They'd lived their lives to the fullest, together. They were a team, a pair, a duo, inseparable by any means. As they lied there on their deathbed in each other's arms, he turned to her and asked, "Who will lay to rest our tired hearts?"
I remember when I first learned how to skip stones on the water. It was at Lake Tahoe, and my dad was teaching my sister and I. He was able to get up to fourteen in a row, and I could barely manage two. Such a simple and carefree(more) way to pass time. A nice distraction. Throwing rocks without a care in the world. Caring about nothing. I just don't care about anything anymore. Nothing. I don't care what you think. I don't care what anyone else thinks. I don't care what happens anymore. All I want to do is just skip some more stones on the surface of the lake. (less)
Running from insults.
Running from criticism.
Running from others' expectations.
Running from my own.
Running to keep up.
Running for my life.
(more) Running from distractions.
Running from myself.
Yup, just another day. (less)
Raise me up, in a paper boat without a bottom, folded from my abandoned letters to you.
Raise me up, to see the twin vapor trails carved by paper airplanes, and the white lines carved in the(more) cliff face below by the desperate and insane.
Raise me up, to see the ruined dwellings of the many hermits who called this island home. The houses, the bothy, the rusting shipwrecks, and the caves.
Raise me up, with the creatures of the sea, to converse with the man in the boat without a bottom, to keep him company on his journey to this godforsaken island of ours.
Raise me up into the minds, the thoughts of those solitary individuals; how much of their essence was left unsaid? Unheard? How much of their legacy is remembered?
Raise me up, through the winding caverns and shafts that crisscross this place, following the bumps and cracks, the trail of candles, the tricking water, and the painted walls. How many others have seen what I have seen? How many others have walked where I have walked?
Raise me up, with the haunting melodies of those damned to wander the paths of this island for eternity. With the paper airplanes, doomed to fly alone. With the paper boats, doomed to sink and lie on the bottom of a bottomless crevasse. With the souls of the dead who spent their lives here, of all places.
Raise me up, to the top of the towering beacon. (less)
He awoke in a dark, cavernous room, with a small pedestal in its center. A small light shining from seemingly nothingness illuminated the pedestal, and resting on it were two sets of keys. About ten paces behind the pedestal, two doors stood silently, stoic and unforgiving. A choice.
"No turning back!" he thought, and he made his choice. (less)