Generated Prompt #1

"A linguist, who is a perfectionist. A groomsman, who tends to get tongue tied. It's a family saga about the unreliability of truth. It kicks off in the woods with someone eavesdropping on a private conversation. (Note that: someone in the story was just released from a mental facility.)"

    Holding my breath for as long as I could, daring not to make even a slight sound, I closed my eyes, as if to focus all of my senses into hearing. I could not risk taking another step closer. The wet leaves and tangled fallen branches would only amplify my presence. The small breaths I did release created small, slow, dissipating clouds. In hushed voices two figures were arguing, so involved in their own bickering, they might not have even realized they weren't alone. I just could not be identified as an uninvited menace. Over the low whistle of the wind, and the small patter of raindrops, I could hear, "It's time to tell her. She needs to know."

    They exchanged one final glance between each other, the sort where one party leans forward slightly as if to imply, 'You know I'm right,' and the other's head bowed, eyes peering up, in silent agreement. I remained hidden among the brush, praying for my heart rate to slow itself, afraid that the pounding I heard in my ears would echo out into the now empty nest of trees. Perhaps my shivering would startle the figures, who seemed to think they were unaccompanied. I continued to stay crouched, hoping I would not have to reveal myself, as I heard footsteps shuffling away. The branches beneath their feet barely snapped as they made their ways out of the woods. When I assumed the path out to be clear, I carefully raised myself up from the mud, leaning on the tree for support, and let out every breath that I had just refused myself. I was practically gasping, appreciating the cold air that filled my lungs. I stumbled through the same slippery path, finally arriving to the soft glow of town lights. Only one question repeated itself in my mind, 'What do I need to know?'

    Typically, my mind would race; thoughts zoomed in and out with barely enough time to truly give each a thorough understanding. By the time an idea had truly formulated, I was already beginning another.  I leapt from notion to notion, like bees traveling through the garden. It felt almost impossible to not think. But after leaving the thick, cold woods, I only had one thing scarred into my head. 'It's time to tell her. She needs to know.' 

    I continued to pace my way into the warmth of my small home. Home: abode, residence, dwelling place. The four walls I managed to return to felt more like a vessel with no heart left beating, lifeless. The photos on the walls seemed to scorn and mock me, and flames cackled away in the in the fire place, a gaggle of laughs at my perceived foolishness. This home, a quaint house, no longer felt safe and familiar. I struggled to recognize features that my mind insisted that I knew. My legs, tired and weak, managed to make their way to an aged velvet sitting chair. I slumped, face in hands, and began to sob. I no longer felt that I knew, or remembered, anything. My mind sat, a mass of confusion and flesh, stuck in a vicious purgatory of unknown.

    This was the same home that only weeks prior, I had prayed to return to. I had previously been surrounded by a separate set of walls that seemed to choke my last breaths of life. The other walls were bare, cold, with chipped off-white paint. My given bed was stiff and offered me no sense of comfort, only long nights of restlessness. Doctors regularly made their way into my small room, and made clear there was to be no privacy. I was constantly monitored, watched, examined.  A hysterical breakdown had earned me my place in this long-suffering enclosure. My thoughts had a momentary victory of consuming me and I was unable to fight the demons that gnawed at my inner being. In Latin, the word demon stems from two different meanings. Daemon in itself meant 'deity' or 'genius'. However, daemonium is a 'lesser, or evil, spirit'. I was forced against the latter, and though they had no physical formation, they worked their way into my very core and chewed their way along my spine until they found home in my mind. I was theirs for the taking, although I did not present myself as sacrifice. I succumbed to their wicked whispers. My life, in which I had once placed great pride into and cherished, no longer felt viable. There seemed no reason to continue in agony, so I had made what I considered to be a dignified decision to release myself to the stars. My attempt proved futile, and thus, I was made to endure another "chance" at life, reborn into a hospital that provided no sense of peace, let alone an ounce of love or tenderness; only cold, unforgiving shame. 

