Leonde.

He rests his chin on two slender fingers, pursing his lips as he did so. Every detail was examined; the fine strokes of a rich, dark midnight blue, the two fat, angry brushes of red, the jagged edges of a tear, five inches in length, across the delicate features of a porcelain-skinned girl, her wide brown eyes askew, her tiny upturned nose hidden by the gash.

'You like Leonde?' A girl, slender and blonde, in a sky blue dress looked at him enquiringly.

'I wouldn't use the term like..' The corners of his lips turned up slightly.

'Isn't this one interesting though? So much pain, and the angst' She stared intently at the 6 by 8-inch canvas image.

There was pain and angst alright. In fact, he was all too familiar with the instrument that created the monstrous gash. It was an old kitchen knife, brown wooden handle, with two metal screws embedded at each of its flat sides. It chopped onions for the stews, split apples for the children during lunch and butchered meat when they were lucky enough to afford chicken.

He rubbed the faint scar on the joint of his left thumb.  It was all over, he reminded himself. The silver blade would no longer flash before him. It would no longer wave before his terrified mother, her skirt riding up to her thighs as her shoulders pressed against the stained, cream-coloured kitchen cabinets, trying to make herself as small as possible, clamping her lips together to quell the screams rising in her throat.

No. It was all in the past -and the silver blade was buried, sunk in an accident, lodged in a no longer beating heart, stained with a dark crimson.

She used to dance.

She used to dance.

In the moonlight, under the rain, on the streets.

Her tinkling laughter accenting soft melodies, her chestnut hair tumbling down that pale, slender neck.

She used to dance.

With her whole heart, a smile breaking through her lips, faint crinkles around the corners of her eyes as she spun into his arms.

She used to dance.

But the curtains fell. And her soft leather heels rest, nestled among layers of furry tissue, hidden in the far crevices of her white oak closet.

She used to dance.

But there is no more melody. And she no longer held his heart.

Musings

Her long, slender fingertips paused. Tracing little circles with the tip of her index finger, she hummed quietly. 'I wonder if he'll be here today,' she mused.

Long, dark lashes brushed the apple of her cheeks; and the image of a tall male, of slight build, in a grey cardigan, half buttoned up with striped sleeves rolled up to the elbow began to take shape. A sharp, earthy scent wafted her way.

He's here.

Melbourne, with love.

A blur of colours zipping past.

Cars.

Footsteps thundering up and down concrete.

People.

The humming of sweet melodies, masked by blaring horns and impatient yells.

Birds.

A young woman tapping her head against the wall, staring at the cloudless blue sky.

Maria.

Notebook in hand, she watched. Figures glided past, grey, black and white shadows against the vibrant backdrop of the bustling city. Bits of gum stuck on the pavement, the occasional sighs of dread and subsequent rolling of eyes that ensued when the foot of an unobservant individual stilled, pulled by stringy chewies.

Fluffy, brown and tiny.

Excited yips danced around her as an apologetic teen dashed towards the brunette, cheeks flamed pink. 'CHER! DOWN GIRL!'

Flowers appearing around a corner. Black, polished shoes pumping the pedals of an antique ride. Teeth glistening in the midday sun. 'Missed me?', crinkled brown eyes smiled at her.

'You have no idea.'

Tsunami

Like a wall of water, fifty metres in the air, they tower before me. The skies roars ominously and the murky depths of mixed emotions crash and rumble. Chaos reigns. 

The universe is spinning. The clouds are falling. Soft cotton mists transform into giant balls of orange fury. The world explodes, lost in fear and unfamiliarity. Where am I? Who am I? What am I doing? I have not the answers; as all the while around me, the warmth leaves, the hearts break, and the chill of the unknown besets me. 

author's note: How can I make you see things differently? Let's hope the rainbow will be a beautiful one.  

p.s. photo courtesy of dreamstime.com

Kevin.

-- For you, I'd change. 

