Forgotten Memories

I want to remember; to be remembered.

[kioku-no-kakera]

Curiosity, as killed by the cat.

Originally posted as a r/writingprompts response.

The first thing that comes upon his senses is that it's bright. The next thing he notices is the sound emanating from his backyard, through the paper-thin walls of a well-worn house.

Curiosity has always been killed by cats, here. Not to mention his lungs, considering he's deathly allergic to mundane, not-curiosity-killing cats anyway.

He's lived all twenty-nine years of his life in this very house. His parents are away on vacation, to that one beach they've always been to. Careful of never possessing too much curiosity - they want to see their son married and hug the grandkids, after all. They want to be here.

And so does he. Well kind of, really. He'd been working that one paper-pushing job ever since he got out of college with that degree of his, whatever it was. Well many jobs, anyway - they all just seem the same since he does the same thing wherever he goes. He just exists, and is careful not to let death - curiosity, he means - get the better of him, for that is what he was taught, and that is how he has lived by.

But something within him stirs tonight. Perhaps it has all come to a head - curiosity isn't quite something that can be extinguished by will. It is human nature to wonder, to ponder, and perhaps even to investigate. After all, he has nothing to lose. He's never gotten anywhere past a few dates, much less anywhere near fulfilling his parents' child-raising-life long wishes. Work means nothing much to him besides helping to contribute to his parents' household. And he's boring - life is boring. It is all too boring if you keep playing it safe.

He peers out the window, and the light is still glowing, beckoning, somehow. He can't quite make out what it is, but it's there for sure, whatever it is.

It takes him ten paces to get to his bedroom door, a slight twist of his wrist to open the door and pull it back, eight paces to the staircase landing, and thirty-three steps down to the first floor. There is no turning back, he realises part-way through his pilgrimage. His feet hit the bottom of the stairs, and he takes another twenty-odd steps to get to the back door. Another flick of the wrist to open it, and there he is. And there it is.

Sharing the same air and plane of existence. It's not something he can fully comprehend, or describe, really - a glowing mass that's constantly moving and shifting its form.

He takes another few paces to reach it, possessed by a feeling he's never quite felt before. He wants to know what it is. Why it is. Where - how - questions that never quite manifested in such rapid succession before.

He is now close enough to touch the *thing*. To connect with it and perhaps comprehend it with yet another one of his senses.

And so he does. A particular sensation comes upon him, euphoric and pleasurable in nature. One might perhaps mistaken it as orgasmic, but it is not quite so carnal in nature. Or is it, considering the laws of the universe?

Is curiosity, and the desire to know and understand so very sinful?

Perhaps it is, but that is not something he gets the luxury of wondering about as the bright thing metamorphoses yet again, taking on a form he was taught from young to dread.

He doesn't notice, anyway, as claws and fangs sink into his pudgy human flesh, for he is too overcome with bewilderment and wonder about the amorphous thing, and about the world at large.

And so yet again, curiosity has been killed by the cat.

[kioku-no-kakera]

sink

goodbye, darling; my dear fare thee well, take your leave and set sail away from me, away from this harbour i call myself there is no place for you here not anymore, my heart you carved in stone

a moor and its bindings— i was spellbound and trapped rusty nails loosen and the waves creep towards me how foolish i was; even a navigator was mislead by grotesque siren song

sinking ships do not again rise kelp and fibre intertwine i am rooted here lost amongst the coral a mermaid that never was

sullied pearls, they do not shine bright

[kioku-no-kakera]

mind and body

my body, carved from stone uninviting unrelenting unyielding

it will not submit— not to the likes of you, a heathen with no respect a thief with no remorse a destroyer with no restraint

my mind, bathed in tears resolute rebellious recalcitrant

i will not submit— not to anyone but myself

[kioku-no-kakera]

for the oceans care not who they claim waves of fury and indescribable pain

15072017

[kioku-no-kakera]

almost

"Stop it," Athena demands, "I’m not good enough — look."

She gestures at the bundle of papers, crumpled and unwanted.

By all means, the grades are acceptable. But acceptable is also synonymous to not good enough.

Just like her. But not her name.

Artemis’ mouth trembles, struggling to form rebuttals or attempt to shower placatory praise, but the outcome is always the same; her breath catches in her throat, she turns to look away. Part embarrassment, part denial.

