His Everything (Deacon)

Short, unfinished story to accompany poem "Thank You" - so far just the beginning, told in vague second person view, mostly from his pov.

 

Deacon was born under a forbidden star, flourishing at times yet at others falling apart. The patterns of his life were frustrating, and to him disturbing. Until he met her - his lover, his best friend, his confidant. Her long black-brown-red hair - so it seemed at the age of seven - shone brightly in the sunlight, sparkling with waves of color. It was so bright he sometimes found himself lost in it, unable to think of anything beyond what it would feel like, weather it was cold or warm to the touch.

At the age of 17 he asked her to go out with him, and after a minute hesitation - he wanted her to go out with him? - she said yes.

 

Squealed it, more like, and the excitement was palatable as she bounced up and down, and threw her arms around his neck. She was breathless, pressing chaste kisses to his face, blushingly avoiding his lips, but he could feel her pressing against him. Innocently, but with a hint of need, just as himself.

 

They were together.

 

For a time, it was fairly simple - school, dances, make-out sessions behind the tree in his yard, planning the lives they would lead - together, of course.

 

 

They entered college together, both having excelled in their chosen fields of interest - he English, and she the arts. Music, art, sculpting, you name it and she practiced it.

She loved the ability to express herself, though her true passions were songwriting and sculpting. Together at the age of twenty they entered into a college near their hometown, so they could stay in the house left to her by deceased parents she barely remembered (having been delegated to the care of a somewhat elderly aunt so they could continue their travels). School was harder than either had ever thought possible, though their network of friends and acquaintances grew rapidly. Both managed to build up impressive portfolios of work, longing to do something different than that of what they'd been raised with. And yet, something felt wrong.

Off, somehow, though he wasn't sure what.

 

 

School continued easily for another four years, and the feeling persisted, even as they scored top grades yet again, this time with the aide of long study and countless hours research and practice. Their friends saw them as the couple from dreams, arguing only rarely, and then generally about issues they felt important (rather than that of trivial things.)

 

Soon it was time to move on into an even bigger world, although the dreams they'd shared as children had yet to fall apart.

 

 

Perhaps they wouldn't, he dared to think on the day of graduation, already having received his diploma and ensuing applause. She stood up on the stage proudly, head high

and shaking the tassels of the graduation hat jauntily. Even from here he could see the sparkle in obsidian eyes as she shook hands with the instructor, nodding her thanks as he spoke of her talents and achievements. Her professor wasn't the type to have favorites, although he had many star pupils - she was one of the rare, multi-talented and intuitive ones, and one he felt would go far. Not only did she have talent, and an instinctive ability to put emotion into a palpable form, she had the determination to do it, and perhaps take others along with her. A sharp glance in the direction of her long-time, steady and equally talented lover gave him a sense of contentment - they were one pair that would take the world by storm, for not only did they have talent, they had the strength of each other by their side.

 

 

And he'd had the pleasure of teaching them both, he thought with a happy smile, sending her down the stage with one last word of wisdom.

"Never stop smiling, my dear. That is, by far, your greatest strength."

 

 

The graduation ceremony continued on unabated, rewarding scores of individuals with personally impressive achievements, and both could feel themselves tiring as the speeches wore on. It wasn't that he didn't care for his fellow students, he knew several of them quite well, but… he was anxious to get on with his own more personal celebration, preferably with her and no one else.

"Shall we go, Sadie?" Her name rolled off the tip of his tongue smoothly, loving the curve of her name as he whispered it against his ear. She felt so good, so right cuddled against his chest as they stared up at the stage, and he had to fight the urge to press against her. She was his love, his everything.

 

Author's Note

Still very much unfinished, wondering if l could get a couple piece to read this and the poem that accompanies it, just for some general advice on which parts should be included. i'm looking to have this be an over view of why "Thank You" is what it is, rather than a full out story. At least for the most part, although l do want this to stand on it's own. I still need to flesh this out, make it more personal, but let me know what areas need the most work so far, if you could?