The Silver CordA Story by C.B.Metaphor on a friendshipThere’s this unseen connection between he and I. A silver cord stretches across mountains and over rivers, and I seem to know him better than myself. Presently I sense that his soul is in anguish. His heart cries out and tugs for me to come to him. I sympathize and pull gently on the cord, a silent communication. He knows instantly that I am there for him. He knows I always will be as long as he has the confidence and trust to throw himself into rushing waters knowing I am holding the cord tight, ready to pull him up when he needs air. But when our silence is no longer helping, I can tell because the cord becomes taut as I help anchor him though he falls. I hold him up high enough so that he does not crack his skull on the harsh surface of disillusionment. I stand firm and watch as he hangs, staring down in horror. He doesn’t look up to see me trying to pull him up, yet looks to the negative forces attempting to end him. I pull and heave and sweat pours down my brow. If the cord were to break in my attempt to aid him, he’d be gone from my life forever, continuously enveloped in the realization that nothing is forever and that love, of any sort, could not keep him from falling. I panic as the brittle silver cord begins stretching to its limit. A clasp bends slowly, ready to snap at any second. I cry out as I pull too hard and lose my balance. I fall with him, the cord remaining attached. We hit the ground and shards of our naïve nature scatter among us. I sit up and look up at where I used to be. I glance at him as he stares in anguish at the broken pieces of his youth, and I whisper solemnly, “You’re always looking down…” © 2008 C.B.Author's Note
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3 Reviews Added on September 3, 2008 Last Updated on September 3, 2008 AuthorC.B.MAAboutMy name is Caroline, and I've been writing for about 10 years. I mainly focus on horror, but when I write it really depends on my mood. I'm not an angry or dark person, but I have thoughts which need .. more..Writing
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