Saint Aura (plinksnotdead) wrote,
Saint Aura
plinksnotdead

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"The Perfect Combination."

TITLE: "The Perfect Combination."
FANDOM: Original.
RATING: M for insanity.
PAIRING(S): None!
SUMMARY: She's fucked in the head...
STATUS: Finished.

The Perfect Combination.

DISCLAIMER: I own the fic. Steal it and I rip your fucking head off. Written for a fic competition issued by Liberty Spiked for a fic containing darkness or light, so I wrote both. If you want to enter, go search her. She's here, somewhere.

I claim some of the lyrics here, but "Crawling In the Dark" is by Hoobastank, "Jaded" is by MEST and "Sunrise" is by The Who. Those I don't own. I don't own "Romeo And Juliet" by Shakespeare either.



"Candle light, burning bright..."

I wish. The light in my room is burning my eyes, but it's not a candle.

I wish it were. It's a horrible chrome lamp, cold and impersonal. Sitting on my desk is a collection of candles, new, dead and half burnt down. But none are lit now.

I want to turn off the light. My eyes are stinging and I can see nothing now but flying colours. It's impossibly bright, but if I turn off the light, it will be dark.

I might not like the light, but I hate the dark.

In fact, it's the both of them that I don't like. A Goth who hates the dark, but can't stand the light either. Hmm.

So the light goes off, and I quickly jump back on my bed before I can see what's going on.

You never know what creatures could be coming out from under your bed when the light goes off.

"Show me what is wrong, make me understand it, I've been crawling in the dark, looking for the answer..."

Groping the tabletop, I locate my lighter. Flick once. Nothing. Flick twice. A spark, but no flame. Flick three times. The warm flame licks upwards, making me move my face back. It's too bright, and the flying colours come back.

Excellent.

The flame makes its way across my collection of candles, each of them slowly lighting up.

The corner of the room with my desk in it is now burning brightly, but the rest of my room is dark.

It's both light and dark, neither and both. The combination is not perfect, however. Only a small corner of the room is light, while most of it is still dark.

"Blinded by the light..."

I don't know which is worse. Being blinded by the light, or swallowed by the dark.

You need the perfect combination of both. It's like the force. Being purely evil is almost impossible, but a tragedy when it happens. Being purely light is almost impossible as well. To be purely light and white, you must get rid of all feelings of hatred, jealousy, guilt, envy, greed, anger, fear, and above all...

Love. A Jedi cannot feel any of these emotions, not even love. Love for another person, passion or lust. These three things may separately be the driving forces of a man or woman with solely good intentions, but combined, they cloud the mind and taint the soul. They can ruin your life or enhance it, give you life, or take your breath away.

"You take away the breath I was keeping for sunrise..."

But there will be no sunrise in my drab room. The curtains are heavy and black, draped across the entire feature window. No light can get through, even though at 12:03am, there is no light.

There is no light there is no light there is no light there is no light - the chant goes through my head, prompting my mind to try and come up with a solution.

Candles aren't the only things that burn. Oils burn. Chemicals burn.

Nail polish and battery acid burn.

Hot wax is dripped over pieces of paper spread across the floor. The paper was originally a copy of Shakespeare's Romeo and Juliet, but now it's kindling.

Black nails polish is spilt across everything.

And my dead, leaky batteries pulled out of an old toy racecar are put in the middle.

One long, plain white candle is held over the concoction. The flame bends, being drawn towards the flammable elements.

Slowly, the wax drips out of the candle, pulling the flame with it.

The flame licks across the paper, growing as it goes through the wax, the nail polish, and the batteries.

The acrid smoke burns the back of my throat as the flames jump higher, making their way across the carpet, to my desk. My candles join in the merry burning of my room, and I stand silently, arms by my sides, my mouth slowly turning upwards in a smile.

It's the perfect combination of light and dark.

As will I be soon enough. Stupid me stood on the side of the room opposite the door, and now I'm trapped.

My exquisite fire. It's killing me.

But it's the perfect combination of light and dark. I'm not good, nor evil. I'm not dark or light. I'm not anything.

"Black and white and dark and light and calm and fight and wrong and right."

The perfect combination of heaven and hell. Just enough of both, with passion, love, lust, hatred, envy, guilt, jealousy, anger and black and white.

That's what life and death are to me.

"Not sorry and I'll never regret..."

The perfect combination.

THE END.
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