Mostly a place to ramble about my ocs. And lurk. I write sometimes. || She/they || 23 || Portuguese || @fanofsoup.bsky.social on bluesky but that site scares me a lil
i forget what follows forgetting. the moment after the blank doesn't announce itself; it just arrives already present, like a stranger who claims to have always lived in my house.
when i forget, i do not lose. i become rearranged. the absence finds a shape inside me, and i walk around carrying it, heavy as silence, soft as moss.
i forget what follows forgetting. maybe its remembering, but bent, distorted, growing sideways like a plant in a dark room. maybe its another forgetting, a chain of vanishings that pulls me further inward, until even the idea of “i” is another misplaced thing.
forgetting is a doorway that pretends to be a wall. and each time i cross it, i forget that i have crossed it before.
i forget what follows forgetting.
the air tilts, time stutters, and i lean into a gap that should not be there.
i forget what follows forgetting.
language loosens, vowels spill, consonants turn brittle. meaning falls apart like a persimmon dropped too many times.
i forget what follows forgetting.
a spiral opens — not forward, not backward, but inward, and the inward has no floor.
i forget what follows forgetting.
it is not loss, not quite. it is folding, a soft distortion, a place where thought curls into itself like smoke.
and i do forget, what follows forgetting.
and in that forgetting, i remember i have always been there.
The TerraVita facility buzzed with an unusual energy. Technicians scurried through the halls, monitors flashed updates from the test site, and in the centre of it all, Dr. Emil Coe stood, his commanding presence amplified by the tension in the air. The air smelled faintly of disinfectant; a reminder of the sterile precision required for their groundbreaking work.
“This,” Emil declared gesturing to the large glass walls around the small containment pod being wheeled into the observation room, “is the future of our planet.”
Rolane stood near the back of the room, arms crossed tightly over her chest. Her lab coat hung loosely on her light frame, and her dark brown eyes narrowed with scepticism. Beside her, Biara shifted uneasily, her tall, athletic build visibly tense. Her dark curls were pulled back into a loose bun, and her fingers tapped nervously against the tablet she held. The room itself was a clinical expanse of glass and stell, illuminated by the cold glow of fluorescent lights that reflected off the polished floors.
Inside the containment pod hidden by the reinforced glass walls for transport, encased in thin transparent glass, was a sapling entwined with fungal threads. The leaves glowed faintly with an unnatural luminescence, casting an eerie white light that seemed to pulse weakly, like a heartbeat. It was one of the most advanced specimens from the Arbor Bloom Initiative, a living testament to their work.
“He’s planning to take it public,” Rolane murmured to Biara, her voice tinged with disbelief.
Biara’s brow furrowed, her sharp features etched with concern. “What? That thing isn’t stable outside controlled conditions. Does he seriously think this is a good idea?”
Before Rolane could respond, Emil’s voice boomed through the room. “Ladies and gentlemen, this specimen will be the centrepiece of our upcoming press conference. A tangible symbol of hope for a world desperate for solutions.”
Rolane’s stomach churned. “Emil, this is reckless,” she said, stepping forward, taking her back off the wall, letting the cold setting of the room cool it. Her voice echoed in the quiet room, drawing the attention of several colleagues. “The fungal integration hasn’t been tested outside of the lab. We don’t fully understand its impact yet.”
Emil’s smile didn’t fade, but his eyes hardened, the intensity of his gaze was unsettling. “Dr. Whieter, I appreciate your caution, but the world doesn’t have time to wait for perfection. They need to see progress.”
“Progress doesn’t mean rushing into danger,” Rolane countered, her voice rising.
“If something goes wrong---”
“Nothing will go wrong,” Emil interrupted, his tone leaving no room for argument.
“The containment protocols are flawless. This is happening.”
Biara placed a hand on Rolane’s arm, her touch both grounding and a silent plea for restraint. Reluctantly, Rolane bit back her retort, but her unease lingered like a storm cloud on the horizon.
The day of the press conference dawned bright and clear, the kind of morning that begged for optimism. A sleek black transport van waited outside the TerraVita facility; its cargo secured in the reinforced containment pod. Emil, dressed impeccably in a tailored navy suit, gestured for Biara to join him as they prepared to leave. The sunlight glinted off his wire-rimmed glasses, adding a sharpness to his already imposing figure.
“Dr. Mendez,” Emil said, his tone brisk but pleasant, “you’ll be presenting the specimen during my speech. Your hands-on expertise will underscore the credibility of our work.”
