Sparkles Adorning Destitution

The Duchess of Pain

  Story One: Sparkles Adorning Destitution

  By

  J. Niessen

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  Published By:

  The Duchess of Pain, Sparkles Adorning Destitution

  Copyright 2013 by J. Niessen

  Cover Page by J’s Art Emporium, Copyright 2013

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  This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are products of the author’s imagination and are used fictitiously.

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  Sparkles Adorning Destitution

  By Anonymous

  I’ve tried to forget about you, knowing today is not the appropriate time for us to be together. Ambitions to display my heartfelt affection are removed, by an occupation that distracts my mind from this certain type of focus. Physical improvement thwarts love’s sting. Deceit has set in, of being over you. Hope, to become involved in a carrying relationship with the love of my life is misled by pastimes, causing evasion of an evening for you and I to reunite. Repeated thoughts of developing a passionate connection with you have dissipated.

  We’re both older, yet still single now. I see you just last night, not by accident. My desires were set aside for so long, unaware I’d fall for you even harder this time. Giving in to these feelings brings excitement. Less than a week away is Valentine Day. The time until then is agonizing, holding my yearning expressions in confinement. The first greeting card I designed for you was meant to reflect the happiness you spread to others. Then, I wanted to be one of those friends you give your attention to at lunch time, after we’ve moved on from Junior High.

  Freshman year’s a depressing era in my educational years. It’s a place where you appear to naturally fit in, while I exist as someone seen by other students as an outsider. Hurt stems from this time; it’s difficult to relive those trying experiences in thought. Spreading contained sadness is not my intent. The aim of my writing is to mirror your magical presence. Reading this should stir delight, the way your joyous energy makes me feel.

  We’re halfway through the school year. I hope to offer something special for your Valentine’s Day present. Presuming your admirers will be lining up with endowments, the task will be a challenge to offer something that doesn’t fall short. With what I have saved I buy stickers, with patterns worn on your t-shirts; glitter (reflective of your makeup with a hint of sparkle to it); bright colorful construction paper; and shimmering foil. The written feelings I add complicate the project, insecure of having these shared sentiments becoming publicly known.

  Well, you look so happy when I see that after first period, someone sent flowers to your home room. And the offerings continue throughout the day. Hoping to slip the valentine into your locker, I hesitate from the risk of being seen, and dread ruining the delicate artwork. I withdraw, settling to return over the weekend to plant your custom-made-card. But before then something disrupts my agenda.

  The day after Valentine’s Day, Friday, on my way home from school, I find the saddest thing. In the afternoon, as I turn the street corner to a residential neighborhood, a group of junior high kids (with their school backpacks still on) are huddled around something. Getting closer I hear whimpering. It’s a small puppy, curled up against the curb of the sidewalk. Whispering as I crouch down “Everything will be all right” I carefully rescue him, then glance around to spot any outdoor neighbors. One home has two cars parked in the driveway, so I go knock on the door. A man answers. His hard look softens, seeing the helpless stray cuddled up in my arms.

  “Does this pup look familiar?” I ask, hoping he’ll respond without recollection so I can assume custody. My optimism dissipates from his detached response. “I seen that pup loose earlier this week. Neighbors keep ‘em penned in the backyard. Seems every day one of ‘em gets loose. Hell, once the whole lot of ‘em was out rompin’ the cul-de-sac.”

  “Which yard is it?” turning to his instruction that neighbor’s driveway is vacant.

  With time left to visit with my rescued friend I ask, “When do they usually get home?”

  “By five tonight, they should be back.”

  That gives me three hours to bring this adorable young one home and offer a warm bath, supply him with much needed nourishment, and to feel out Mom and Dad’s standpoint. Then afterwards, just maybe I can talk the neglective owners into releasing him for adoption.

  Things work out as I’d expected. Sometimes animals come into our lives for a reason. Hindsight reveals how inopportune it would have been for me to come forward with my feelings. You deserve the best in life. Monetarily I can’t offer you luxuries, making it impossible to adorn you in the ways I dream of. Awkward and unconfident moods develop. Disadvantage illustrates my underprivileged life, compared with my contenders who strive for your admiration.

  I name our new-family-addition after a personal, longtime Hollywood crush. That weekend is a cluster of chaos and exhaustion from the care and preparation involved with getting Drew situated. My focus to deliver your valentine is misplaced by tasks for Drew.

  He and I instantly form a close and personal bond. He’s my best friend, counting on me to come home and be there for him. All other prior concerns are forgotten. Having the best personality; family members think I boast as a proud owner about his good nature. Studies teach that the first three years are the most important, requiring an investment of daily training.

  Drew has so much energy and, as most dogs do, he loves to exercise. A year later he’s fully grown. It’s a workout for me to keep pace with him on our daily runs. Waiting for him to tucker out, I think he pushes forward in anticipation for me to tire as well. His facial expressions and energetic excitement show his happiness when we’re out. After school I make sure he’s fed, and then taken out in the back yard to anxiously sniff around and mark territory. Coming back in he’s accustomed to the routine, racing to the pantry where his running harness is kept.