    I found myself once again upon seeing my lover's face. As I stepped out of the hospital, unsure steps into a sky full of sunbeams, he held my hand, leading the way. In that moment, I felt peace. a reassurance that I was not alone. A caress of truth. A funny thing about the word truth: the English language does not hold a primary verb for the word truth, as we do "to lie". I had placed the entirety of my being into the large, callused hands of a man who urged me to leave the comfort of blending in and allow myself to take chances. We fell into romance quickly, and I allowed myself to drown in the waves of affection. But the drowning was unlike suffering, more so a blanket that covered every inch, wrapping me in relief and succor. I no longer feared walking alone, as I was given a partner to stand at my side. A teammate, an ally, a companion... my spouse to be. 

    I had my suspicions of this man, who appeared to woo any passerby to made eyes at him, but assured me that my thoughts were getting ahead of the truth. Perhaps it was the fact that his tongue spoke no charm to other parties, but his glancing eye was hard to let slip. Was I willingly allowing myself to be blind to this truth? Was I supposed to speak out on my jealousies? Or was I truly suffocating myself in my own insecurities? He had promised me the world, and who was I to look into his eyes and deny that his word held veracity. I had evolved from a broken home, and prayed every night for a person to liberate me from the shackles of my neglect. He seemed to appear at the threshold of my lostness; a lighthouse than shone onto a ocean that thrashed wildly, and I was swimming straight towards it. When he asked for my hand, I knew in every fiber that this was my destiny. Our souls were meant to merge, or whatever cliché fits the bill. The flicker he once held in his eye for me seemed to dim in the months leading to my involuntary stop-off. Maybe that was my tipping point; the love from the man who promised to love me for eternity seemed to dilute. I no longer held the title of 'enough' or 'worthy'. 

    My sobbing had dwindled to nothing but soft, pathetic whimpers as I pulled myself straight into the chair. The photographs no longer scorned me, but offered a quiet solace at my pitiful outburst.  The heat from the fire seemed to finally reach my numb limbs and encouraged me to stand and remove myself from my wallowing. And so I stood, knowing that I had to learn the unpleasant truth, no matter how unattractive or hideous it be. My feet certainly understood the mission, and before I knew it, they had carried me out of the house and to the uncertainty of the outside. I blinked and seemed to immediately have found myself at the home belonging to my betrothed's confidant. I raised my fist to knock, but lowered it slightly, wondering if I was truly ready and willing to hear that my anxiety rang true. But a rush of anger pushed my fist back up to the large wooden door. Knock knock knock.

    A pale, thin figure of a man answered the door. Sheepishly, he poked his head through the small gap, as if he wanted to keep a barrier between himself and this wild, angry woman who appeared at his doorstep. "He-hello? What b-brings you by, m-m-ma'am?" he asked nervously, his eyes refused to meet mine. "That depends," I responded crudely, honestly taken back by my own callous tone, "What is it I need to know?" The man stopped for a second in every entirety of the word; stopped breathing, blinking, moving, only coming back to life when he managed to swallow the large lump in his throat. His eyes fell to the ground, and I knew then he was stumbling to find the proper and correct, though not necessarily accurate, words to respond with. I refused to break my leer at his colorless face, like an animal rejecting the idea of backing down from a fight. He realized I had overheard his previous conversation inside what he thought was the refuge of the trees, the oaks he thought would preserve his secrets. He let out a defeated sigh and widened the door to allow me in.

    I kept a brisk pace as I passed him, as if to insist that I had shown up with courage, but all that strength had left my body as soon as the door had been opened.  I had forgotten my tenacity outside it seemed, because my legs became shaky and my heart raced. I invited myself to his divan, while he stood still in the doorway, arms crossed, eyes lowered. I extended my arm to point to the arm chair across from my sitting place, my mind begging him to take a seat, but my face reading as more of a demand. He carefully scuffled the floor before lowering himself into the chair. "What is it that you need to tell me," I questioned. His eyes darted across the room, searching for an answer to pacify me. 
"W-well. I suppose you p-picked up on the private conversation between my p-pal and me."
"I suppose I did," I hissed back. 
He glanced up at me momentarily, before slamming his eyes back to the ground. 
"You sure kn-know how to sneak around, don'tcha?"
"I suppose I do."
"Well, I-I-I don't know what y-you think I know, b-b-"
"Don't try to protect yourself," I interrupted, "Just please tell me the truth", softening my speech a bit, hoping if I showed some sense of vulnerability, we could get to the point quicker.