Biara hesitated, glancing back at Rolane, who stood watching from the entrance of the lab. Rolane’s expression was a mixture of worry and frustration, her lips pressed into a thin line. “Of course,” Biara said finally, though her voice lacked conviction. Her eyes lingered on Rolane for a moment longer before she climbed into the van.
As the van pulled away, Rolane’s stomach churned with unease. She returned to the lab, the familiar hum of machinery doing little to calm her nerves. The sterile walls and rows of monitors felt oppressive, a stark contrast to the chaos she feared was brewing.
The press conference was held in the heart of New Jersey, Trenton, in a gleaming auditorium packed with journalists, scientists, and government officials. The room was a marvel of modern architecture, with towering glass walls that let in natural light, contrasting sharply with the dark, polished wood of the stage. Cameras flashed as Emil took the stage, the containment pod prominently displayed behind him.
Beside him, Biara stood with the pod in her hands, the glass crate it came in, standing open behind her. Her expression carefully neutral as Emil launched into his speech.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” Emil began, his voice rich with conviction, “this specimen represents the dawn of a new era. With its help, we can restore ecosystems, reverse deforestation, and build a sustainable future. This is more than science, it’s hope.”
As Emil spoke, Biara couldn’t help but feel the weight of the pod in her hands. Her palms were slick with sweat despite the cool, conditioned air of the auditorium. The sapling inside looked deceptively serene, its glowing leaving a shark contrast to the chaos it had already caused in controlled conditions. She caught Rolane’s words echoing in her mind: Progress doesn’t mean rushing into danger.
The audience watched in awe as Emil gestured towards Biara. “Dr. Mendez, one of our brightest minds, will now unveil this groundbreaking specimen.”
Biara took a deep breath, her movements steady as he held the pod up for all to see. The glow from the sapling illuminated her face, highlighting the worry etched in her features. But just as Emil continued his speech, a loud metallic crack echoed through the auditorium. The glass covering the most innocent looking fungus in the world, released the true nightmare of what would be the future. Biara found the pod slipping from her grasp, taking a sudden step back as he watched it fall, the rest of the glass shattering on impact.
The sapling laid exposed, its fungal threads twitching unnaturally. For a moment, there was silence, then a thin plume of spores erupted from the plant, spreading rapidly into the air.
Panic erupted. People scrambled for the exits, shouting and coughing as the spores drifted through the room. Security personnel rushed to contain the scene. But the damage was already done.
Biara was left in shock, but from the corner of her eye, she watched Dr. Emil Coe be personally escorted by special forces along with a small group of politicians, with something that looked like gas masks being placed on their faces.
Outside, the city was already beginning to feel the effects. Birds flew erratically, their movements jerky and uncoordinated, like they were high in some way. Plants in the surrounding park began to grow at an accelerated rate, their leaves tinged with the same eerie glow as the sapling.
Rolane watched the chaos unfold on a live feed from the lab, her heart pounding. Biara’s face flashed on the screen, her expression a profound mixture of shock and horror. Rolane’s hands clenched into fists. She warned Emil, thousands and thousands of times, she suggested they tested in less controlled environments, in more city like environments, he refused, and now the consequences were spiralling out of control.
“This isn’t just a breach...” Rolane whispered to herself, her voice trembling, blinking as an attempt to wake up from all of this. “It’s an outbreak.”
Rolane sat in the lab, staring at the monitors. The live feed from the auditorium played out in front of her, the imaged of chaos freezng her in place. Her hands gripped the edge of the desk, knuckles white. She could see Biara on the screen, her figure standing frozen amidst the chaos, her wide eyes filled with horror.
Move, Briana, Rolane willed silently, her chest tight with dread. Get out of there.
But Biara didn’t move fast enough. The spores were already spreading, and the feed showed the beginnings of something unnatural. Plants in the vicinity began to shift, their forms twisting, growing at still slow, but abnormal speeds. People stumbled through the room, coughing violently, their panicked screams cutting through the sterile silence of the lab.
Rolane’s mind raced, her heart pounding so hard she thought It might burst. She reached for her comms device, her fingers trembling as she pressed the Voice button. “Biara,” she said, her voice shay. “Biara, are you okay? You have to move, like now”
There was no answer. The static on the other end only fuelled her desperation. Images of Biara collapsing, overcome by spores, flashed through her mind, and she felt a surge of panic unlike anything she’d ever experienced. Her chest heaved as she fought to steady her breathing, but the weight of the situation crushed her composure.
She couldn’t just sit there. She had to do something, anything, to fix this. Biara was out there, exposed and vulnerable in every way, and Rolane couldn’t bear the thought of losing her.
