Above ground and more confident, pacing quickly away and up the sodden streets. Stale subway air washing from his face, elated and euphoric to be free from the bitch. Unable to stop thinking of her sat by herself on the train; she looked like she was going to cry.

Caged, claustrophia giving way to the inevetible split. Somehow disturbed by the thought that she'll be trying not to cry as she rides where the cell phones don't work. Rain washing down his face, tastes of hair gel. A random thought takes him from how noone would be able to see anyone crying above ground, and the sickening reality that they wouldn't care to see anyway.

In ten minutes she should be above ground too. Best leave it half an hour before calling then.

***

Love and Hate = Guilt.

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Nancy leaned back on the autumn-dry grass near the river, and looked out over the commons. Behind her and upriver 9 kids her age were racing around shouting, playing some silly game. If she hadn't been forbidden to cross the river, she'd be in the forest now, and wouldn't have to listen to them squealing like animals. As long as they didn't bother her there'd be no more trouble. Nancy adjusted her ceremonial knife in its sling, and grinned humourlessly. There was one at least who would think twice about trying to beat up her little brother again. The grin vanished from her face and was replaced by her usual bored look when she noticed Keffri wandering nervously towards her, favouring one leg a little. That one kept talking at her, nearly every day, almost as if she expected Nancy to care enough about what she was saying to learn the local language. Keffri crouched just out of reach and gabbled something; a greeting and her name were all that Nancy could pick out. Nancy glanced at her without moving her head, then continued staring across the river, keeping Keffri visible out of the corner of her eye.

Maybe she should chase Keffri away this time. She certainly looked as if she would bolt if Nancy so much as twitched--she also looked as if she had plenty of experience with trying to keep out of the way of bigger kids. Not always successfully, to judge by the day-old bruise on her thigh. Keffri's voice washed over her like the water over the rocks, gaining confidence as Nancy didn't move to chase her away. It really wasn't worth the effort. The powers that be - also known as her adopted parents - might decide she needed to stay on this side of the river even longer if she did. Keffri sat down, getting more comfortable on the ground. A few words, mostly names, were all Nancy could pick out of the torrent. River, commons, children, hurt. Knife. Now there was a word she had heard a fair few times over the last two days, usually in conjunction with her name. The stupid towny was looking nervously at Nancy's knife, almost as if she thought Nancy might attack her, unprovoked. Nancy jerked her head around and stared at Keffri, who responded with a quite satisfactory gasp and tensing of muscles. Nancy fought a laugh, the sound finally bursting out as a snort, and she turned back to face the river. Keffri's knuckles gradually regained their colour as she released her grip on the turf, and her gabbling started again. Why didn't she just go play with the other townies?

-j

--
Who needs to be big and burly when you can just apply physics?

The emotions we admit to aren't always the emotions that we feel - fear and anger are a very common real/admitted emotion pair.

This strikes me as more of the Psychotic Pseudoscience that pervades our current educational environment and thus our university-educated "elite". (Psychotic Pseudoscience [A phrase I just invented, but have been seeking for years, I like it and think I will keep it.] is that collection of "Sciences" which by their name purport to be about the spirit [psych(o) is a prefix meaning "related to or having to do with the spirit"] but start out by denying the existence of a spirit. IOTW, Psycho-logy, Psycho-iatry, Psycho-analysys.)

Change "admit to" to "display" in the above quote and you are closer to the mark. More on this below.

People often lie to themselves about what they're really feeling, especially for pairs like fear and anger

Change "themselves" to "others" and it is closer to real life.

almost nobody likes to admit that they're afraid.

Quite possibly true, but this is most likely to end up in a situation where their actions are fearful but when pressed they will say something like "What, me afraid?".

Some common pairs could be: fear and anger,

These common pairs actually modify one another. For instance: a person that is angry but afraid to show the anger will, depending on the relative strengths of the anger and fear, show resentment, be resentful but not show it, completely hide the anger/hostility and pretend to be friendly and helpful while secretly working for the destruction of the other.

anger and hatred,

These are related, but I can't articulate the relationship at the moment.

fear and shame,

Actually shame is often, but not necessarily, an offshoot of fear (fear of consequences). On second thought, strike that "not necessarily".

passion and love,

If by "passion" you mean sexual desire (lust), and by "love" you mean "a desire to be with the other person as much as possible and a strong interest in their well-being", then passion often masquerades as love.

loneliness and despair,

Actually, loneliness can be a contributing factor to despair (a feeling that things are horrible and that nothing can be done about it). The loneliness is not likely to be exhibited, whereas the despair might be.

or even love and hate.

A selfish desire for the company of the other, masquerading as "love", might turn to hate (or be mixed with hate) if rejected. Or the "love", real or pretended, might cause one to pretend hate in the face of rejection. Or the "love" might conceal the fear/hostility mixture I mentioned above.

For this reason I am not going to attempt the exercise that Janra suggested. Rather, I am going to use her example and turn it into an exercise of describing the same scene from various viewpoints. This is an exercise suggested by Jessica Page Morrell on her page "Point of View".

--
Someday I may have a .sig :)

There were times I would have given everything if she'd loved me. There were other times when I would have died to love her. We've known each other pretty well for a while, working together, exchanging ideas, helping each other. Knowing complementary things helps with the collaboration. And there she is, next to me, waiting for the music to begin. My wanting to want her, and my wanting to be wanted by her had happened at the same time, and in a marvel of synchronicity, there was a concert coming up. So I asked her. Her wanting to be with me seemed to be high that day, and here we are. It's not about giving everything, of course, or about dying.

It's about living, finite people that we are. It's about daring to be someone different. About not being so fragile that stress like this can split us into pieces. Or about assembling the resulting committees to meet, all together, in one place at one appointed time, and negotiate a way to become one again. And about trying to get the little kid in the corner, wailing wordlessly, to bargain in good faith. There is no script for such a date... So we follow the normal scripts, nothing happens, and we're back to being alone in our fragmentation again.

Is fear more than just love wilted, dried, pressed between waxed paper in the big dictionary?

Exploring dark places since last Thursday