Drit-Writing

I! Write as a hobby sometimes! It goes okay

[drit-writing]

I write over on Wattpad (cringe I’m sorry) over on @ Dritten170 You can get the privilege of reading my super edgy middle school writing, and also some writing I’m actually proud of. My pride and joy is The Feather Trials (that I haven’t updated in months because it’s all drafted in Google docs).

Anyway, I’ll start posting some writing here too, but probably not whole chapters because they’re long. If anyone reads anything of mine, I’ll give them kiss kiss

[drit-writing]

Definitely didn’t miss like a year because I got busy and then I got sad. Errm. Also I’ve been journaling using an app instead of actively challenging myself to write everyday, but I’ve been writing waaay more doing that.

Anyway. Here’s my (slightly edited) journal entry from today. I want to pick up writing more, but I’ll probably be cross posting my journal entries because they are looong.

I always go back to feeling like I’m leaking tar out of the spaces of my ribcage. That I’m always leaking out love and care and attention, that I’m constantly losing more than I can get and it’s killing me so agonizingly slowly. It seeps out of the corners of my eyes and my mouth and every breath I take shutters like a deer that’s been struck by a car. I’m a wounded animal and it never heals all the way because there’s another car. I live on the highway but it’s always been my home, I don’t know where the highway came from. All I know is get up and survive, lay down and ache and drip and bleed, then get up and push again because I have to get across. I have to keep going. Accepting a quick, but harsh death is not what fate has for me. It is too cruel. I must live first, and love, laugh be happy. I will enjoy myself and dance between the cars before they hit me again. I have to keep going.

[drit-writing]

okay so I forgot yesterday BUT I’m TRYING and that’s what counts. This one I did naturally within conversation because my bf provided an opportunity and I couldn’t help myself. Day 5 slay:

What? I’m not allowed to be attracted to you? Will you next criticize when I stop to look at the sunset? When I pause to cup a flower in my hand? Is it such a crime to love so wholly?

- (11/30/23 In response to my boyfriend’s teasing, which in hindsight was perhaps too melodramatic for the silly conversation we were having.)

[drit-writing]

so I may have skipped a week (IT WAS THANKSGIVING I NEEDED A BREAK) but I’m back for day 4 (:!! I feel the exhaustion pulling at my seams and yet I keep moving forward. I love college. Anyway, today’s writing:

I often forget how vital being creative is to the human experience. Even just a little bit. A stick figure, a finger painting, one new sentence, a whole imaginary scenario, anything counts. I forget how much my brain craves being creative, especially with school stifling creativity in favor of uniformity. Anyway, being creative is like being on crack without the withdrawal.

- (11/28/23 I got to be creative for one of my classes, and it’s the first time I really sat down and created in months. The dopamine hit was immense.)

[drit-writing]

Day 3! Slay! Baby steps, I suppose. I forget how good writing, and being creative in general, feels. I’m starting an outline for one of my final projects that I (basically) have complete creative freedom over- and it feels so good.

Up late at night trying desperately to focus on my developmental psychology textbook as I learn about the brain parts for uptillionth time (really, it’s only the second). And I realize that our older brain, the more “animalistic” one, is the one that’s emotion-based. Sure, our special human brain also deals with emotion, but the animal part? That’s what it lives and breathes. And what does that mean for us, for our early ancestors? Did they love as deeply as we did, experience grief and happiness and fear in all the same ways? Do other mammals, birds, fish, bugs- do they have that capability somewhere?

- (11/19/23 Wrote half-asleep reading my psych textbook talk about how the limbic system,the older parts of the brain, is what’s mainly responsible for emotion)

[drit-writing]

Day number 2 baby! I am on a roll! (And delusional, but perhaps I will stick with this for once)

There’s something impossibly defiant about long-distance relationships. I look up at the moon and it is, but isn’t quite, the same moon as what my partner sees. And there’s a silent challenge to the moon, to the universe, to whatever is out there; if I can love from so far away, what can’t I do?

- (11/18/23 I love my boyfriend and yet I achingly miss him at the same time.)

[pukicho]

Puki will you leave tumblr because everyone’s acting like it’s dead now :(

oh yeah its SO dead.

1000 notes this post. Now

[pukicho]

that took 3 minutes.

[pasta-yy]

i literally fucking blinked and this shit happened istg y’all are insane—

[pukicho]

Fuck it. Spread this post to every nook and cranny on tumblr. Prove to everyone that this site is ALIVE and FLOURISHING and that it will last for fucking DECADES

[drit-writing]

I’m starting a little writing exercise where I write down one thing that I felt or made me feel a day. Or I’m trying to, it’s harder to write organically when I force myself. It’s in my notes app so expect some angst on occasion. Here’s todays:

I take all this time looking at the beautiful things. The lights, the flowers, the books, the art. Take me to a field and I could name a hundred beautiful things, but not once would I name myself. Is my very existence not art; the art of being? Must I create to be remembered, to be loved?

