#bastille writing

[stoplookingupforheaven]

one day i went “hey, i see a parallel in one line of Four Walls and one line of Skulls, let’s write a one-shot!”

here it is.

warnings: this piece does center around the theme of murder (but never goes into detail) and contains a few passing mentions of small, dark spaces.

Murder, n. The crime

Is it really always a crime?

They say the traffic was murder, yesterday at rush hour - does that make it a crime? Because something is difficult, does that set it irrevocably against the law? There must be a qualifier. Where do the deeds I have done fall?

---

Part I: I’ll Be Buried Here With You / There’s No View From Here

I have never been afraid of the dark, or small spaces. Spending eternity under the ground is not such a bad way to go.

Now, there is only a tiny patch of sky. I mark the passing of time by its color, and the slow march of clouds as they drift by.

I am like these clouds; weightless, helpless, pulled by the winds of fate to nowhere. My four walls are gray. The sky is cerulean, sometimes. Others, navy. Still others, it is indistinguishable from the gray of the walls. Cold colors for a cold world.

By comparison, the ground sounds welcoming. Rich earth, warmed by the sun, to rest over my body. Dandelions taking hold over my bones. Life feeding death feeding life.

Will the ground I am destined to sleep beneath be warm? Will I sink into its embrace as I did when I was a child, digging my hands into the garden beds and letting the earth spill over my arms and legs? I used to come home with dirt in my hair and on my skin, and it was warmed by me, by the life that I gave off, in blood or sweat or sunburn. Is this what death is like?

Or does the earth only warm those who sleep with no guilt?

---

Murder, n. The crime of unlawfully

Now, that’s just silly. Whoever heard of a lawful crime? It’s an oxymoron, a contradiction of terms.

Perhaps Robin Hood committed so-called “lawful crimes”. Stealing from the rich and giving to the poor. He followed his own code, even if it wasn’t the one accepted by society. Morally right, legally wrong. I suppose it depends on one’s definition of “lawful,” which is absolutely a more confusing thing to define than murder.

---

Part II: In These Four Walls My Thoughts Seem To Wander / These Four Walls To Keep You

At night, I have visitors.

They come to me in dreams, by turns scolding or sympathetic. Some promise vengeance on my behalf. Others scream at me, cursing me and my family and everyone I’ve ever loved. Those ones are usually dead.

Some just want to know why.

Sometimes, I want to know why too.

Why does anyone kill? What moves a person to take the life of someone else? I have a feeling that if I knew, I’d have a much better defense, but I don’t know any more than anyone else. I am not a psychologist. I do not pretend to know how the human mind works, not even my own.

The detectives go on about “motive” and “means” as if such things are substitutes for the synapses in the brain that determine the actions of the body, as if by piecing together their clues and logic puzzles they could understand why anyone does anything. What they fail to understand - and what I do - is that why is so much more than methodology. The mind is more than the pieces of the brain added up, more than the chemical equations that allow us the ability to speak and breathe and point a gun and pull the trigger. We are more than the sum of our actions.

I wish I could speak to the ones who ask why. I want to know why, too.

---

Murder, n. The crime of unlawfully killing

Behold, a verb.

Specifically, one meaning to take life, although not every life we end is considered murder, clearly. The child who severs a flower from its stem is not considered a murderer.

There are things, too, that may give us life without giving up their own. We pick the apple, but the tree does not die.

---

Part III: Now It’s All Before You / Now You Carry It With You

Do feelings stay with us into death?

Will I carry with me the legacy of my actions, cradling the weight in my hands, cursed to bear the chains that I have forged forever? Will I wear them through some Jacob Marley-esque, ghostlike existence? Or does the loss of earthly consciousness mean losing consciousness of those chains, too?

I have grown used to the burden. The remains, the leftovers of the crime I committed, are always with me, a weight that both punishes and comforts me. I do not wish to carry it at all, but I want even less to feel no guilt. The guilt reminds me that I am real, autonomous, and not simply the product of someone else’s nightmare.

I would fear God only if I believed in one to fear. As it is, I have never found any comfort in placing my hopes in the hands of the divine. They say that others have repented when they were on death’s door, that their last act was to plead for forgiveness before they met their Maker.

I will choose instead to take my chances only if and when I find a God in death. I did not act in this life with the intent of pleasing a deity; I see no reason to change this in the life after.

Perhaps, if there truly is an always-forgiving God, it will not matter. Perhaps I will not carry my chains through death.