  Looking for new jogging routes I learn of one that the school’s track team takes. Drew and I challenge it every day. Noticing self-ambition, the coach approaches me in-between P.E. class one day. After a series of inquiries he motivates me to join in the afterschool training. There’s one stipulation I have. After completing the official steps, Drew is licensed as a service dog, making it possible to take him out on runs as part of track training. During our competitive school meets I’m afraid to glance up at the bleachers, imagining you there, staring at me.

  My athletic achievements earn me a local college scholarship. You move on and I don’t give it a second thought. Current events within the entertainment industry are the only reminder of distant feelings. Sometimes I see you and wonder how you’re doing, but heed giving in to the hold you had over me. Rather than focusing on disappointment, I avoid dwelling on the past, and evade reliving depressing emotions. Exercise makes me feel good.

  Reluctantly it’s time for me to share the latter half of this story. Drew was having difficulty moving around when I got back home one day. I took him to the vet, where they do a series of
tests. Studies reveal that a heart murmur ails my best friend. The veterinarian doctors could operate, but they advise that there’s little chance of success. Without the operation they say my faithful companion could have only a few weeks to live. Would you allow them to practice on your loved one, so they may learn from the procedure and better results for future patients? Seeing in his struggling eyes he’ll never be his chipper self again, I have to let him go.

  Sadness eats away at me. I drive out lonely silence with music to ease the heartache. Your voice over the stereo motivates me to release pent up feelings, hearing you speak now so honestly in your lyrics. The passion that follows is a result of your inspiration. I know these words can never compare to your professional talent. I write without restraint, believing the admiration will be kept in secret; and I do this out of necessity, having no one to confide in:

  The life that’s dying consumes. And when that life is gone I want to leave, but I recall the feelings in your voice when you are at your happiest, before the sadness taints your heart. I come back from December to remind you of your inner beauty and strength.

  If you could only see that smile you desire to see, could come from me, you won’t ever have to cry alone, once we promise to always respect and endorse one another.

  From the hurt that you’ve been going through; you should never have to feel such sorrow. Extending all I have to reach you, take a hold of my rescue, and pull up out of the sinkhole.

  Absent from your voice, is the part they stripped away. Can that excitement be restored, by inspiring a song I believe you can play? I want you to learn, you’ll never be invisible to me.

  We (when they see us they’ll believe) are the lucky ones, from a story that’s so pure and true. Warning sounds screech only from a nightmare, a dream of us never meeting.

  When you wake up, I’ll always be close beside you, so you can see, in my smile and my eyes, (or just through heartfelt thought) how lucky I know I am, to be a part of your life. And when you awake, you’ll understand by my knowing smile that I need you as my shining light.

  Would it make you feel better to tell me what has hurt you, in the times when I wasn’t around? It’s breaking me down, knowing I wasn’t there to ease this growing heartache.

  That memory you cling to, involving a love that’s always absent, is something I hope to keep away. The thought of your last kiss, I promise to replace, by the first one of ours.

  Taylor, yours is the name I hold in my heart just for this.

  Preconceived expectations tarnish progression of a relationship. How can two separate worlds such as ours coexist, when one is driven by success, with statistical gain and popularity, while the other lives through: sacrifice, needs of dependency, and separation from the norm?

  Preconceived notions cause hesitation, assuming you may push for desired turnaround.

  Partnership requires sacrifice, killing portions of the old, and forcing an opening of the heart. Doubt tells, “They only act the part to draw you in.” Trust is the most difficult measure. Yet why is it that in alternate scenarios (involving acquaintances) that trust is so easily given?

  This sense that we belong together is not centered on lust. Those asking in good humor who I would want to be with are shallow, dwelling only on physical looks and worldly status, rather than the deeper part of attraction. You draw me by your sensitivity. The feelings you inspire, transcend aspirations. Evil people visualize wicked acts. Repulsive to me is the imagery of tainting pureness. Backward is the world where this mentality is promoted with appeal.

  I agonize over hearing others put you down for your failed relationships. Takers will challenge your integrity. It’s not your fault that they are the self-centered individuals involved.

  Examining the product of a person’s success is my greatest motivational drive. Apprehension clues that this content I have written may supersede other personal works. The precautionary portion of my mind, advising in the concealment of emotions, suggests this collection should be placed on hold, so readers may consume alternate creations from my mind.

  Ascertaining greatness is admirable to an extent. My viewpoints lead me to believe that fame should be used to bless others. When considering the monetary wealth that public success offers, worldly achievements are less desirable. I hope to better the disadvantaged.

  Is there anyone in this world who can associate with the amount of sadness killing my spirits now? Analyzing personal levels of distress I fathom a sorrow greater than mine. When a father and mother must stand idly by, as their innocent son is tortured and brutalized, this must be the worst anguish imaginable. They know that the end to their child’s inhumane suffering can only come from predetermined results. The Father believes that when death surmounts it brings not eternal departure, but is the path to homecoming. Then Father and Son may reunite after 33 years of separation.