- (11/17/23 I finished I Fell in Love With Hope again and it does things to my brain chemistry)

[drit-writing]

To call my note taking/researching method chaotic would be an understatement (see attached photo). In other news, I’m polishing up a short story that I recently wrote in honor of moving across the country for college. Joyous days.

[drit-writing]

I just had an awful awful evil nightmare and I spent 30 minutes describing it to my bf so I’m posting it because I put the tiniest amount of effort in. There are worms (parasite kind) so be cautious. Also apologizes for formatting, mobile is not kind to me.

There was this guy who drove a minivan down to this super run down pier. It looked like an old fairgrounds with graffiti all over, complete with a rusty Ferris wheel- also graffitied- slowly swaying in the wind.

The fairgrounds wasn’t abandoned by any means though, there were a bunch of people. Under the docks on the actual beach there were a couple people arguing over the price of some drugs, and it ended with a knife fight of sorts. There were people rummaging around in old food stalls and sleeping on shut-down attractions.

Anyway, the man parks and gets out. He also gets this little girl out of the back. They start walking down and it’s clear the man is the father, but he doesn’t super like the girl. He cares enough to lie to her about all the drunk/passed out/possibly dead people as “taking a nap” but doesn’t care enough to not bring her here.

They stop at this stall that must have been a petting zoo at some point because there’s a fenced-off grassy area to the side. Some scrap material was cobbled together to make a sort of stable out of it, with each slot having a dirty looking baby doll on a small blanket. There’s an old woman who greets the man as he approaches in a flirty sort of way- they know each other well and he’s been here before.

As a little tangent this woman is CREEPY AS FUCK. She has this bug-eyed look to her (not literal bug eyes, but they look too big for her small, sunken face). There’s a cigarette in her mouth that she’s more chewing than smoking. She’s clasping her right hand over her left wrist constantly, and her left pointer finger is always pointed out. This woman is pretty much all bones, so it gives an ET look to her finger. The pad of her pointer finger has some red on it- it’s too bright to be blood but it’s hard to tell what it is. Her veins on the left arm are also darker than her other arm.

Back to the plot, the father/daughter approach the woman, who greets in a flirty/coy manner. The man responds in a similar way, not to say he’s interested, but like she has something he wants. The woman chews on her cigarette as they make small talk, and the daughter hides behind the father’s leg.

Finally the woman gestures over to the dolls and asks “buying or returning?”

“Just returning a few,” the man replies.

“A few? No big haul?” The woman asks, taking a few steps towards him. He takes a couple steps back, almost tripping over his daughter, “Nine returns.”

At this, the woman nods and gestures for the pair to follow her. They go into the stall and sit on some rotting wooden chairs. The man and woman talk some more, and the girl gets shooed off into the chained fence area. Once the girl is gone, the woman smiles (and is missing a few teeth) and sits closer to the man. He tenses up, but doesn’t move away. She shows the pad of her finger to the man and says in a loving way “I finally got it to stick.”

“Sorry, got what to stick?”

“The eggs! They actually hatched, and they’re already growing.”

The man squints at the finger, not wanting to get closer, and there’s this kind of zoom in effect in the dream. Anywhere there’s red on this woman’s finger there’s small sharp barbs leaking this strange liquid. Beyond that, there’s something dark in her veins clearly moving- squirming.

The man scoots the chair away from the woman, but tries to look relaxed. She’s still smiling, clearly not sensing his discomfort, “I can’t wait to finally start that family we’ve been talking about.”

At this, some of the “dolls” in the grassy area wake up and start crying. The man shifts in his chair and glances at the doorway where a few annoyed people pass by.

“I haven’t been able to take care of them since the eggs, I didn’t want to start until you were here,” the woman continues. She stands at this point, and the man does too. He drops the relaxed act and stammers about needing to get the rest of the “returns” and needing his payment, but the woman just talks over him.

“Soon we’ll have children everywhere! And I really want you to be the first.”

She reaches out with her pointer finger and rubs the pad across some exposed skin. There’s a sharp prick to initial contact that turns into a scratch when the woman moves her finger. Immediately after there’s a burning sensation and the man starts screaming.

I woke up here but probably worse things happened after.

[drit-writing]

Here’s a snippet from my latest short story that I wrote in a 3 hour creative/edgy haze:

"In a way," she sighed. "I assumed no one would miss me." The deer-skulled man listened as the two walked, his head cocked towards the girl. Dew-speckled grass grazed against her bare feet, but there were no chirping crickets this dawn. She walked tenderly but not unconfidently, as if she were worried about the grass. The resonating silence echoed between the pair, impatiently urging them onward.

It’s titled Daybreak, and vaguely edited. I dunno, I tried to put in more emotion than usual so I didn’t want to change things around too much. The full thing is on my Wattpad.

Short Stories - Daybreak

Read Daybreak from the story Short Stories by Dritten170 (Dritten ) with 4 reads. shortstory, fantasy, realisticfiction...