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Printed from https://www.Writing.Com/view/1061331
Rated: 13+ · Fiction · Experience · #1061331
In Perceptive of a fifteen year old boy, Thinking...

Deepened Whispers







The deadness can be understood. It is not of a cleanse atrribute so it can be discovered in the plain way it is. I cannot discover in ways on why depression inflicts its darkened tongue. But I believe the classification of it as an depression quite correct. No allusive remark may give it a name excessively appropriate as one which is given.

A depression, not an asset so easily linked with an existence without strive and so a suicidal intent is called upon as solution and thus it ends...does it end in the sense it is spoken? The answer lies there. NO! I believe little in the effective parts to a ploy involving suicidal compositions. I have faith in the soul who has me (meaning my form), I Believe it the shortened sight of a coward too pathetic. Possibly a man of the status I accopy finds no positions in the area in which I converse yet I find solutions of others - the coward's dagger not worthy to taste my crimson rush: it is a thief who steals an attribute where an correction may still exist.

Into the depression I am analytical. The cause is of the normalcy, others seem prone to the disease which marks adolescence and adulthood with the nagging of ineffective parts of one's own examination. It is true, I am perplexed with a regularity that may be coded as " The delving sin ". My mistakes in a mountain whose volcanos may scorch even the waters who are its executioners in actuality. But what sin may be established, I must not be of the cowardice kin: an effort I practice effortlessly.

Yes, I may have not slain one for the benefit of me nor have I violated the tender female who creeps in the imagery that is naughty. Yes, I have wounded, one without restraint - it was my best friend. It was in the accuracy in which I portray, his violence in the procession was of my encouragements. Could I forgive this form I take after the ploys I stitch? NO! One's own soul boils in the ovens of hellish destructions as a thought of such. Yet, I choose not the cowardice method of self-removement - I chose the valour that had come forth as choice - I confessed to my friend, yes, I expected neither forgiveness nor at youthful times before my violent demeanour could my imagination even fling to the possibilties of separation amongst the friendships we shared.

I was forgiven. Though my heart ached as I am not the person so deserving of a compassionate aspect that he had given. Ian, my best friend, stated:

" It is the nature of man in normal standards never to be merciful nor compassionate. Those who have broken such a demonic chain can be liberated - never can they devise a formula to harm others or to their ownselves. Though some sins may have the stains of an everlasting disaster and should not be forgiven or resisted; others who are petty to the picture of a true sin should be handled efficiently to their being."

He is to pause as if he shuns any negativity, i cannot blame him his right to anger and disappointment - it is I who have encouraged them. Thus, with a thought collected, he resumes:

" I know you are wrong in yours actions but I feel I am as wrong as you. My heart questioned each violence, each penetration of my moral being violated yet I strangled my conscience. I am as fault as you as well. I will not say that I am helpless as a true victim for you too counted on me to be rebellious. I have not only ripped my heart from its suitable place and dipped it in a river of disappointment, yours I believe I drowned as well. I'm sorry Sebastian, I cannot protect you anymore."

Tears are gallant if they come from an individual, whither man or woman, who is in pure realization. My eyes are the simultaneously cups of sour water. They cannot as I add:

" Ian, how can you believe that you have failed me.You - you protected me when my barriers where crippled and paralysed. I inspire your violence - I always did and enjoyed your self deterioration."

I am to weep as the whales gust waters of oceanic beauty, But I weep only to know my alterations of a innocent musing to a wild thing. I cannot say that I did not allow him so to be in the midst of thieving professions nor in the wakes of passionate encounters with numerous women. He only need singular comforts yet I allowed disgusting degrading things as his priority. At Seventeen, he has not visited a jail as he is quick in escape yet he kills himself every moment with depression. He aids his urges with a different woman, but, he feels lost as he seems to himself too distant to love the one he adores. She is a student at university, nineteen, brunette, with rose-coloured lips that addresses seductive objects: yet he is an opposite to her appearence, eyes who are innocent in both seeing and perceiving. Ian feels his actions may give her need to be repulsive towards him so he is clandestine with her and limited as a conversationalist. She now in present believes him introveted and a classical misanthrope. Only if her eyes centered to his soul where her image repeats as a song sung even after time consumes itself and will be no more.

A man may have segments of wants impossible and possible - numerous and singular - lovely and dark - yet he knows how to choose but strays for different motives. If a woman with a broken love is asked to classify the man whose love is not stainless her obscentities with be endless and her tears incessant for her stabbed love. A man may deserve such a reward if he is unkind or in a devotion to his adolescent masculinity does a task unfair. But is "man" the sole transmitter of such a crime? NO! A young girl in highschool may call her man a fraudulent bastard but her innocence is overrated. She cannot be keen and say that she is only devoted to her singular passion. I say a person is equal to faults and blessings not by gender but by the reflections of character. It is unfair if a girl is constant in her attempts to prove her man only wrong. I am to refer to this for another friend, Chris, victim of a lady too eager to complain:

" Chris, tell me do you want Victoria or do you want me. I mean c'mon stop this stupid thing of talking to those girls!"