    He let out one last deep sigh, his exhale acted as a silent prayer that if he broke the news, it would remove me from his home and he could go back to the quietness of his night. And then he spoke. Quickly, without stuttering, only ill grammar, almost all in one breath. 
"I don't know how to say it other than this. Your man don't love you the way he used to. He don't know how to tell you himself. He thinks when you went off your rocker, everyone would look at him funny. He don't want a woman with 'woman problems', y'know? Someone with too many emotions. Thinks it makes him look bad. He really don't even wanna do the wedding anymore, thinks he's spending too much money. I mean, he doesn't want to do it for other reasons too," he paused and looked up for permission to carry on. This is the first time he truly looked at me, and I knew I had tears rimming my eyes. I could feel the sting, but I still nodded, granting that permission.
"Well," he continued, "When you were in the loon house, I'm sorry, I mean, uh, oh god I'm sorry, that's not a good name for it, the, uh, the hospital, y'know? He caught the eye of a lady in town. At first, he didn't think twice, but she was, y'know, persistent. Said he was good looking. And she wasn't a homely thing herself. I mean, I'm sorry, but she's beautiful, you know? And she seems educated. Smart. Said she was from out of town. Makes sense, I guess, we don't see a lot of people like her here." He didn't seem to acknowledge his offenses towards me, let alone his awful speech, but I had a weight sitting in my lap that refused to let me stand and leave so I wouldn't have to hear anymore. Maybe was the weight was my own conscious forcing me to listen to every damned word that man mumbled out, knowing I needed to hear the truth. 
    "Well, he's keen on her now. Took a liking to her. Took her on a few dinners. I told him you weren't going to be in that place forever, but he don't care, I guess. I'm sorry. It's not, well, it's not like... I mean you didn't, um, you didn't do nothing wrong, I guess?" almost as if he needed to ask me if he was correct in his words. "You were just real sad. Ain't a thing wrong with being sad, it just gets hard for some people, y'know? But ain't nothin wrong with being sad."

    Somehow, the man who could barely find his own words brought me goodwill, although he simultaneously broke my heart.  He relaxed his stance and breathed a sigh of relief, not so much for me, but because he was no longer tormented by an oath he did not want to be a member of. He looked sadly at me, hoping for some sort of forgiveness in telling me the truth. I wanted so badly to be angry at him, but he was simply the messenger. He stood, silently beckoning me to keep my emotions to myself, and I agreed as he led me to his door. I turned to face him, wanting to thank him for his offer at honesty, but upon meeting his sympathetic gaze, I cowered and left. 

    As I left the warmth of his house, and the glow of the lights began to fade, I realized I had not an idea where I was headed. I was lost, stardust with no direction. I could only go were my feet took me. The buzzing thoughts were quiet, almost silent, and the rain clouds had parted like curtains, allowing the beauty of the moon to beam down. And Lord, did she beam. The leaves of the trees reflected her beauty back towards her, and the chirps of crickets sang their love songs to her. The man I loved promised me the world, but that night, I decided I was worthy of the moon. I deserved what no man can just take and claim as his own. My craters and my dust were not faults, but wonders that someone will one day gaze upon in amazement, knowing that they aren't easily obtainable. I found myself in the woods, where hours previous, I prayed I wouldn't be found. It was then, standing under a silver moonlight, I once again prayed for no one to seek me out. For a different reason this time, though. I prayed that I could move silently through the trees, not disturbing the birds asleep in their nests. Not bothering the bugs who sang their ballads to each one another. I sat, propped against the strong trunk of a beautiful oak tree, staring up at the moon. And at that moment, I released myself to the stars.