---

Murder, n. The crime of unlawfully killing a person

Oh, murder applies specifically to people? Now we’re beginning to go somewhere.

Human beings killing other human beings. We’ve been doing that for thousands of years. Is every soldier’s death on the battlefield murder? Some would say so. The accidents we cause, that lead to the deaths of loved ones - are those murder? Perhaps.

---

Part IV: I’ll Hold In These Hands All That Remains / Until You Face The Rope

The end is an interesting place to be. It’s empty, but not how you might think.

It isn’t empty like a pristine living room waiting to be filled with furniture. It’s empty like a kitchen after all the guests have left. There’s a few stray napkins, a wrapper on the counter, crumbs on the tablecloth. The remains of something that was once full.

Here is what remains at my end: four walls, one floor, a tiny piece of sky, the weight of the wrong I have done, and me.

I am not dead. That is still to come. But I have reached the end of my life. I exist in some in-between state, waiting for the inevitable, patiently, restlessly, quietly.

All that is left are skeletons; this skeleton room, my skeleton thoughts. Soon, I will join them, and my bones will be all that remains of a life that was lived, if not fully or well.

I believe I have made my peace with it.

---

Murder, n. The crime of unlawfully killing a person, especially with malice aforethought.

The death of one, at the hand of another. The hand of one who envisioned it. One who has lain awake at night pondering it. One who set out on the journey with a clear end in mind, an end that had room for one less person, one more corpse.

Does what I have done fit this definition?

A jury of twelve said so. The truth does not matter now.

[castawxayaway]

an absence of her

inspired by happier. (I like the vibe, but I can’t quote replicate it itno writing like others but eh, gave it a go.)

realising it’s hard to writ about falling out of love when you’re not in it- especially now with a few things going on lol. 

thank you to the anon who requested, and if you have any suggestions drop me an ask or message!

collection of writing

The last time I saw her smile, I can’t remember it anymore. And that is where the issue lies. 

She wasn’t herself anymore, and neither was I. Those people who lie together in this bed that was once too small for two adults to lie in began to fill the room so contact was impossible. 

It began with small details, she would silently get up rather than kissing my cheek before she went. I began to disassociate myself from her when I was out with friends. She was shutting herself up, and I no longer had the key unlocking her heart to pour open what she is bottling up inside. 

I suggested it. It was when she was away with her friends for a few days and I lie awake in the middle of the nighalone with my thoughts. 

At first I thought it was just my mind playing tricks on me, trying to make me turn on those closest to me. But then, the longer I thought about it, the more sense it made. 

That was the beginning of those sleepeless nights for me. 

Each night a new prospect came into my brain, slowly nawing away until it left me with a decision. 

I could see her with other people, her hand intertwined with someone elses. She would laugh, she would learn to live again and not remain silent in a place she should be comfortable. She willl get to learn about their life, their family and have new experiences all over again. 

Just not with me anymore. 

*

She would be expecting me to be in the flat, just like any other Sunday when I wasn’t needed in the studio. But instead the only thing that would be there is a note. 

By the time she would be back there, settled into the sofa and reading the note I’d be gone. I would be sat on the tube with my bag packed, trying to block out everything and not focus on her face. 

But every time the doors opened I hoped to see her, that she would willingly take me back, tell me she needed me like I needed her. 

Except we werent meant for each other. The keys dont fit the locks. We can’t force it to work anymore and break anymore keys. 

I know she won’t appear. She won’t call in anger, or cry down the line in the middle of the night. Because I know her too well. Instead she’ll do what I really want her to be doing- moving on. 

Deep down I know I have accepted she can be happier without me, but will I without her? 

*

Waking up in my new place still doesn’t yet deserve the title of my new home. Everything remains in boxes, cans of paint my Mum brought over remain lined againt the wall with test patches painted across the dull off white walls. 

Every morning I better knowing she’s better off with me not being in her life like I was. 

I get the odd update from our friends, and as I lie in bed scrolling through social media I scroll back up. 

And there she is. 

The girl I fell in love with. The brightest smile on her face as she sits on someone else’s lap, he’s laughing in the photo. I can almost hear her. That sweet laugh I heard from across a bar that night all those years ago. How confidently she wobbled towards me, introduced herself and said ‘you need to be my boyfriend for tonight, okay?’ 

And then the night turned into two, and then into months and years. 

She seems different. Maybe, just mabe this is what genuine happiness looks like on her. 

I climb out from my bed, leaving my phone foace down on the duvet and walk towards the cans of paint. 

Picking up the pale blue I grab a brush and begin to make progess. 