**author's note: for all those who intend to read Message in a Bottle by Nicholas Sparks, there are spoilers in here, so, don't read this if you don't want spoilers! 

 The waves sighed gently as they broke, their foam crowns bubbling and subsiding as they brushed against the smooth grain of the North Carolina beach. Little porpoises danced in the shallow water, chasing each other with glee as they enjoyed the warmth of the summer sea.

 It was a cloudless night, and the moon smiled upon the waves, polishing the ocean and causing the tides to gleam as they rose and fell, just like a person's chest does when he is alive, as each breath passes through the chambers of his lungs. 

 A lone figure sat at the edge of the water, the waves lapping gently against his feet. His head was buried in his arms and the bottoms of his jeans were damp, the result of the hour's run he had just completed at the edge of the receding tide. 

 A couple walked past him, the female turning back and staring at him curiously for a moment before walking on with her lover. She whispered something to his companion and he laughed, drawing her closer in his arms as she rested her head on his shoulder. 

  The brooding male on the sand sighed. He wondered how, or if, he would ever find her. The one he was supposed to be with. To be honest, he really didn't have the strength to try again. And his motivation as well as patience were wearing thin. He might just marry the ocean instead, devote his life to his career, to doing what made him smile every single day. 

  A loud horn sounded, breaking the silence of the night. A small boat neared the port, her sides proudly proclaiming her name. The Henderssey, he read. The captain, dressed in tan shorts and a light blue polo neck tee reminded him of someone in his past. Someone he had known, someone he had admired, someone who had influenced his life and had given him the certificate that led him down this path. He would never forget that person. 

  What was his name again? George? Gerald? It started with a G...What was it? Garrett? 

 Yes, Garrett. His name was Garrett. It has been 15 years now,and the young boy has already grown into a strong man. Garrett was not his father, but in the brief time Kevin had known him, he knew that he would have no qualms if this man had married his mother. He could see then how happy Garrett made his mother. And he understood, no matter how much he denied it, he understood how his father had scarred his mother and how Garrett had been the one to help heal her. 

 But Garrett had passed on, in an unfortunate event brought about by his decision to go sailing on that fateful stormy evening. He had often wondered why the man did that. Wondered why he had made such a hasty decision, and how he could have left Kevin's mother, Theresa. Kevin had never been told why Garrett chose to go out on the sea that night, but despite it all, he was relieved that his mother had been able to cope with it for the past 15 years. For if she had broken down, it would have taken all his strength not to blame Garrett. 

 As it is, his mother survived the ordeal. She did have odd moments where her mind would wander, she would smile to herself when she saw those tiny corked bottles with messages inside hung on key chains sold in shops as souvenir items for tourists and once a month, she would go to the beach in Wilmington to sail on a boat she rented for the day. He could tell that his mother loved Garrett with all her heart, and he knew that the man loved her with all his too. He remembered the stolen kisses shared between the two whenever they visited. His mother thought he never noticed, but he did. She just didn't realise it. 

It was because of Garrett and his mother that he believed in love, that he would one day meet the girl whom he'd fall for irrevocably and irreversibly. Their love inspired him and as much as he loved his father, Kevin swore he would never do what David did to his mother. 

 A baby crab scuttled on the sand. It ducked into a little hole on the area of sand hardened by the water and disappeared. Kevin decided that it was time to leave. He had a life to get back to, one that involved some beer and an empty apartment. And maybe some fish..he decided as his stomach growled. Picking up his phone which lay beside him, he stood up to leave. As he looked up, a brunette approached him. 

"Hi, are you okay?" She inquired tentatively. She's beautiful, was his first thought. I wonder if she's attached..

"Um, I'm fine," he replied, clearing his throat nervously. 

"Oh. Alright. Good. It's just that, I've noticed you since half an hour ago and you looked troubled. So, I thought I'd ask," She smiled at him, her teeth gleaming in the moonlight. 

"Thanks. Um, have you had dinner?" The question slipped out before he could stop his lips. His eyes widened in shock and he scrambled to regain his composure. 

