Welcome to Gaia! ::

But hey, in my opinion, writing is art. And I have just created a masterpiece (heh... I get so conceited about my writing. XDD)

Anyways
This is a personal narrative, the narrator being my original character, Rayne. She's contemplating insanity. (written based off of a writing warm up for Creative Writing. The warm up was the... first three paragraphs. XD)

"Secrets"


I tell everybody that I hate him. That I haven't missed him once in all these years. I put on a tough act, pretend that I don't feel it. That I don't feel the pain of a heart broken every single day. But, I do. I always have. I still love him, and he's been dead for six centuries, at least! I can't bring him back, and I keep telling myself that. He can't come back; you killed him, that's it. It's over. But my mind just won't listen. I can't do anything to get rid of this pain.

I've tried everything. I start relationships with men, hoping to forget him. But he's still there, in the back of my mind. You'd think his shape would be blurry now, but I can still see his face, clear as crystal. As if I'd seen him just yesterday.

Sometimes I think if I get rid of his ring, the memories will fade. But I know that then I'll just be left with a lot of pain, and no known reason. I just want to stop hurting. I guess that this is all just a part of being dead.

I sound insane, don't I? "This is all just a part of being dead". Ha! Dead people aren't supposed to feel. They aren't supposed to be up and walking around! They're supposed to be lying in their graves, peacefully ROTTING! Not lamenting the death of the man that killed them. But here I am, defying all of that.

Maybe I'm not actually here. Maybe I'm not even dead! Maybe I'm just insane. That's it! I'm imagining all of this! I'm not really here, talking about my ex husband who killed me. I'm actually sitting in a padded cell, or even better, in a psychiatrists office! And some doctor is listening to my ranting, my oh-so-passionate ravings. About some man that never even existed; and that doctor is writing furiously on his or her little clipboard, that all psychiatrists seem to have, about how I am nuts. Utterly nuts. I bet they never want to work with me again, because they're afraid.

I mean, it wouldn't make sense, would it? Some insane woman, probably in her mid twenties, apparently, can "imagine" these "memories" of the THIRTEEN HUNDREDS!! And, to top it all off, they are actually pretty accurate with what historians say that time period was like. Maybe she's not insane, at least, not like that. Maybe she's looking for attention in some psychotic way, by making up these memories after doing /quite/ a lot of research. That's it.

That's what that doctor's thinking. And right now, that doctor is looking at me like I'm psychic… or insane. Like she has been for the last two. Hours.

Rayne is a vampire, you got that right. But she's not actually in the psych ward. She's.. envisioning that she is. She's contemplating her possible insanity, and hence having these images in her head of actually being in one. biggrin (Don't worry, it's not supposed to make sense by the end. You're supposed to get confused)

Now that's something I could do! <3
I love writing, I whip up stories like, everyday. blaugh