I need to learn to be happier, even if that means without her in my life. 

[castawxayaway]

those special words

(I’m currently on holiday, so sorry for the delay in uploading requested pieces! This is a combination of one and another I believe, someone wanted something super fluffy and I hope this is it? Also, because it is dans birthday I had to do something sweet for it. Hap bday you old man.)

- dans pov -

She was smiling brightly, sat in the passenger seat singing her heart out as I drove down. Half way we swapped, she drove as I slept soundly. When we stopped for some fresh air she showed me the photo of me sleeping, all squished in the corner of the car. My face was dented into the window, my nose bent downwards and mouth ajar. She joked I was drooling, and could see the mark on the window.

As we got nearer she nudged me, speaking with nothing but excitement in her voice as mine was laced with apprehension. I saw her smile grow, the light in her eyes shine like the rising sun before us as it lined the sea that we neared.

“I cant remember the last time I was by the ocean, by some kind of beach even.” She sighs, I can see her shoulders relax. That longing look I noticed when we first met, a sense of feeling at peace. “When was the last time you were in Cornwall?”

I leaned back into the seat, the worn leather not being as padded as it once was. My eyes remained locked with the view that wizzed past, the blur of earthy tones that seemed unknown to us. I’d been so used to the city life, the bright lights that never fade, the noise and all the energy that swarms wherever you go.

But here, here it was quiet. I could hear her breathing. Usually all I could hear is the rush of the city, cars going by, beeping in irritation or those yelling for the fun of it.

“Probably for some festival.” I shrug my shoulders, barely able to keep count.

She shakes her head, “Not like that.” I chuckle as she checks the map on her phone, seeing we’re only a few minutes away. “When was the last time you were here for you? Not the band.”

This takes more consideration, and I can’t help but sigh. “I honestly can’t remember. Most places we go are for the band, never really for just me or any of the other guys.”

“Well, that is about to change.” Her smile becomes wider as we pull in to a small little beach house.

It is quaint, sat right on the beach. She eagerly gets out, barely parking straight or taking the scenery in.

I watch as she squeals, running with her sunglasses on her head as they barely staying on her head. Her legs fly in the air as she jumps down onto the sand, heading straight to the surprisingly bright sea.

My heart flutters watching her, and my smile grows at the sight of her being so happy. She stops just before she reaches the sea. With her back to me I get out of the car, walking the short distance towards her.

“I can’t think of the last time I’ve been to a place this quiet, this serene.” I wrap my arms around her waist, and she leans back into me. I can smell the sweetness of her perfume, the fresh scent of her shampoo and the warmth that radiates from her.

All I can think about is how much I care for her, but I’m scared it’s too soon.

If I tell her now, here will she run off? Is it all too soon to say that I think I’ve finally realised she is what I’ve been searching for?

The only image that runs through my mind is her face if I tell her, the fear of how she’ll respond. Not knowing where to go since we drove here together, hundreds of miles from London.

Instead, I remain silent. We take in the scenery before going inside our little home for the next two days.

*

Outside the sky has turned dark. The breeze has died down and the waves aren’t crashing as vigorously.

“You almost ready?” I call out as I sit in the small living room, overlooking the beach covered in darkness.

Behind me I hear the door close, and I slip off my glasses placing them down on the coffee table. “Happy birthday.”

Turning around she stands holding a cupcake with a single candle. She smiles softly, smaller than usual as I read the need for reliance in her eyes. “How’d you know?” My mind begins to race, thinking back to our first date when we discussed life, all the things we wanted to do, ambitions, conspiracies and family. But I don’t remember birthdays coming up so soon.

She chuckles softly, “Your parents told me. They suggested we come down here after I told them about this little spot on the beach my grandparents always took us to when I was 4.”

I watch as she moves closer and sits down next to me. She’s barely lit by the candle and the eco friendly lamps that are insufficient sources of light. But regardless she looks beautiful, her bright smile and the flicker of excitement from the candle glows in her eyes.

With her free hand she tucks back the loose strands of hair behind her ear and moves the cupcake closer to me. “Well?”

Leaning closer to her I close my eyes, and blow out the candle.

A small smoke trail flies up, and she leans against the arm rest of the sofa. “Aren’t you going to ask me what I wished for?” I spoke up, mentally deciding it is time to ask. No backing down.

She tilts her head, raising an eyebrow to me. “Why would I? It won’t come true you dummy.” Her laugh is quiet, but I can barely focus on it. My eyes zone in onto the cupcake, the blown out candle.

