniously incising through. Just the very notion of what sprung to mind made bile creep into my throat. It was twisted and absolutely wrong, but a small part of me told me that it made sense.

I couldn’t accept it though.

“I would very much appreciate it if we never spoke of this again,” she whispered, trying to stifle some sniffles that escaped.

“I’m sorry,” I stammered, taking her hand in mine. It was cold to the touch.

“It’s alright.” She tilted her head upwards, her lips skimming the skin of my jaw so lightly that she didn’t seem to notice. What might have felt nonexistent to her, felt like a caress to me and I felt the muscle of my jaw twitch from the surprising contact. “I can’t believe you’re going back to England next month. Oh I’m going to miss you so much!”

“Well,” I said.

“Deep subject,” she quipped.

“Well,” I stressed. “You’re going to be very pleased with me then.”

“You’ve found a way to unite England and America into one continent?” She twisted in such a way that only dancers and gymnasts could and wrapped her arms about my middle. The next words out of her mouth were in Romanian, so I couldn’t understand them but I understood the implication of the switch and the pleading tone her voice took.

“I’m not Superman, Ata. But You’ll be happy to know that I sent a letter to the Exchange Program and begged them – no, I beseeched them – to allow me to stay with you lot for another year. It was a good five pages long mind you, and I believe that I made several noteworthy arguments for my case. They found it so heart-rendering that they said that I could if Dad and your Mum agreed to it.”

It was brief, but her reaction made me reel from the emotion of it. She kissed me smack dab on the lips, fiercely and gleefully. When her mouth moved away from mine I could sense her hesitancy to do so. I had to admit that I didn’t want her to stop kissing me. Now that I had tasted what was once forbidden, I never wanted to stop.

I sighed heavily from the breath I didn’t know I had been holding, “Y– you’re welcome.”

Her face was still close to my own, judging from the heat radiating from it. Her aura was a cornflower blue, the brightest color I had ever seen it. Whether she was happy from my news or from the kiss, I neither knew nor cared. Making her shine so was my only wish .If it meant that she would kiss me again, I would beat up every person that had ever hurt her.

There was a nervous giggle. “I’m so glad you’re staying here!” I could tell she wanted to add something on to the end, but if she did it was never spoken.

“I never want to leave,” I blurted.

“I do feel horrible for stealing you from your father again,” she said.

“It’s fine. I don’t really feel like going back anyway,” I said.

“Oh,” Athana said, slightly surprised.

“Yeah, I’d much rather be with you... and your family,” I added before their was too much of a pause.

Athana pulled away as the sound of Chrys’ car pulling into the driveway came into the house. She leapt up and grabbed her coat and sandals, planting a kiss on my forehead. I gave her a confused look.

“Damian, can you tell them and Mother that I won’t be here for dinner? If they ask why just tell them I stepped out to think.”

“Sure,” I said. “Where will you be?”

But the only reply was the sound of the screen door slamming shut as she ran through the backyard to the woods that lay beyond it.

(Like it? Got any serious issues you want to suggest? Please feel free.)

Yes, I like it! It's very good and it kept my attention, it's very descriptive.
I know it's a bit off-topic, but how do you pronounce the names?