A freeform I’ve written, as I was getting familiar with dimension-ing my supporting characters, for a novel length story I am starting this year. Having changed my protagonist twice, due to finding the other side characters more interesting. As of now, I’m sticking to the second protagonist, who is not the boy in this freeform.
(Initially, I was planning on keeping these writings of mine to myself, but an incident have occurred where a somewhat-new instructor who have graduated from the University of M* have been terrorising the students at a university I am co-attending. So, due to that and his offensive false-accusations of plagiarism, threatening my GPA of 4.00 and radical doubts on my self-polished abilities at doing one of the few things I love, my heart-felt very much obligated to post a drabble in which I have written a few days prior to 2014.)
Here it is:
Mallen sometimes wondered whether he was better off with a dead sister. But was Melo really dead? This could be a trick question that depended on the kind of instructor he ended up with. That is, if he was ever going to be tested on his sister at all. Here, the obvious possibilities:
A. Daniel is lying
B. Daniel is not lying
C. Daniel is telling the truth but will, either how, end up eradicating any unlikely chance they have of ever bringing Melo back.
Unfortunately, for himself and his grieving family, Mallen believed the correct answer was C. Because Daniel was an idiot who was not supposed to materialise into their lives, those good three years ago, in the first place. Now Melo was gone and Mallen remained the boy with an eternally dead heart wrapped up in someone he could not have.
Mallen recently turned sixteen and still did not understand Love’s cruel jokes. Though he often found himself mulling the idea that he had been the joke all along.
Grief tore a chasm in his heart, tore it so wide that everything slipped through. Sadness painted its proverbial walls with obsidian and ink – the shade of Melo’s hair. After a while, Time morphed into a foreign concept, so did Directions. Mallen could no longer tell which became the way of his fall – up or down? Also, for how long had his groundless travel gone on for? He guessed it didn’t matter as long as he was going somewhere.
Mallen had been fourteen when Melo, with her raw sienna eyes and hazy simpers, stopped waking up. Perhaps, he was still too young to understand love. After all, Mallen only knew how to live for his sister. Though she never did live for him; she lived for dreams and half in slumber and for the boy who stole her life.
On rare occasions, Mallen would dream of one skeleton kid with endless questions set for anyone who could spare him the time. The boy was ten years old and possibly happy; free from the weight of painful love and never awry from self-loathing.
From these dreams, Mallen always woke up with a start, struggling to breathe. Alone in the dead of night with the sound of a horrified stranger panting into his lungs. A new kind of longing never ceased to claw at his throat when it dawned on him that these sequences of an opaque boy were film reel memories of who Mallen used to be.
When did life stop being real? Mallen wondered whether this was one of the questions Melo had contemplated on before falling asleep for the very last time.
There you go. Poor Mallen and his dead sister, Melo. Either how, the details and plots are subject to change as my novel length story is very much in development. I am all fore three-dimensional supporting characters. I can already feel Mallen’s hurt growing inside my heart. I was going to give him the name Marco but then a day later it was decided, a real person introduced himself to me as Marco. At the time the very first thought, accompanied by dread, that waltzed into my head was, “Drats, this might ruin my Marco.”