I’ve made my wish, I can’t take it back. The candle is blown out. I have to tell her.

“I think I might be in love with you.” I state as I stare into the cupcake, her feet resting on the coffee table next to it. But as soon as the words leave my mouth, her feet drop.

I watch as she brings them closer to her, resting them underneath the other and shuffling on the spot. “You think you might be?” She questions with an unreadable expression on her face.

My palms begin to go clammy, my brain abandons ship and my heart starts to put up the self defence mode. “Maybe not my best phrasing.” I try to joke, but my mouth is too dry to speak.

She remains silent, unsure what to say or do. I know what I want to do, but I just can’t get the words to coherently form from my mind to my mouth. In my mind I can see it playing out smoothly. I’ll say what I want to say, and she’ll be happy.

But, I’m not that smooth talking guy. She didn’t meet that guy, she met me.

“Sometimes my words don’t always work out as I want them to.” I pace myself this time, knowing it is what she’d want. “I, I know how I feel. But I’m terrified of your response.”

My eyes flicker up to hers, and they’ve softened. She reaches her hand and rests it against my thigh.

“I know how I feel. And I do love you. God, I can’t begin to explain how much I love you.” I laugh to myself, unable to stop the words pouring out of my mouth now. “Part of me pondered, whether this is real or just my mind playing tricks. But seeing you here, planning my birthday to be lowkey, just us has made me realise it’s true.” She shuffles closer, moving the decorative cushions between us as she throws them to the ground.

Her hand moves from my thigh, and rests around the back of my neck. “I love you. And, and I should’ve told you sooner. I just-“

She chuckles softly. “You don’t need to be worried, Dan.” I ease into her arm behind my head, watching her lips move but not really taking in the words that are being formed. “I’ve been wanting to tell you how I feel for weeks, but no time felt like the right time.” She plays with her hair, distracting her shaking hands.

“You, you feel the same?” I ask, and she just stares blankly at me.

“Am I going to have to spell it out for you?” She laughs, and pulls her arm from behind my neck.

No more is said between us. She moves closer, sitting on my lap and curls up into me. I can feel her breathing softly, comfortably.

“Happy birthday, Dan. I love you too.”

[castawxayaway]

the unknown match

another post, woah. I won’t make this long, but I just want to say that it’ll get better. if you’re struggling- please, please please tell someone in your life. if you’re looking for an escape and see this as one, I will write enough to keep you occupied. I know I sought out peoples work as a distraction. take care of yourself please. you’re worth more than you feel. 

collection of writing // requests are yours to ask for

Huffing I flicked the strands of hair that clung to my forehead back as I felt the sweat dripping down my back. “Okay, you’ve got this.” I told myself as I stood in front of the glass doors, everyone clearly seeing me prepping myself for whatever I’ve gotten myself into.

I knew I shouldn’t have agreed to do this. I knew it was too soon. I knew I’d be comfier in bed, pretending to be sleeping to avoid my friends’ question.

Yet, here I am. Wearing nice clothing for the first time since the breakup. 

‘It’s been long enough, babes.’ 

‘You’re fit, go out there and show him what he’s been missing.’ 

‘He’s a really sweet guy, just don’t be too late okay?’ 

And here I am, thirty minutes late. I wonder if I’ve scared him off. Part of me wishes I have just so I can go home and pretend to mind about the whole thing. But, my feet overpower my heart, and my hand reaches for the door handle, pulling it forcefully until a gentle breeze replaces the stuffy outdoors. 

“Hello, Madam. May I take your-?” He tries to search for something worth taking for safe keeping. Part of me wants to joke and ask if he can take my heart for my own sake, but I know now isn’t the time nor place- considering I’m here for a blind date. 

“I’m here for a date, is there somewhere I can go whilst I wait?” Politeness overtakes the usual sarcasm and ill humour tone. 

The waiter smiles widely and claps his hands together. “This way sweetie!” His tone changes in an instant, and I feel compelled to smile as brightly as he is. He pulls back a chair at the bar for me, and I thank him. “If you need me,” Turning my head to see him perched by the bar next to me I try to keep up this smile, but feel it dragging downwards as his eyes peer into mine screaming for a tip. “I’ll be by the door.” His hands squeeze my shoulders and they squirm under his grip. “Have fun!” 

Immediately I call a bartender over, “Something strong? A cocktail of sorts. Whatever you recommend.” She raises her eyebrow to me and simply nods, walking away with my vague requests. 

