A Story by E. C Mockingjay



I'm a little locket.


Those cheap little ones you can find in a dollar shop, with a mini padlock and chain to wear around your neck.  A keepsake.


Open me up, [mind the squeaky hinge]and inside you will find the feelings I've kept for 15 years, in jars, neatly labelled and ordered. Take one and smash it open, if you feel like it. I am full of silver. Not real silver, I think, but something far more weaker.


The world hurts sometimes. A million times of heartache and broken fingers. There is always someone thudding to the ground, choking on their own breath. The world is struggling to inhale and exhale, along with everyone in it. Breathe. Oh, god, please breathe.


I feel like I'm trying to do something impossible again. Like the time, you held on to me and told me not to leave. "You're the ground and I'm the air, you have to stay, you have to." But I wasn't running away. I was just trying to let air in. I want to be air too.


My bones are bent over the world, curled in like a sea shell. My hands are trying to catch bits of the sand pouring out of it, but it's not working. Help me, please, help me! But they fall anyway. Tears taste like salt. Hard and gold. I want to whisper back at the little grains. I'm trying to save you, please don't die. Please, please do not die.


I wasn't really sad when I came to school. Really, I was just taking everything in. I can do that now, you know. And when I do that, it hurts a lot but in a good way I can't explain and the world is so pretty I simply cannot breathe.






Are my lungs too weak? I never went to the doctor for that sort of thing. No I don't feel like that. I'm dying but I feel like I am soaring. Call me soaring. Is that a real name? I don't know. But it would make me cry if you called me it. In a good way.


I am the summer rain being soaked up by the ground. I wish I could have stayed with the sky. Oh please, let me stay. It's kind of sad how no one will remember me when I go. I am just another raindrop in the storm. Another person in the crowd.


Pages flutter like butterflies in the golden breeze, dancing along a highway of stardust. Where are you? Where are you? I'm alone in the stare of the world. Can't find you. Bitterly, I strike the pages out of the air and then the ink stains my skin. There is nothing here but gold. Oh, how I hate gold.


There is a little bird made of silver , flying above a bed of roses. 'I'm caught, I'm caught'. The thorns well up around the  little bird and pierce right through the heart. The dying calls of 'I'm caught, I'm caught' swell into a garble of sweet notes. A mourning song. How sweet.

© 2011 E. C Mockingjay

Author's Note

E. C Mockingjay
Mmm...I'm not too sure about this one.

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Added on February 28, 2011
Last Updated on February 28, 2011
Tags: Mourn, silver, and, gold, a, locket, to, keep, life, be, sold