Athena is right — academically speaking, Artemis is good, too good, even. And every time, no matter how hard Athena tries, Artemis is always out of her reach. Too far ahead, too brilliant, too, too, everything.

But obviously that isn’t the only thing that matters, is a concept that Artemis fails to convey. Perhaps it is her tone — seeping arrogance, or being emotionally incompetent — unable to , or maybe it’s them — the way they’ve all been programmed to care about grades, grades, grades and grades. As well as grades. That ultimately nothing else matters, because if you aren’t smart enough to be numerically relevant to grading systems, you aren’t worth anything.

But an eternity isolated at the top is lonely, and there is far too much time spent alone pondering how one even arrived there. And eventually, doubt settles in, oxygen deprivation dulling her senses. It is almost trance-like, the way she slips into her thoughts, and the ideas of the world she contrives while in this state are the only things that anchor her to the edge of the Earth.

"Athena. Please…" Artemis chokes, as her winged goddess claws at her torso.

She doesn’t respond — at least, not immediately; she doesn’t know how to.

She knows, she knows how hypocritical it is to dare claim that grades aren’t everything. That there is more to existence in this society than scholastic excellence. And it kills her inside, little by little, as Athena’s worth is overlooked by society.

But deviation from the norm isn’t acceptable. No matter how special or talented Athena is, there isn’t enough to compensate for lack of traditional academic finesse. No amount of code she spews from her fingertips can ever patch up the gaping holes in her report book.

She could try harder.

She needs to be more focused, less emphasis on her extraneous pursuits.

She can improve if she bucks up.

"All this work, and it all amounts to nothing. I d-don’t deserve to be wi- here- you."

The wolf runs her hands through the owl’s hair. She has no words to offer, for they are all empty and cruel. There is no escaping that fact, that she will never quite get to understand or experience flight and fall, for she has always been bound to the lands.

No amount of comfort or praise can even begin to compensate for years of being labelled as inadequate.

The motion is mechanical, but Athena still finds comfort in repetition. If anything, it is still a mark of her worth, her existence, and her reason.

Tangible. Present. Loved. But musical logic does not quite apply to real life. Happiness here is not what myths and fables speak of.

Eventually the sobs quieten, but their bodies still shudder from emotion. The struggle drains, and they exhaust themselves as reality overpowers dreams.

Even in silence, there is no escape, no denying that this world is cruel and broken and blind.

There is no respite from this madness.

[kioku-no-kakera]

experiments #004

yoU - And i - we fiT ToGeTher, snUG And seCUre. And noThinG will breAk Us ApArT As yoU move To envelop me wiThin yoU, oUr formATion UniqUe And isolATed. iT is noT AboUT The fiTTinG of phAlliC AppendAGes wiThin yoniC. iT is AboUT Us, The CArvinG of individUAl spACes wiThin soCieTy ThAT ACCepT The niChe fUnCTion we plAy, To ACCepT ThAT in This Cell we CAll soCieTy, noT everyone hAs wAlls To proTeCT Them, ThAT noT everyone CAn overCome phobiAs, And ThAT someone - someThinG - sTill needs To fill in for The resT, Unseen, Under-AppreCiATed, bUT neverTheless neCessAry. individUAl spACes, ThAT meld ToGeTher To form blUrry silhoUeTTes of liGhT And love, A disTAnT mUTATion of The noTion of A fAmiliAl nUCleUs. my eyes beTrAy me.

mAybe some of Us Are ConTenT wiTh beinG iGnored, CAsT oUT in fAvoUr of The people who fiT An oUTdATed, ConservATive, Cis heTeronormATive Theory, ThAT whAT sTiCks oUT mUsT Go in AnoTher, hiGhly speCifiC orifiCe - bUT ThAT shoUld noT be The CAse. mATinG mAy be The ACT of prodUCinG offsprinG, bUT whAT of mAkinG love? A love ThAT TrAnsCends The Code ThAT ConTrols Us, ThAT breAks free of The lAbels And ConTAiners And boxes And prisons ThAT enCloses Us. i wAnT To be free, jUsT like Them, jUsT like The perfeCT CoUple, piCTUre perfeCT, ACCepTed, desired, Glorified, even.

bUT ThAT shoUldn’T be The CAse. i shoUldn’T need To ChAnGe The very mAke-Up of my self jUsT To sUrvive. i shoUldn’T need To breAk bones, breAk bonds, breAk promises To breAk bArriers, breAk GlAss CeilinGs, breAk expeCTATions.

i shoUldn’T need To lyse whAT liTTle frAGmenTs of myself i hAve lefT.