Pulling my phone out I see several messages from friends, particularly from Kyle, a childhood friend who suggested this date in the first place. 

‘You met him yet? Ain’t he nice!’ 

‘I’m assuming you’re getting on well. He likes my description of you anyway.’ 

‘Told him you were self-deprecating, imaginative and loved to travel. Suited him just fine.’ 

‘stop looking at your phone! CHAT for FUCKS SAKE.’ 

With that, I locked my phone, and my eyes were met with a tall dark drink. “We call it the dark and handsome. After what every girl describes her ideal man to be.” I can’t help but laugh. 

“Unfortunately, I can’t relate. But dark and handsome does taste delicious.” Sipping the drink I can see her try to hide her smile. “The drink! The drink!” I exclaim, and she simply laughs it off. 

“I’ll have whatever she’s having. Looks pretty good. The drink too.” Cringing internally I saw someone along the other end of the bar. He lifted his whiskey glass up, and I saw the grey hairs that furrowed above his wrinkly eyes rise. 

A tap on the back of my chair made me turn suddenly, and someone sat down next to me. Before I had the chance to respond, he hugged me and whispered, “He’s a creep, been prowling after girls all night. Just go with this, yeah?” I couldn’t speak. I merely nodded and silently thanked him, hoping he was telepathic. 

As he released me from his gentle arms I was surprised by who I was met with. A sweet face, wild hair, kind eyes, and a goofy smile. Immediately I relaxed, “Hi. And thank you, I mean I’m meant to be here for a date but I don’t think he’s going to show.” 

He scoffed loudly, “What a dick. I don’t get why people stand others up after making plans. Takes time to get ready and all, times valuable.” I nodded in agreement. “I mean, I think I’ve been stood up too if I’m honest. Here’s me being too eager. I got here, maybe it put her off.” He sighs quietly, and I glance around hoping to find a girl sat alone that is here for him. 

“If it’s any consolation, I am very late. Some girls are just awful at timing. If they agree for 8, she means 9.” I joke, and I can see the tension ease from his shoulders as his slouch becomes taller, his glass relaxing in his grip. “What’s her name, the girl who you’re meeting?” 

He takes a long harsh sip at his drink, “Sierra.” The glass harshly hits the wooden table top, splashing and sticking to the top like many over drinks over the years. “Who were you meeting?” 

Internally I freeze, unsure what to say. I don’t want a stranger knowing I’ve been stood up on a blind date, that is the lowest of all lows. “His name’s Harry. But, I’m sure he hasn’t thought twice about it.” Mentally I’m screaming. Of all the names that exist I opt for my ex. “Bit of a dick really. Don’t know why I made the effort.” Taking a few gulps of the juice like cocktail I feel his hand on my glass.

“You might wanna take that easy. Those hit you too quickly. Take it from me. I’ve fallen off a skateboard into a bush drinking too many of those.” Laughing at his remark I’m unsure if he’s telling the truth, or if he’s just trying to make me smile. “I’m Dan, I mean you might as well know since we’re going to be going across the street to the dessert place.” 

“We are now?” I raise an eyebrow. “What if Sierra turns up?”

“What if Harry turns up?” He comments back, and I pause for a moment. 

Taking a few sips until my glass is merely filled with ice I rise to my feet, only being as tall as his hair whilst he remains seated. “I’ll be right back.” He half waves as I stumble to the loos and ring Kyle for moral support, moral and guy support. 

“Kyle, answer me right now.” I whisper/yell into my phone as the rings continue to bore into my ears as I pace the length of these three stalls. 

A long sigh sounds down the line, “Why are you phoning me? Thought you two would’ve hit it off.” He sounds like an irritated child, but I shake my head feeling that drink start to hit me. 

“He didn’t show up. Met someone else, super sweet. Should I go for it?” A long pause is never a good sign, “I haven’t felt this positive about a guy in months. With Harry, I lost ALL trust. Shouldn’t I have fun? Tell your friend I got sick and couldn’t go. Just, something.” 

He sighs once again. “This isn’t right, you know that don’t you?” I can picture him now, stroking his beard consoling himself as he prepares to message his mate. “Just, if you ever meet him, don’t let him know this happened.” 

“Deal. Speak later. Love you.” I drag out my words unintentionally, my feet feel lighter than before. 

“Shit, you better eat. At least this guy will buy you a meal right?” Nodding in response I can hear him laugh my name down the line. “I can’t see you nod. But be careful, bye.” 