"As a matter of fact..no," she looked at him curiously. 

"Well, I know a place that serves the best grilled fish in town. Want to come?" He offered. She looked over her shoulder and bit her lip. 

"Um, yeah. Okay I guess. You're not a stalker or something are you?" A mischievous twinkle appeared in the corner of her eyes. 

"For you, I'll be the perfect gentleman," he winked at her as they strolled down the silent shore. 

**author's note: so, for all those who have read Message in a Bottle by Nicholas Sparks will immediately recognize the characters in my fan fic. I don't normally write fan fiction but, I really really love Nicholas Sparks. And, well, I felt that the story could continue. So, this is my continuation, only, it is no longer in the eyes of Kevin's mother Theresa, but the love story between Garrett and Theresa in Kevin's point of view. I thought that would make it interesting. Plus, I'm no Nicholas Sparks, so trying to recreate the atmosphere and Theresa's character would have been extremely ambitious of me. Anyway, if you have not read Message in a Bottle, read it. Heck, if you have not read Nicholas Sparks, pick one of his books up. My suggestion for the beginner? Pick up the Notebook. You will fall, fall, fall for it. I know I did. Anyway. Thanks for reading. And don't forget to leave comments!  

** image courtesy of trekeath.com

The Full Moon.

He stumbled into the room, slender fingers clutching his head in agony. Dratted hangover! He should've known better than to drink that much.

Sighing, he flung the keys onto the dark, cacao coloured buffet, the same one that Debbie had accompanied him to buy. Debbie, sweet, dangerous, wild, Debbie. She was always a tough one to harness. A wildcat, never one to sit at home and create a slice of bliss in a pale, vanilla infused dessert sandwiched between layers of rich cream. Debbie was tough and alluring. She was no home maker, but a tiger baring its fangs, its sleek body poised to attack.

He lay sprawled across the leather couch. Head up, eyes closed, an ice pack sitting on his abnormally warm forehead. It was not like him to drink uncontrollably. At least, not on normal days. And today was, indeed, most definitely, not normal.

He thought he had won her over. When she had left that useless heap of muscle that claimed to be a man, he thought they could finally build a home together. Of course, he never wanted children. It was too difficult. Too complicated. The things he endured during childhood reminded him of that. The taunting, the laughter, the blood, the blame. Those were experiences he would not, could not, impose on any child, much less on one that he loved. But she could not understand that. She had pleaded with him, over and over, her catlike eyes coaxing him gently as she landed soft kisses on his lips. "Please?" she murmured huskily. "At least one?"

It had always taken all his strength to say no to the slender woman he loved, but no was the answer. He loved her too much to see her cry over the sufferings of her little ones and he knew all too well, that she had already suffered more than what he considered to be enough.

The lean,intimidating man of a 6 foot 6 height groaned. Darkness cut through his memories, red painted his thoughts and trickled down the edges of the images imprinted on his mind. Debbie. He had found her, sitting on the bed, her hair swept to the side, her teeth flashing as she laughed at another man's jokes. 


Alcide Herveaux had always known that loving Debbie would be a challenge. Difficult to chase, to keep, to hold. But he had always welcomed challenges and Debbie was easy to love. It had been one thrilling roller coaster ride, and he would never forget that. But he couldn't take it no more. His heart had already crumbled into a thousand pieces for her a million times. He would have died for his Debbie. But she would never have been able to remain faithful to him. Alcide Herveaux walked away that night. He lost his place, his home, his love. It was time to move on, he decided. And he knew exactly where to head next.


author's note: if you guessed True Blood, you're right! Congratulations. :) I have just fallen in love with the series. Season one was not my favourite though many would beg to differ. And contrary to what you may have thought, my favourite character is Eric Northman not Alcide Herveaux. I like Alcide nonetheless and although this was not supposed to be a fanfic about Alcide and Debbie, it turned out to be one. Oh well, maybe I will write one about the drool worthy Mr Northman one day. Just maybe. ;)