1. Amor has finally locked the doors as per the very sad [Closing Announcement]. You should still be able to read threads and conversations (just in case you are late to getting things saved) up until AUGUST 1st. All subscriptions have also been cancelled so no one is donation billed for a dead site!

Tell Me a Story...

Discussion in 'Galleria' started by Inkily, Aug 7, 2017.

  1. Her name was Kristin, no last name, thank you. She'd been standing in the hot crowded club, with sweat making her shirt clingy black dress cling just a little more to her curves. In the silence, she could relive every moment, every touch from the crowd. His voice brought back the effects afterward, after the drinks. After the drugs had hit her. His voice brought it all back...

    No one had believed him. Even from a young age, the monsters had been there. In his closet, under his bed, at the foot of the stairs. They'd whispered his name. Tormented his sleep. Haunted the shadows from the corners of his eyes. And while most teens had dealt with bullies, or despicable parents... no one bothered him. He'd have claimed he was blessed... but, the monsters were still there. When he turned eighteen, he'd started on a strict regime of medication. Determined to stamp out the monsters once and for all. And then people began to turn up dead around him.


    "When a cold wind blows it chills you, chills you to the bone."
    A voice muttered as he threw the bones of something long dead out of his cave, and into the cold. He stared out, watching the falling snow happily bury the offering from sight, before he trudged back inside. "Nothing freezes your heart like years of being alone."

    The fire in the fireplace came to life under the care of his weathered hands, and a black pan was placed above it before a wrinkled heart was placed into the pan. It was black as coal, and deader than a door nail, and growing smaller by the minute as it began to sizzle from the heat.

    After a few minutes, the cave began to warm. The chill was beaten back to the entrance, forcing it to be content with the bones. A frail hand stoked the flames, getting the pan hotter. Faint whispers of 'Welcome Christmas' filled the air, though there wasn't a change in the heart. "It's not working." The man rasped to the bones outside in the snow.

    Over the years, he'd tried everything. He'd given the holiday back to them. He'd endured their noise, gone to their dinners, to their events. He'd tried year after year to feel the same thing they clearly did. He knew it came without ribbons, without tages, without buttons, boxes, or bags. But somehow... his heart was shrinking again. And nothing he tried seemed to make it stop.

    They were starting to suspect it as well. Their singing was hard to hear now. No one decorated his cave. No one visited, and Rudolph... His grip tightened on the collar he'd picked up as he took a seat in the armchair in front of the fire. Determinedly not looking at the cave's entrance.

    Once upon a time, it hadn't been this way. At one time they'd decorated his home all year round. They'd made him so many presents, he'd given them all away. They'd visited him all year. The happiness had been infectious. From the smiles, the music, the love, even down to the cookies and milk left by the fireplaces.

    But over time, people had begun to ask for specific things. Things he couldn't deliver, or afford. They'd tried to make them, but the lists got more elaborate and longer each year. They couldn't keep up, and the disappointment they caused killed their happiness. Until less and less got crossed off on the lists. And one by one, the lists stopped coming. That was probably the start of it. Magic couldn't hold them together anymore. Couldn't fix the accidents that happened, or the exhaustion trying to keep up with the wishlists.

    A shaky hand reached out, fingertips brushing against a little sleigh perched on the peak of a little snow covered mountain statue sitting on the table next to his chair. He set the collar down next to it. "They stopped giving me things. Stopped making things for the lists that occasionally came. No one wanted anything they made me. And we used the last of their presents as kindling last year."

    The fire crackled, and he paused to listen... though the bones said nothing. "Right, thank you." He pulled the pan from the fire. The heart inside was smoking, crispier now. He picked it up, a trembling hand pushing it between the folds of the red jacket he wore, and into the hollow cavity in his chest. A bell chimed as he drew in a breath, feeling the heat; though the heart still wasn't beating the way he wished. It was several minutes before he spoke again. He'd picked up the skull of something, while he collected his thoughts. "Haven't seen a list or them in years... whatever they're calling themselves now."

    He squirmed a little in the seat, adjusting the warm heart before closing the jacket again. "It's not the same. My heart used to be three sizes bigger, and warm on it's own." He glanced down at the skull, picking it up from his lap where he'd set it. "Don't take that tone with me. I don't need your bones cluttering up my cave anymore." He grumbled, turning the skull in his weathered hands. He started to set it down, before changing his mind and giving a yawn. He shifted in the chair again, comforted by the warmth of the fire and his heart. His eyes closed tiredly, not noticing as the old faded red and white cap righted it's self on his head.

    "I'll be joining you soon, I suspect. I hope your nose can still light the way." He mumbled before falling asleep.

    "Stop fussing with it... he doesn't even know it's there." The woman called from the doorway of the hospital room.

    She watched as the petite blonde readjusted the red santa hat on the head of a wrinkled old man in a wheelchair. His eyes were closed, but she didn't seem to care as she straightened his Santa jacket, and made sure each cuff was a gorgeous white. "I just want him to look presentable; it's his favorite time of the year, and the family will be here later." Cindy Lou argued softly, as she wiped his face with a wet wipe, and kissed his weathered forehead gently. "He loved dressing up as Santa for all of us kids."

    "Does he even remember that?" Cindy Lou's sister asked, arms crossed over her chest as she leaned against the frame of the doorway. She huffed, and rolled her eyes as Cindy Lou turned the cd player on, and set it down on a table near him. Welcome Christmas began to play, soothingly.

    "Some where in there he does." Cindy Lou smiled as she glanced up and caught sight of the vacant eyes that had opened to stare at her. "Merry Christmas... Santa."