Leaning against the sink I look myself dead in the eyes. I wipe away the mascara residue from under my eyes, take a deep breath, and walk myself out to Dan. Who I am sure is better than my blind date could ever be. 

“Can we please leave this restaurant now? I want a waffle.” I mumble into him as I lean against his shoulder. 

His laugh fills my ears, and I feel my stomach churn. “You’re cute when you’re tipsy. Not that you aren’t cute already.” He stumbles over his words, and places enough money to cover our drinks and walks me out of the restaurant. 

*

I can’t remember the last time I’ve laughed so much on a date, an unplanned date at least. Taking the last few bites of my waffle Dan leans back into the sofa, clearly full as he blows his cheeks out. I lean over to burst them, and he makes a bizarre noise in response. 

“If you’re not finishing it, then I happily will.” I mumble as I eat the last few bits of waffle, leaving the plate nice and clear. “Thanks for this Dan.” Swallowing I lean back, wishing I’d worn looser fitting jeans. 

“Honestly, this was a lot more fun of an evening than I thought it’d be. I was told I’d meet a nice girl, but I didn’t expect to meet someone on such a similar wavelength as you.” Smiling sincerely I don’t feel the need to fake it, hide my smile. “Plus, you have a beautiful smile.” 

After making that comment he buries his hands int his hair, hiding from me across the table. “If it helps,” I begin and he lifts his head back up. His wild array of hair pointing in all directions as his bright eyes focus on me. “you’re very handsome too.” Giggling into my seat I feel my cheeks prickle with heat. 

“I’m glad we’re in agreement.” He leans across the table, his hand hanging in front of me. “Wanna go?” 

Rubbing my lips together I can feel him watching closely. “Yeah, can we go to the beach?” 

*

Holding my shoes in one hand and his in the other it feels normal, it doesn’t feel bizarre or uncomfortable. He’s relaxing into me, and I am into him. My head resting on his shoulder as the waves crash in the background, unclear in the dusky skies. 

We pause and sit down against the damp sand. He sits first and pats the spot next to him, but as I go to sit I collapse into him. Now sitting on his lap, my arms around his neck and his around my waist it feels comfortable. He looks happy, relaxed. 

“Can we take a photo? I want to prove to my friend you’re not a Harry.” He smiles and I lean back into him, pulling my phone out and as I see our faces on the screen I see his hand rising to my cheek. 

As I hit the button his lips are on mine. 

My phone calls into the sand as I turn around, fully facing him and letting myself have this moment with him, only him and no one else. 

Unbeknownst to me, Kyle received my photo. I didn’t know at the time as I and Dan lay in the sand, kissing under the stars that he was, in fact, my blind date. 

The saying is true, love is blind. 

[castawxayaway]

those kind of nights

its been a very long time since ive written, well anything. but I decided to give it another go. i hope you like it. thanks for sticking around in my absence. 

collection of writing // requests are yours to ask for

We were running, I wish I knew where he was leading me. He just gripped my hand as if his life depended on it. I continuously called his name, asking tiredly where he was taking us. But instead of acknowledging me with a response, he just squeezed tighter, trying to reassure me. 

My feet felt too light beneath me. As I glanced down they moved too quickly, blurring together as if they were under choppy waters. I could feel that lurching in my throat, it hurt, everything was becoming too loud, too bright in the darkness. The dull streetlamps seemed like they were on the verge of bursting, and I could no longer ignore the cold shiver spreading through my body. 

I stopped. Forcing my hand from his. He stopped walking and turned around as I collapsed effortlessly to the ground. I shut my eyes, hoping it could help the dizziness of the night fade away. But, it was no use. 

“I’m gunna vom.” I blurted out to him, and briefly saw the panic fill his eyes. 

The next twenty minutes aren’t ones I’d like to recall. And I wouldn’t particularly like to explain what happened, mainly for the little bit of dignity I have left. 

Thankfully, he held back my hair as I decided to lie down in the bushes, my legs splayed out onto the tarmac as my tights became more holes than fabric. I heard him faintly chuckle, more so out of awkwardness than sincerity. “You feeling any better?” He mumbled, trying to turn my head away from the direction of the mess. 

I faintly nodded, words didn’t make any coherent sense to him, but he made a noise in agreement for my sake. “What,” Taking a deep breath I wanted the clouds to clear from my mind and stomach, the uneasiness to leave me like all of those drinks did. “what time is it?” I asked tiredly, and he sat upright, leaving me lying down with the damp grass as my pillow. 