And The folds ThAT mAke Up oneself, lAyers And lAyers of heliCes And pleATed sheeTs Upon one AnoTher, woven in blood And sweAT And TeArs And emoTion - is ThAT All worTh ThrowinG AwAy, All for The sAke of ConforminG?

The Answer esCApes me, And dArkness ConsUmes me AGAin As i feel myself frAGmenTinG inTo pieCes, A melTinG poT of despAir And helplessness And iT feels As if i Am broken, denied of idenTiTy, repUrposed inTo A million differenT beinGs wiTh differenT expeCTATions of my body. expeCTATions ThAT i CAnnoT possibly fUlfil.

i did noT TrUsT yoU wiTh my body jUsT To hAve iT wiTher AwAy in yoUr Arms.

[kioku-no-kakera]

experiments #003

The melody dies on my tongue, once again denied of release - I yearn to tell you, to whisper my desires as your attention is focused on me. I am selfish, and my lust for you is unyielding.

And yet, as I lean in, ready to spew at you what little emotion I have left, the ego painstakingly built up within me wilts, and we are both left hanging, unsure of what next to say.

Even then, subconsciously, I am grateful for my cowardice - how could I ever know what to expect from you? Would remaining unknowing be kinder than ruining what little tolerance you have for me?

I don't know.

Maybe I don’t want to know. Or I can’t possibly know. Because all you are to me is an enigma that draws me in, and I know not of how to pre-empt anything involving you.

And so, I stall, quietly choosing to bask in your presence instead, soaking up the calmness and peace you exude. The chaos within me is tamed, swirling nebulae of unknown emotion coming to rest as your presence grounds my thoughts.

You make me feel safe, as if you care enough to protect me - but I know you don’t. I’m nothing special, just another person briefly involved with you, forgettable and painfully insignificant. Nor am I worthy of anyone’s attention - your attention - I’m so painfully average, an overpriced bundle of broken bits and a prime long past - unseen, unwanted, undesirable.

The song continues on, hollow reverberations of stolen emotion echoing around us.

Does it sound strange to you, that for once I have been silenced by indecision? Does it sound strange to you, that I can’t speak of the future without my voice wavering with yearning? Does it sound strange to you, that all I can verbalise are my insecurities and how I’m not worth anyone’s time? Does it sound strange to you, that the only laugh I afford you is the one most joyous and carefree sound I can produce?

I know you aren’t deaf to emotion — you’re far more than that, but are you listening, listening to me? Messages masked by static noise, desire stifled by howling winds, voice stolen by eternal regrets.

If only you could hear me.

[kioku-no-kakera]

my words, they die premature, rasping as the ghosts of emotion dissipate into the air.

i... i can’t write, anymore.

[kioku-no-kakera]

corpora coelestia

i am always half-way across the world to you, and i swear sometimes i can almost reach across the skies

a little closer, a little closer, and perhaps we can touch

and yet, i wax as you wane, our existences contrary to each other

and the stars, somehow, they feel me, and they taunt us both, littering the cosmos with their presence

for they are everything between us that we can never be

and even as i ponder, the cycle continues, our lives sempiternally yearn for the other

my eyes close, and i can almost see you before me

[kioku-no-kakera]

‘Let them in.’ The Queen’s Commonwealth Essay Entry (Senior Category Bronze) 2016

A headscarf flutters in the sea breeze, its tattered ends lashing wildly against its bearer. Her face is veiled, as is her soul, against your eyes that gaze upon her robed form, emotion flashes across your face, and she knows not if it is out of pity for her people, or if it is out of disgust for their presence on your lands.

That girl is me.

Our paths cross for just a fraction of a second, and yet, the impression lasts forever more. You gaze upon me as if I am different from you, something of another species, another country, another religion, another…

I am you, as much as you are me — the elements, the compounds, the cells that compose us — are they not the same? I am as human as you are, and yet when you chose to construct walls that never should have been, when you chose to tear us apart, when you chose to not recognise us; you choose to divide.

