calamity

[prlogue]

hello guys (nobody)

i will soon write .. i did a huge comic haul for tcaf, so i will eventually get to all of those and speed through my thoughts

[prlogue]

i fell in love with hope, lancali (2023)

genre | romance, fiction, contemporary, queer

content hospitals, chronic illness, death, suicide, mental illness, angst, tragedy, disordered eating, abuse, bullying, homophobia

ac makshin_

disclaimer, this is not a book review, more just an entry about how i felt while reading

i followed the writing of this book closely, excitedly awaiting every update lancali posted to their social media. it was released shortly after i got my first job and with my first paycheck i bought it.

this was a time in my life where i was making changes to my life faster than i ever thought i could, and i was maturing each day — when the book had arrived, i made the decision to read it aloud to my partner every day after my tiredsome work days. this greatly engaged the two of us in the love portrayed in this book, romantically and platonically as we related to the characters, connected our beloved friends to them, and our own lives and struggles.

i felt i could connect to characters like neo & hikari the most, as someone who struggles with similar things to them, as well as when reading, my physical body was failing to function and my mental health wasn't doing me any favors.

this book hit home with a lot of things, and i came out of it taking a lot of good lessons and reminders; my partner shared that same sentiment.

i enjoyed the prose lancali writes with, and with this book as her official debut, i think it's a strong showcase of her passion. by the end of the book we were cheering for the main cast, hoping things would turn out against the odds, and i felt myself scanning over the book many times after completion, staring at the words that resonated with me.

i look forwards to blue's shadow & death's children, and any other stories lancali decides to write!

[prlogue]

"a love that turns me into a killer", @prlogue

i crawl out of bed, the winter breeze shaking my knees as i scramble to your door, grabbing the hunting knife from your shelf; my grip so tight that my fingers tremble.

in this foreign house and state, i sit by your door completely still and unbreathing, attempting to hear any noise that creaks at 5AM. you shuffle and feel my absence in the bed,

“i hear someone,” i whisper “go back to sleep, i’ll handle it.” i say between the grit of my teeth, playing with the blade in my hand.

but your silence followed by a gentle pat on my side of the bed swayed me. i place the knife down and slide under those blankets; with my warmth, you lull yourself back to slumber, yet i stay on guard for another two hours.

i eventually calm down, i notice the voices came from your brother’s television, and that your sanctuary is safe.

a few hours later, i rise to the day and i see my knuckles red from my grip on that knife. i played in my head numerous scenarios, and never a single one would put you in harms way.

— ❁

this piece was written about my stay with my s/o's family. the rest is pretty self explanatory ;;

[prlogue]

"good women save thy wretched" , @prlogue

with this beast writhing against the mattress, and the light tunnelling against its skin, it looks up at me, hoarse with fear,

“save me, you can't just leave me here,”

i peer down into its eyes and with my dagger i plunge.

“your best friend?” people ask, “what went wrong?” they ask

“greed, and a love too heavy to bare.” i spit

on my lowest days, i wash my body with its blood, and cry out to it, all the same. i ask myself what they ask me,

“my best friend, what went wrong?”

and it always answered back, “you bare the scars of heavy love.”

i always thought because i could forgive a man with a violent heart — one who terrorised me and cried on my lap apologising — that i could forgive a boy with a hungry heart, one who swallowed up all that he touched.

others thought so too, so when i returned with a murderous intent and crimson hands, they were appalled to see your mangled corpse, and me alive.

— a.n

this is a continuation of my last piece, a commentary on why i'm the way i am in contrast to why my s/o is the way they are. it's a bit more personal, and i'm not the most comfortable with sharing it, but it is the matching puzzle piece to the prior.

[prlogue]

"real men kill what they love" , @prlogue the loudest noise you’d ever hear rang throughout the air, the gun or the scream? the recoil making your arm sore, but you’ll only notice later tonight as you struggle to dream.

with the shotgun in your hand, you slouch, making yourself shrink smaller than you already felt against this tall task.

he hands you a knife, looking expectantly at the animal laying still, glossy and big-eyed, and he looks back at you, who has the same widened wetness and paralysis.

as you carve into the skin, all they see is venison, a feast for the family, but in your head, you’re screaming apologies. 

“tell me boy, what do you see?” he asks

and you want to say “an innocent friend, nature’s child.”

but you see the blood on your hands, and the pride in his eyes — you gulp.

“fresh venison! our meal for tonight!”

you weren’t wrong, but that wretched corpse was trying to climb its way out of you all night, and you wept and cried ‘sorry’s to the wind hoping your words found its soul.

— ❁

this poem was inspired by hozier's abstract (psychopomp) and my partner's experience with living in an oppressive state where gender roles are heavily enforced. all poems with the "— ❁" indicate it was written with my partner in mind.