“‘Bout quarter past midnight.” He said, and I sat upright immediately. Too quickly in fact. I blinked rapidly and he placed his firm hands on my shoulders, motioning for me to lie back down. “Yeah, I wouldn’t do that too quickly.” 

Remaining still, and horizontal I sighed loudly. “Where did the evening go? Honestly. I felt like it was only half an hour ago that I got that tattoo, and just before that we were at that party. Whose party was it? Didn’t you say it was a friend of yours?” All the details of the night play like a messy slideshow. 

“I thought he was your friend?” He raises his left eyebrow, and I just chuckle. 

“So we gate crashed some fucked up party?” I lift my hands to my face, wiping away the drool on my chin and spitting into the grass again. “Nice.” Lifting my hand towards him, he high fives me. Not caring about the drool in the slightest.

“You should visit home more often mate.” He lies down next to me, staring at the sky above. “Always have more fun when you’re here. Not the same without you, you know?” 

I tilt my head to face his, even in the darkness, his silhouette remains sharp whilst mine has a thin line between my neck and chin. He doesn’t dare move his head, his eyes remain fixated on the few stars that line our hometown sky. 

“But that’s the problem, Dan.” I start and fiddle with the tiffs of grass between us, pulling at them aggressively until they become balls of green in my fingertips. “Home doesn’t have true beauty. You see all those stars? No. Because home is a place to reminisce on. The stars have moved on, gone adventuring across the sky.” 

“That is not even true.” He reasoned, but I shook my head from side to side dramatically.

“This isn’t about reason, Dan!” I lifted my arms up, and let them slap my thighs in annoyance. “I’m being all metaphoric and artist cause I’m pissed and I don’t really know what I’m saying.” Tears fell from my eyes, and I sniffed loudly. “And now I’m crying and I don’t know why!” Words barely sounded over the loud sobs that drowned out my voice. 

He sat upright, blocking the few stars from my view. His hands were in front of mine, and he lifted them into his and pulled me up. I was turned slowly until my head was resting on his lap. My hair decorating his arm as he dried my face. 

“It’s okay.” He whispered, knowing you could hear a penny drop tonight. Home wasn’t like it usually is tonight. Usually, it’s frantic. You can barely walk without seeing a group of people living a high life, living a temporary dream knowing they’ll wake to a nightmare. 

Sniffing quietly he used a bit of my hair and brushed it under my nose, a crooked smile forming on his face. “You’ll always have me. I’m not going anywhere.” He moved closer, whispering the words into my face so only I heard him. Words that were only meant for me.

“You’re stuck with me, Smithy boy.” I lifted my hand up, resting it against his rough cheek. “I’ll always come back, no matter how far or long I’m gone. You’re the one person I want to spend these kinds of nights with.” He smiled into my hand, rubbing his stubble across the palm of my hand. 

“Wanna go home?” I nodded, and slowly sat upright. With my back turned I smiled to myself, replaying the less blurred images of tonight.

Staying still with my back turned the words left my lips before my mind could stop me. “Did you kiss me at that party?” 

A silence fell between us. I wish a crowd could pass by, shouting and screaming with excitement for the night ahead. It was only quarter past midnight, most people were only just starting whilst we were finishing. 

Apprehension to turn and face my closest friend hurt. He wasn’t responding, but I touched my lips, trying to make myself remember him kissing me. But it was no use. “I did.” He spoke clearly. 

No shyness. No tension. He sounded proud? 

Automatically I laughed. I laughed too hard and fell back into his lap. Looking up at him I locked my eyes with his, and he started to laugh back. 

The two of us were laughing happily, and then he helped me rise to my feet. “Doesn’t matter how old you get, you’ll always regret what happened the night before.” I mumble into his shoulder as I rest my head against it. My hand intertwined with his. 

“Well, not everything.” I lifted my head up to see him pointing at his head. The lack of hair on his head with wide eyes. 

Patting his flat head I chuckled. “Trust me, Dan.” Resting my head back on him as we walked down the silent pathways I continued. “That, you will.” 

[castawxayaway]

why I’ve been gone

hi, I haven’t been on here (for real) in months. there’s many reasons why, and I won’t drone on about them:

- quit university

- was extremely depressed

- lost all ability to write

- did nothing for 3 months

but! now after a lot of time, I’m much better. I’m genuinely happy. however, I haven’t been able to write anything since I left in March.