Ignoring all protocol, Rolane grabbed her personal gear, slipping on a protective mask, securing it tightly over her face. She moved with purpose, though her thoughts were a mess of fear and determination. The lab felt suffocating, the walls closing in as the reality of what was happening outside threatened to overwhelm her.
As she stepped into the decontamination chamber, she forced herself to focus. Her pulse pounded in her ears, her breaths coming fast and shallow. But beneath the fear, was a single, unyielding thought: Biara.
The chamber hissed as it sealed behind her, and Rolane took her first step into the unknown.
The moment Rolane stepped outside, the reality of the outbreak hit her like a tidal wave. It only took two hours for the city, once bustling with the usual morning passangers, to transform into a beginning of a nightmare.
Sirens wailed in the distance, mingling with the distant screams that echoed down the eerily empty streets. A thick haze hung in the air, a sickly golden hue catching the morning light, spores.
She tightened the straps of her gas mask, forcing herself to keep moving. The last known location of Biara was just a few blocks away from the auditorium, she had seen her run from the chaos on the monitor before the feed cut out. If she was still alive, she’d be somewhere close.
Rolane’s boots crunched over shattered glass as she moved past abandoned cars and toppled streetlights. The further she walked, the more unsettling the scene became. People running without knowing why, bodies here and there, just slumped on the ground, their faces frozen in expressions of terror, Rolane knew what phase this was, she knew she wouldn’t have much time before everything, everything, started moving. Some were already twitching, as if caught between life and something else entirely. She didn’t stop to check.
Ahead, a shadow moved. Rolane pressed herself against the side of a building, heart hammering against her ribs. A man staggered into her view, his movements jerky, unnatural. His suit was torn, his skin slightly pale and blotchy with a sickly green hue. He turned toward a nearby car, slamming his fists into the hood with a mindless persistence.
Rolane swallowed, hard. Not human. Almost not human.
She moved quickly, darting through a side alley to avoid attention. The deeper she went, the more signs of the outbreak she saw. Strange fungal growths twisted up lampposts, sprouting from cracks in the pavement. Vines pulsed as if alive, shifting toward the sound of her footsteps.
Rolane’s breath hitched, noticing a small, eerily white vein sprouting towards her, she moved, taking her pocket knife from her hip and cutting it. Shaking the whole thing off.
Then she heard it, a muffled groan, pained, and oddly familiar.
Rolane whipped her head around, scanning the alley. A few feet ahead, near a rusty dumpster, a figure slumped against the brick wall. Dark curls… a torn lab coat.
Biara.
Rolane rushed forward, falling to her knees beside her. “Biara!”
Biara’s eyes fluttered open, unfocused. Her skin was clammy, her breathing shallow. Blood seeped from a deep gash on her thigh, staining her pants a dark crimson.
“Ro….” Biara’s voice was barely above a whisper.
“You’re okay, its okay.. come on I’ve got you.” Rolane’s hands trembled as she hurriedly ripped a strip from her own sleeve, pressing it against the wound. Biara winced, but made no move to stop her.
“I ran…” Biara coughed weakly. “Didn’t get far.”
Rolane brushed damp curls from Biara’s forehead. “It’s okay, I swear it’s okay you’re safe”
Rolane’s stomach twisted. She had seen glimpses of it on the screen but hearing it from Biara made it so much realer. “Come on... we need to get you out of here.”
Biara’s grip tightened for a moment before she nodded. Rolane hoisted her up carefully, slipping an arm under her shoulders to help her stand. Biara bit down a pained groan, her weight pressing heavily into Rolane’s side.
A sound echoed down the alley, something wet and guttural.
Rolane turned her head, at the far end, shadows twisted unnaturally. Shapes moved in a way bodies shouldn’t, jerking and twitching as they slithered closer.
“Time to go,” Rolane whispered, tightening her grip around Biara.
They stumbled forward, forcing their bodies to move faster. The infection had already taken the city, but Rolane wasn’t about to let it take Biara.
Not today.
Not ever.
As they limped through the ruined streets, Biara let out a weak chuckle. “You know, Ro,” she said between ragged breaths, “I always imagined the end of the world would be more… cinematic.”
Rolane arched a brow. “This isn’t dramatic enough for you?”
“No slow motion running, no heroic background music.” Biara winced, gripping her wounded leg. “Just me, bleeding all over your nice jacket.”
Rolane sighed, shifting her grip to better support Biara. “It’s not that nice.”
Biara smirked. “You like that jacket.”
Rolane didn’t answer, just kept walking. A moment passed before Biara muttered, “You should’ve let me die with dignity before I started cracking bad jokes.”
“Not a chance,” Rolane shot back. “You’re suffering with me.”
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