You choose to draw a distinction between refugee and citizen and not just see you and me as fellow humans.

You choose to define me, my people, as them, and you and your people as us; when in reality there is only you and me and anyone and everyone in between — us — homo sapiens — mankind — humanity.

To be the other, the alien, the unwanted — to let them in, to let us in, what am I supposed to make of this? And I wonder, why I chose to leave, to subject myself to this indignity and pain, to have come so far to be greeted with misery of a different sort, bestowed upon me by you — my kin. To have come so far to escape calamity, only to be thrust into a whirlpool of shame, confusion, and disgrace. And I wonder, if I should have stayed, to perish in the lands I call my own. Should I have stood my ground, on earth riddled with shells and debris, strong and proud, veiled in flame and smoke and humanity’s tears?

Regardless, the journey across the seas has been embarked on. Not just by me, but by others — those who make it, and those who fall prey to the seas. The seas consume all — a hydra and its trifurcated stomachs, nibbling, snapping, wolfing down what little energy and optimism we have left. The waves are unforgiving, crashing, slamming, and with each step I take towards hope — or what I hope is hope — my strength, my will, my resolve… it seems to all ebb away.

Just what can one human, so powerless, so vulnerable, do against the might of the sacred seas?

But maybe you, you who has the power to change things, can. Each voice and each vote counts, and maybe it will one day be enough. Enough to save me — give me a beacon, an anchor, a buoy — just a little bit is enough. A little help, a little acceptance is enough to carry on for just a bit more.

The seas are not unfamiliar to me. I have survived the beast once, and once, is one too many times too much. Even so, I’ll take it head-on again, a plunge, face-first into unfriendly waters. I have to, anyway — the boat is sinking — I am sinking — we are sinking.

The waters rise to claim me, its grip cold, unrelenting. It yearns for me, as much as I yearn for freedom — acceptance. It floods in and surrounds me, a hydration shell suffocating its ions, clawing at my soul, pushing me, demanding I change for it, not just to become a shadow of who and what I am, but to not exist, to stop being a disturbance in an otherwise stable system.

I am all but a broken vessel, at the mercy of the seas — the waves, they come upon me — their strength overwhelms, and I feel as if… as if I am sinking — water, hatred; reeds, violence. Murkiness clouds my vision — I can’t tell if it’s mud, blood, or a cocktail full of delusion and violence and all things broken and shattered. But it feels so much like… home — a home so far away, so empty, decimated, but mine.

I gasp. I breathe. I choke.

Do you see me, the lone figure fading in the distance?

Do you hear me, my cries for mercy as it taints the silence of normalcy?

Do you feel me, as you push past me, push me down?

And if you do, do not just pass me by, but look me in the eye. Look me in the eye, and see, that I am just like any other person on the street, seeking hope, seeking purpose, seeking salvation; that I am just as human as anyone of you.

But you don’t, and it’s suffocating.

The pain, it overwhelms — respite is nowhere to be found. There is nowhere to go, nowhere to return to, not when my home is host to the scum of the earth, and not when you — my kin — have forsaken me.

A whirlpool of emotion — you push me away, and alone, I drown. There is no escape, no salvation, no respite from this catastrophe. The waters of uncertainty surround me, waiting, waiting, waiting for me to fall apart, to drift into the depths, where light - hope - fails to reach us, where my hopes and dreams subside into nothingness.

It is all too much. And yet, my spirit persists — and I struggle, valiant and futile as it may be. The surface — salvation — it is so, so tantalisingly close. Just a little more, and maybe I’ll be free; free from the prejudices that you hold against me; free from the madness that has overrun my home; free from being the other.

Again, heaven falls to Earth, and I float upwards, struggling towards the sky - trying to, at least. Accusations, legislation, prosecutions — they all come together to greet me as my vision fades and watery breaths catch in my lungs. In a sea of pain, I struggle to free myself from the reeds that hold me back, that trap me as you fly above, in the ever-changing clouds. And I wonder, if I am ever fated to catch up to you, ever to walk alongside you as equals, ever to be worthy of your attention, your respect, or even just your acknowledgement.

