It always grinds my gears when a writer doesn't seem to have any love for human beings. Everyone is inhospitable, or too stupid to function, or too much a stock archetype to develop in any meaningful way. Not because I personally think that human beings are intrinsically good ("good" is a useless designation for real people anyways) but because real human beings have the fucking range.
Most people aren't going to be inhospitable to random strangers, because that's not a useful way to live your life--being needlessly cruel is a good way to get your shit pushed in. If someone is being stupid about one thing, chances are there's something else they know a lot about, because nobody is blanket bad at everything. And of course most people are going to subtly contradict any stock archetypes they're assigned.
That's not to say that people can't be cruel and stupid and predictable; it's just that they're kind and intelligent and chaotic in equal measure, and when I see a writer forgetting that, it frustrates me, because that's good drama you're missing! You could be taking advantage of all that. And what are you doing instead? cheap bullshit. boring asf
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good morning reaper kissers i bestow upon you amnesia angst
"Sorry, do I know you?"
Instantly, something behind those red eyes shatters. The stranger's hand stills, and for a moment, time ceased to exist. Inside, you see blood welling from the cracks, a healed heart cut open once more. His mouth opens and closes, again and again, but no words find his tongue.
Your heart squeezes. Already, you want to take your words back, to throw away all reason and embrace this stranger and tell him that everything is alright. But your body refuses to move, frozen on the empty street.
You don't know this man.
That is something you know for sure. No matter how much your heart may weep, no matter how badly it screams at you to comfort the white-haired stranger, to love him, you yourself have no recollection of him.
And so you stand there, staring at the man you've forgotten.
"I..."
He stutters. He hesitates. He curls back, back into his shell. You don't know why, but you hate the tears forming in his eyes, glistening like pools of water.
Your hand reaches towards him, but you pull it back.
"I'm sorry." You step back.
He shakes his head, his gaze dropping. "Don't... Don't be. I should be the one apologizing."
Despite his calm facade, his voice quivers. His shoulders shake, trembling like a leaf in the autumn wind. Again, your heart screams, twisting at the mere sound of him.
"No, it's okay," you say, your voice soft in an attempt to ease his worries. "That person, they must mean a lot to you."
Broken eyes meet yours once more.
"They... were everything."
You can't help but think he meant to say something else.
Bleeding red burns into your irises, expecting something, anything that would indicate - even by the smallest bit - that "you" were still there.
But you could never give him what he wanted.
You try for a smile. "Well, I hope you find them."
He doesn't answer to that. Grief swirls in his eyes in a whirlpool of mourning, trying to pull you into them, trying to pull you back.
But something keeps you from diving in.
Your feet move on their own. By the time you finally come to, you've already left him.
reblogs w comments are appreciated !!
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