My Isis

A story about a person, who made it all because of his love, but his love left him when He got there...

                            12/Dec/1998                              

   The roses in my garden red, blood red there was a very good scent in them. But oddly i did not felt very good watching them , it was like they had lost their touch and worth, just like i had to her, to whom i was a tiny pebble drifting on the road, along her footsteps, until She did not felt playing with me anymore, while i stayed ther rotting and being crushed day by day. She moved on and i did not or perhaps i could not. It was marvelous and joyous while She was with me. She was my life, my muse, my maid, my mistress, my love and my talent, because all i was, i was because of her. She would whisper a piece of music in my ear, She would cheer me up when i am sad, She would understand me, She would love me. But now i long for her touch. I know i could not do anything without her, She had became my need, my addiction, my very existence, i was used to her being there everytime and everywhere. Slowly but shurely She i started getting used to her, like She was getting programmed in my sub-counciousness, She was like getting high, no thoughts, no past or future, just randomness, it was beautifull, She was beautifull. I would wake up to her kiss and sleep holding her in my arms, it was a dream but dreams end, no matter what, nothing is ever picture perfect and one day i waked up to find She was gone, like a doctor cuts the umbilical cord. The same happened to me, She provided me with blood, oxygen & left, She left me alone miserable.

   It was like the roses in my garden were never the same again, they lost there red colour, the scent. They were so beautifull when She was around, it was like they are going through the same as i am going through. It's late no i have to sleep. I go and lay on the bed as i have done so many times before but i know sleep won't come because i will not come till i have in me to keep my eyes open.

       

                               12/Dec/1990

  I am coming home from the office, i am late, two hours late, I got bussy in a meeting. She has cooked something special for me, I bring a gift for her, nothing special just some roses, She loves them, She can forget anything after that. I want to tell her that i am getting promoted and it's all because of her. I turn around the street towards my house and there is chaos there, police and ambulances. I park my car and come towards them. A officer comes to me and says are you Mr.John? I say yes, He says sir we are sorry to inform you, your wife was stabbed, Oh God no, There is nothing we could do, Oh God!! please no. She died of loss of blood and wounds to her lungs, the burgler probably got scared by her, She was stabbed five times. It happened probably an hour ago from recent reports.

 

Author's Note

This is my first writing of any sorts, I really never wrote before & my grammar + spelling + dialouges suck, so still do tell what you think leave a comment.

Reviews

[Eldee]

Mmmm- I loved it darling!
It's very much like William Faulkner, a stream of consciousness, of thought, of emotion. It doesn't need grammar, spelling, and correct technique. The simple fact that you wrote it down and left it raw and untouched is lovely. It's so real, like this just happened... and it simply ends. There is no cool down, no true "end", just a break off.

Wicked :)
For a first this is awesome!

[well_written]

Outside of the things you mentioned that was wrong with this, this story was unbelievable! I was enthralled by the expressions used to explain what this woman meant to him, and what she was for him. Yet, the maid part I think I would have left out (lol). *spoke in a whisper* - the women I know don't like to be called maids. LOL. Great read! I am looking forward to what you will do next.