I am your brethren, as you are mine — humanity was never meant to be divided — and why should it be, now? No land nor sea should divide us, no skin nor hair should define us, nor should any lover or identity. My love for you is ever waxing, never waning; my love for you has no limits; my love for you is irrespective of who you are. I care for you, as much as any other person, and I wonder, why such a simple favour cannot be returned. Is loving our own people not what it means to be human?

It is not just enough to tolerate my presence on your lands, lands that I would have opened to you unflinchingly, undenyingly — we are one people, one race, one species, and there is no reason whatsoever for us to deny each other of such, such basic liberties, much less care and respect for our own kind on such a fundamental basis.

Is it so hard, to accept me, for me, for us?

Your voice… even if I fail to comprehend the words, the syllables, the vowels, the consonants that fall from your lips… I know, and I feel, what you mean to say — that I am not welcome here; that I am unwanted; that I am all but a burden to an already strained infrastructure; that I am not… one of you.

Is it because I hail from a lesser land, war-torn and shattered?

Or is it because you see only black and white, the myriad of shades in between lost to your perception?

Or is it because I am somehow, intrinsically lesser than you are?

But still, I persist, for there is nowhere to go but forward.

Forward, into a future that I hope will never repeat the present.

Forward, into a future that I hope you will accept me in.

Forward, into a future where I hope you will never have to go through what I have.

And in that future, I will fight. For me, for you, and for my people — your people. For a future, a peace everlasting, undying, unyielding.

Let me in, let us in, and understand, what it means to be one species, united.

[kioku-no-kakera]

experiments #002

Your presence, it seeps into me like champagne, subtle and intoxicating, never once cloying and suffocating. And I drink it in. I take it in, and it floods through my veins, a warmth rising throughout, the ghosts of touches that lingered too long - they come together in a rhapsody, a cocktail, nirvana for the addicted.

And that, I certainly am.

It’s too easy to get drunk on your presence, for it seems to be endless and unrelenting, and oh so sinful.

It isn’t just a slippery slope, but an all-too-reckless leap off a seaside cliff, uncaring of the agony crashing in will bring. For there you are, a sliver of a shadow, awaiting me at the end.

And so, I soar, if only for a heartbeat.

And then, pain, sweet pain. It envelopes my being, overwhelming.

The blackout isn’t so bad, to be honest - it’s just you and me and ourselves and our thoughts and I’m worried about so many things and you, you, you, you, and yo- I can’t breathe, I can’t think, and the thoughts, they overwhelm me and they refuse to let go and they’re pulling us apart, I don’t want to let go, don’t want to let go, but I do. And you do.

You’re slipping away from me, again. Your shadows dance across the skies, chaotically flitting across the ethereal oceans as I struggle towards the surface. The water, its drag holding me down, its surface tension trapping me within, weakness anchoring me in place.

Waves crash down, around and above me, and the only thing that keeps me striving towards the surface isn’t just you - it’s the idea that someday, we might be able to coexist; that someday, my struggle will end; that someday, that which glistens in my glasses is not poison.

And so, it is to this thought that I drink again, senses dulled, trapped in a sea of memories too suffocating to break out of chemically-infused delusions.

[kioku-no-kakera]

to the people who told me to calm down

aiming high was never about being able to do so, to achieve everything

aiming high was never not about pride, insecurity, an unearthly cocktail of self-deprecation and self-destruction

aiming high was never meant to be a reason to calm down because the only down you can go is right back to the bottom, beneath the sand and shores, beneath water and reefs, where the remains of those who sought to master nature’s beasts lie

aiming high was never about acknowledging how much it fucking hurts to ascend so close to nirvana only to plunge right back into the depths of the earth, unseen, unheard, unappreciated by none but the belly of a system so rigid and undeserving of the people who sacrifice themselves to fight it

aiming high was never quite about falling back on a safety net, a legislative trampoline just to feel better that i actually tried when it is, when all it is is an empty conciliatory hand-wave

aiming high was never to be better than you

aiming high was always about trying to be like you

[kioku-no-kakera]

experiments #001

You, your breaths echo mine, our inhalations, exhalations, a cyclical rhythm. There is no margin for error, no pauses for breaks. Each step, each breath counts. But it can never be counted upon to keep up forever. No dance is meant to last, in the way no being is infallible. But we try. Our voices, they do not harmonise; our steps, they do not fall right; our breaths, too desperate.

