Sakura

A love affair between a Japanese teenager (Sakura) and nature.

One girl. One country. 127 million people. No wonder she felt so small, so inadequate. Her life had quickly become a monotonous routine of always pleasing others before herself.

          Sakura had beautifully brushed brown hair that danced below her shoulders to the silence of every awkward moment between lovers and liars. Her dark soulful eyes emphasise the sadness held within. Creating the idea of an ocean of black, moving calmly with the wind. The skin on her face held no imperfection, no spot or freckle to be seen. Almost dusty but not dry. A rusty orange scarf hung loosely and carelessly around her slender neck. Providing her with the idea of a noose. The hat slanting slightly to the right of her head, also a rusty orange. Her lips pursed tightly together, biting at her tongue.

          Kicking herself for the last words that she said aloud, they were still hanging tangibly in the air. Hanging so heavily she was positive a bird would come along and steal her thoughts. “It’s over” she repeated inside her head, trying to become less foreign to the phrase. It’s over. It’s over. It’s over. And soon enough the words rolled effortlessly from the back of her mouth to the tip of her tongue. Almost as if someone had gently slotted a coin into her voice box, and suddenly she came to life. She thought relationships were for life not a fixed amount of months and days aligned. She saw her heart breaking before her eyes, the sadness will never end. Now she understood why ‘boys’ began with B. Boys break bones. Boys break hearts.

          She made her way down the worn away wooden steps that she had for years, called her own. The tapping of her toes on the damp wood made a noise that she wasn’t unfamiliar with. A musical ensemble. Between the sky and the group she could see red, yellow and orange trees. Leaves. Bushes. Flowers. The beauty of autumn overwhelmed her, she could barely breathe. She was aware that the view never changed, no matter what time of year it was. Spring, summer, autumn, winter. Through out them all, the trees were still trees. The rivers were still rivers. As far as she was concerned she was still the same little girl that skipped down these very steps home from school. As far as she was concerned she was still a nobody in a sea of everybody’s. She knew the names of everyone at her school yet nobody knew her face or her name, no one recognised her voice when she spoke aloud. What was wrong with her? She was the perfect picture of modern beauty, she was the perfect picture of perfection. Why hadn’t anybody taken any notice?

          Maybe no one knew her because her face was continually buried in books, her hands were hidden in gloves and her eyes were too gloomy to look at.

          The sky changed shades of red as if it had applied make-up for a special occasion. It was beautiful. The wisps of pink and purple clouds danced happily in the air, holding onto the memories of summer tightly, hugging it tightly against it’s chest refusing to let the last few whispers of summer promises slip through its arms. Her hair floated effortlessly around her, she thought pixies were tugging at the tips of her hair playfully making her giggle and sing. Kicking stones back into the correct assigned places had never felt so soothing to her, the wet leaves stuck to the bottoms of her shoes but she never cared. She had falling in love again and this time her heart was unbreakable.

          The red leaves, orange bark and green grass. Who could ask for more? She was unhappy yet completely content, she couldn’t figure out her own thoughts. She came to the end of the wooden path and held her breath, she knew she was the only person in the world standing where she was standing at this exact moment in time. Both terrifying and wholesome ways of looking at herself. If she fell back into the crisp leaves giggling and singing, she knew she’d fit in perfectly. And no one would be able to find her for the rest of her days. Growing old while changing skies fell towards her didn’t seem so bad. The horizon ripped her back to reality. But she knew her red coat and her rusty orange scarf and hat, her brown hair and pale white skin would transform the ground into a master piece. No one would ever find her hidden amongst the nature and nutrition that lay beneath her. In a country of 127 million, she could never have felt more alone than she does now.

Author's Note

I'm a rookie, go easy on me haha.

Reviews

[cartera]

Melody. You're trying too hard. You are overdoing the description: too many qualifiers. Allow the reader to construct at least a little of the picture for hmself/herself. She does not have to know the exact colourof every item. Remeber Spielberg's use of red in the film Schindler's People. And you are in love with the word 'tightly'.
Basically I am saying that you are overwriting. This is common, especially with newer writers. I remember when . . . (probably still guilty of it, but less so - and sombody had to point it out to me).
So, simplify. simplify. simplify. There is a good writer here. You can write. Try some Hemingway.
Good luck. Keep writing.
ATB
Alex.

[Hello, Goodbye]

Interesting relationship selection.. It sure makes for a curious story. Your narration is solid and the story's movement has nice fluidity. Good work..