The Words in Her Pocket

a story about a Violet Girl and a Boy with Everything Eyes

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1. The Words in Her Pocket - a short story


She was a girl with an Amethyst Heart.


You might think that made her cold, but it was quite the opposite, actually. It made her smile glitter and her blood sing in her veins: a sweet melody that played out parallel to her existence. She had soft lavender fingertips and eyelashes that were the shade of purple that mulberries blossom into during the spring - as dark almost as tree trunks, but perfectly splayed like branches, bowing to the forest floor. She was all lilac skies and sunrise and saudade. The longing she felt, like wanderlust, was in equal measures to the curiosity that resided behind her ribcage, a bright spark that served to light the maze of caverns that made up her skeleton, the vessel in which she made a home.

And so she did not often speak, for mostly it was the streets and the trees and the animals that spoke to her; she thought it a great injustice not to listen.


{ Quiescent - a quiet, soft-spoken soul } 


Despite this, the Violet Girl wasn't unaccustomed to the rush of human existence. She had encountered Adventurers and Inventors, not to mention the Boy with the Everything Eyes - he was a Picasso painting and a flower in Monet's garden, simultaneously, with a grin so vast and a shock of hair so dandelion blonde that his entire existence had to be muted, indefinitely, because the alternative was so damn loud that no one around him would ever recover. He was a cataclysm, but a beautiful one, a magnificent tragedy, like a volcano, or a supernova. And he was not simply one colour, he was all of them at once and nothing at all: dazzlingly ever-changing, with a heartbeat like a strobe light and blood like a ray of sunshine emerging from a prism - brilliantly colourful, but seemingly out of reach. His name was under the dictionary definition of 'Too Good to be True'. His entire presence was deafening. Far too out of reach for a girl with a hummingbird heartbeat , a girl with heather hair and periwinkle-painted bones.


{ Chimerical - merely imaginary, fanciful }


The pair passed each other weekly during walks in the woods; this was not routine, nor was it planned, which was fortunate, because it was always a pleasant surprise. The Violet Girl often sang to herself quietly as she went. Even with his Everything Eyes, the Boy never got a glimpse of her face, but he tried to decipher the words falling from her lips as they brushed shoulders.

As these brief encounters became a regular occurrence, the Violet Girl dared to let herself dream up a world in which would do more than wordlessly bypass the Boy; perhaps she would speak to him, tell him stories... and, buried deep in the myriad fantasies she created, was the innocuous question regarding what it would be like to kiss him, to press her dusty mauve lips to his and feel the colours explode between them, letting loose not the riot of sounds that she knew was within him, but the cacophony that she had realised was inside her. He would hold her, with is eyes closed, and then the Boy with the Everything Eyes would know the most wonderful kind of nothingness. He would let it fill him up until the rest of him felt empty. And it would be glorious.

But not everything the Violet Girl wished for materialised.


{ Ephemeral - lasting a very short time  }


One day she danced along the dewy grass to see the sunrise paint itself onto the sky between the trees. On that walk, the most incredible of pilgrimages, she saw the Boy. And his Everything Eyes were fixe on another girl, a girl with a Daffodil Smile.

He lowered his dandelion head to meet hers, and the Violet Girl suddenly realised that the prophecy she had envisioned was entirely correct - it was simply not meant for her.

And so, as the sun spread like gold across the horizon, and all the colours crashed down on her head, the Violet Girl ran. She ran to the beat of the song she had been singing, always the same song, but as she tore through the trees, she rewrote the lyrics, detangled her thoughts from the Boy with the Girl who was Not Her. And she smiled, because the fantasy, though still tangible, still tempting, no longer held her captive. She was free to let her lilac thoughts roam; she caught them and opened her arms to the sky, where they floated, splitting into red and blue, sunset and sky, and she saw, in her haze, a new beginning.


{ Aubade - a song greeting the dawn }










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