And then you fall. Your steps slow. You pause. You begin to fade. And I am alone again, echoes of past lives flitting around me, converging upon me. Their cries envelope my senses, and a silence, stagnation comes upon me. There is only me. There is no you. There never was any you, only a shadow of delusion, an image crafted from pixels, an unheard whisper.

The silence, my silence, it overwhelms, pregnant with yearning, desire, begging, screaming, tearing me apart. My silence is not silence. My silence is a cacophony of emotions, a discarded paint-stained palette, a dusty wardrobe of expired haute couture. It demands release, it demands attention, it demands love.

It demands you. It demands you; the you that was never quite there, an image flickering between dimensions, a hastily put-together photo album, a lost hair tie. You are - no, were - my everything, everything that bound me within my illusions, unintelligible, seductive siren song.

I begin to hyperventilate. It is but a touch of madness, a coping mechanism, a far-flung cry for hope, that someone can hear me, that someone will appear, that you are real, that if I breathe enough, it’ll make up for what we could have been, that it’ll break the silence.

My throat - dry, hoarse - it closes up on itself. I can no longer breathe, and I begin to fall apart, a book so worn and tattered, with the next flip of the page, my spine might just collapse. And I am but a book filled with lies and delusion, a chronology of self-deception residing within its depths.

And there is no-one to hear me crumble, no-one to catch the pages as they come loose, no-one to-

…breathe

[kioku-no-kakera]

and so(ng) - for Montage 2015 (or is it 2016?)

And so it resonates within me, a song of despair I’ve always sung - solitude, it burns icy-cold - a distant pain, so full of yearning - and I wonder, I wonder, if anaesthesia feels the same.

And so it resonates within me, a song of new beginnings I’m trying to sing, of hesitant pauses, fidgeting, badly executed attempts to smile, and I wonder, I wonder, if all it takes is autotune.

And so it resonates within me, a song of joy I never sung. Your hands, they reach out to me, so gentle, so strong. And I wonder, I wonder, if they’ll ever let go.

And so it resonates within me, a song of victory we sang together. Your voice, it calls out to me, mid-melody, your hands, they hold on to me, holding me up, your patience, unending, everlasting. And I wonder, I wonder, if I’ll ever fall again.

And so it resonates within me, a song of growth I sing with pride. The cold, left behind; all-encompassing warmth fills me, and the smiles come naturally. And I wonder, I wonder, if I could’ve done it myself.

And so it resonates within me, a song of mourning I cannot bear to sing. My grief - it overwhelms, and in song I drown, and the oceans swell up to part us. And I wonder, I wonder, if we’ll ever meet again.

And so it resonates within me, a song I’d once heard before. Your hands, now leathery, they reach for me once again. And I wonder, I wonder, if eternity will never end.

A/N: I figured I should post this first, to tie up one of the many loose ends before I graduate. Montage will be distributed next year.

[kioku-no-kakera]

a-24-z: Zest

To a boring and pathetic life, she added flavour. A flavour so rich and sinful one could not bear to stop tasting.

She was the stars in his sky, the flowers to his plant, the words to his book.

There was nothing more or less that she would give him - always the right dosage, always sustaining his addiction to her presence. It wasn't much to anyone, but the way she brought colour to his life was simply magnificent.

It was a taste of heaven that he would kill for, just for more. Just for that little bit more of her.

[kioku-no-kakera]

a-24-z: Yours

He remembers the vows he took before he was allowed to serve his Princess. He remembers, with startling clarity that he did so with the most pride and esteem he could muster from his self.

He remembers, how her smile greeted him on the first day of their lessons together, and how they would learn (albeit err on some facts) about Earth and its oddities.

A very different geography for her to learn about; a very amazing person he had the blessing to be in the presence of.

And so, he decided, that forevermore, he would be hers. Only hers.

[kioku-no-kakera]

a-24-z: Xenophobia

His arrival on Vers isn't a very pleasant one. (Filthy Terran boy.)

His violent landing into a hostile land doesn't help much - these damned Versians were humans, too. (Stupid Terrans shouldn't question the way things work.)

Verbal, physical, mental abuse - as a young man, he has taken them all. All for his Princess, all for himself. All for a civilisation that has begun to reject its own kind (How dare you be at ease with the Princess!)

There is someone who accepts him, though. Just one person.

And that is enough for him - the Princess is always enough for him.