It's making me want to write something new, but I'd have to think of something and actually commit to one activity for about an hour so the chances of that are pretty slim.
Anyway I also wrote this in year 10. It was during an exam, probably a practice School Certificate exam. If my memory serves me correctly, we had to pick a "stimulus" out of three or four as our inspiration/starting point and mine was a painting of a woman wearing a veil. The story seems like it comes from a bad place but I can assure you it's entirely creative. I think I just started and went wherever my ideas lead me, which has always been my style. So long as it gets me that A, who cares? Please note that I'm leaving these unedited, save for spelling and punctuation. This one would have been written in about half an hour, so I'm sorry for anything obviously crap. You will also notice I was going through a one-word-sentences stage.
The Veil
Juliet stared at the painting hanging on the otherwise bare wall. The haunting image captivated her senses, leaving her with the suspicion that she was being sucked right into its depths.
I am part of the painting. I am the painting itself.
The still image moved her. It echoed her innermost feelings, as if her very being wa slaid out on the canvas. The paint formed an imprint of her thoughts and she was lost in them. her sensations filled her with a cold sense of dread. what she felt and saw was breaking down the tiny sliver of spirit that she had been left with. Slowly. Meticulously. Leaving her with nothing but her past.
Desperately, she had clung to her denial, in an attempt to shield herself. But nothing can shield you from the truth when its life goal is to make itself known to you, and Juliet had suddenly found herself alone.
Images from the past flashed before her eyes. Betrayel. Anger. Regret. Emotions that hung over her like a dark cloud; trailing her every move. Waiting. They plagued her min further still as she stared at the image before her, drawn into her own despair. Swallowed whole. Every part of her was forced to relive the events that she has so determinedly pushed back into the dark recesses of her mind; and every part of her was screaming in silent agony.
Betrayel. Anger. Regret. Waves of repressed emotions that crashed down upon her frail, battered figure. they lowered her defences, and reduced her to nothing.
A final emotion pulsed through her, spreading like a fatal infection. The one that she had tried so fervently to avoid. With a cry of triumph, it finally pushed through her barriers, and her knees buckled with the weight of it.
Guilt.
Juliet has always told herself that she was the real victim of what had happened, but without hesitation, or guilt of its own, the Guilt snagged the veil she had been blanketing herself in, and ripped it off her tear-stained face. In her clarity, she sae what she had always know deep down; she saw what she had done. How she has hurt. How she had betrayed. Not only others, but herself.
Betrayel, Anger and Regret. The Guilt whittled down all her other emotions, and drove away all her excuses- her attempts at reasons- untill she was left with a single question.
Why?
-m xx
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