Chris my friend is in a state of tension, he is being chastised by his lady as a cruel master does to his dog, the fifteenth time her approach for the incident stated. He tries to placate,
" Ivy, please...please, just stop, ok, I can understand if you don't like her and tell me to stay away from her. But please I have to get notes from her, I mean she's in my physics class."

Ivy twists her scowling lips in ways vampires do as they claim victory, " You were gaping at her body as if you searched it completely undressed."

" I did no such thing - I confess, she's beautiful, I stared, only a while, but that does not mean I went to be like 'introduced'. I apologise Ivy, I didn't mean to offend you." Chris is shocked and upset.

" Yeah right whatever." she departs without an interest as Chris chases with apologies.

This case is similar, whither you are a man or a woman. Why I refer to the article? Because I should have given advices to Chris to tell Ivy that she is a asphyxiating drop of venom but instead I saw his torture. Victoria loved Chris and I knew, she is always perceptive of his emotions. She cared not whither Chris be with her or another but she wished him the best. Her loathing for Ivy was transparent as winter's mists as she tells:

" A man or a woman who bears her/his fangs at every opprtunity at a devoted lover is nothing but a snake preying merrily at a mouse. For if he/she does not abuse nor complains and mostly accepts you are a being the construction of a bare sin"

I agree with her. Equality should be the sense in which you judge anything.

I must return to the chapter where Ian lies. He is my kin in spirit. Whilst in my childhhood my father asked me to be intrepid and calculative - my progress in both was of a zero capacity. I was teased as I was not truly introverted but my intentions to aid exceeded badly. Sometimes one should know the limitations to aid as simple things best be left to an independent effort. Soon, the tease became a letter of gash and cut, the fist elaborated it. Ian rescued me. He was one to step ahead and protect. Though he fought I should not have encouraged violence - I felt him violent was me successful - I am the pathetic form of a muddled desire: I could have spoken against yet I promted. Now, my endeavours are for him, he has to gain a footing once more, my intent now is to make him to what he desires.Positively prosperous.

My depression is of these things mainly. Of not efforting enough in a particular exercise or practising a bad tool whose music burns all senses. Also, I find my own nature deficient to pursue romanticism. I am an artist to colours and words - no, no, if anyone calls me egotistical than they are negative. I do not find masterpieces my ownself of my own crafts, I simply love and adore the words and imagery - these two are my lovers and I cannot be unfaithful to both. Love of something passionate is in me but if you tell me which girl I add to my fantasy and heart then I can say none. I have admirations daily of girls who have substance in both exterior and interior realms but love truly I may say none. I abstain from romance as a fox to the ensuing hunter. Another deficiency who disappointments. I am fifteen and yet I cannot be with a girl - it is, in actuality, I believe I will be so not capable in the attempts to give her elation. I stray from the wish as I am silly. Victoria scolds:

" One must commit themselves to another, it is densely uncomfortable to think negatively of oneself for despite failures or success the need to love should not vanish but remain in a beating soul."

I believe this, though afraid to commit myself to the practice of the advice...

I met her only once. Though we share classes our introductions never done, talking very limited and meeting strictly barren. But her words are an etermal remembrance:

" If one does not derive confidence than one may simply be in a corner within a labyrinth. A button to a suit is as important as the hope to the heart. You should try to let anyone or anything say that you lack potential in a field - we cannot say if the rain will be little or incessant. Only through its progress do you finally give a result."

An elixir to my struggles - I feel I upset all for I lack something. But as I listen, the fading to something satisfactory arises. Dawn, as she was called, could take the dusk away.

I had contemplated. Sitting here on the rooftop with mind analytical and eyes blank. She comes in to see me:

" Sebastian, there's someone here to see you."

I am not truly uninterested as I feel I am a bad companion at present, yet, I see it as obligation to be a companion to anyone at present as well, " Who is it mom?"

" Oh here she is Sebastian - she says her name is Dawn." my mother leaves.

I stare in a surprised manner, " Dawn, you - how - what - I mean can I help you."

" Yes you may" she turns towards the scenario of dusk and speaks, "This is important:

Though the birds flee to the nests
And The sun gives a scarlet farewell
The sky stays cerulean
even in a remnant it remains
Eager never to part..."

" What? I don't understand." her words are a confusion to the logic.

" You write poems as well don't you - I hear you do. I want to judge my poems. Alright. I will do yours too just help me and I'll help you" she explains.

I feel her poem, the depression may have costs as it deducts satisfaction yet one must steer and regain life. Life is for you it is your possession and so you must tend to it and never meet with it as an intention to end it. As a sky stays cerulean despite the day slows to dusk,
" Alright, sure,that's great." my abstinence was broken from the day she spoke those words as just a plain advice seeing my disappointment over a piece I had written.

" Good." She smiles with a curve of heaven, " I guess we will meet each other more often. So I say more:

For what is dusk?
A darkness assured, yet was it not light before?
The chemistry of sky is still to remain
As it knows the promise somewhere of dawn..."

© Copyright 2006 Moon Voyager (lunarmirror at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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Printed from https://www.Writing.Com/view/1061331