I want to write again, but I just don’t know where exactly to start. if anyone wants me to try? idek if anyone is interested anymore it’s been so long 😂

if you are, drop me a message, an ask etc. thanks ✨

[castawxayaway]

his ballerina

this was requested a while ago, so I hope whoever requested enjoys. currently I am writing a lot, but it’s just not on here. my love for bastille writing will always remain wholesome, I just don’t know how much longer it’ll last. 

collection of writing

Sitting on the plush mat I zone out from the pain, the prodding, feeling and hushed comments whilst I watch the others continue to rehearse. They all dance with caution in their expressions, some glance to me and look at their own legs making sure they are still intact. Unlike mine, unlike my knee that sits out of place. 

My pointe shoes are slipped off, the ribbon tickling the soles of my feet as my teacher walks off with them in her hands. I’m carefully lifted onto a stretcher and taken away, all whilst remaining silent, stunned. 

*

“Who knows if she’ll dance again. It’s not something that just happens.” They talk as if I can’t hear them. That just because I don’t want to talk about it I cannot listen to their worries about me, about my dreams, about my entire life. 

Relaxing my hands on the wheels I force myself forwards, feeling the rubber glide along my palms I pause, stopping in the doorway where they both stand. “How’re you feeling today sweetheart?” My Mum puts on a fake voice, trying to convince me she’s fine despite her sorrow moments ago. 

She glances at him, her eyes pleading for him to do or say something. “Want to go downstairs?” He asks, wiping his palms across his jeans. I simply nod, ever since I got out, ever since they told me I’ll be in this chair for at least a year I haven’t spoken a lot. 

I lift my arms up weakly, he rests his underneath my thighs and slowly lifts me into him. My hands connect around his neck yet I don’t savour it. Once I’d giggle as he’d pick me up, twirl us around. I’d admire his smile, his bright eyes and aura up close, but now it’s hollow. 

He carefully walks us down, my leg remaining outstretched and heavily covered. Most of it now being made up of metal. “Don’t hit it!” Mum yells, trying to disguise the tears that linger in her eyes and those caught in her throat. 

It being my leg, the remains of what is a leg. “Even if you hit it I won’t feel a lot.” I mumble, trying to joke. He chuckles for a second, keeping it hushed as we get to the hallway. Mum follows with my wheelchair, placing it down like it were that pony I’d wanted since I was a child. 

Once I’m comfortable in it I wheel myself away, straight into the kitchen and grab the tea. “I’ll be off love, I’ll see you tomorrow yeah?” Mum calls out, but I stare straight ahead, my eye level now just in line with the counter. All I can see is the dirt that lines the marble, not even the streets outside. 

“I’m sure she’ll be better tomorrow. She has her ups and downs.” He explains to her as the door shuts. Silence looms once again, and I turn around to face him as he stands in the hallway whilst I remain seated, permanently so in the kitchen. “We should at least talk about it,” He fiddles with his hands as the rest of him remains still. “you’ve barely spoken since you got out of the hospital two weeks ago.” I sigh in response and wheel myself into the living room. 

In the living room, I’m level with the outside world. I can watch everyone take it for granted, walking. I see videos of my friends dancing in clubs, having a laugh whilst I had my dream taken from me. “What is there to talk about.” My voice remains dry, hoarse sounding. 

His footsteps pick up the pace as he stands behind me. “Everything. I, I want to be here for you, but you have to let me in.” He sounds like Mum, pleading for me to open up about it, face the reality. 

“I can’t. I can’t let myself into the fact that this has happened.” The more I speak the harder it gets, but I swallow the growing lump and keep on talking. “All my dreams are gone. I was rehearsing for the biggest role of my career, Dan. The Nutcracker is a ballerinas dream, and now thanks to my crumbling knee I can’t.” Tears begin to glaze my eyes, the street begins to blur. 

Looking down tears fall into my lap, dissolving into my leggings. “Listen to me,” Slowly I feel myself moving, spinning. His hands are in mine, I open my eyes and he’s looking at me intently. “you will. There’s always a way. But for now, you just have to focus on recovery.” I nod in response, coughing violently. 

“It just hurts. All of it.” I cry quietly, lowering my head into his hands. 

“You aren’t going through this alone. I know, I know it hurts but whatever you need I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.” His hands slip away and I sit upright. I watch as he motions to pick me up, and I weakly nod. 

Being lifted from the chair he moves us onto the sofa, pulling the footrest towards us. I reach to lift the lid and grab a hold of the blanket, draping it over us as I curl into his chest. “I just wish I could dance.” I quietly state. Fewer tears fall, but I can feel my heart break inside. 

“And you will again, someday. Someday I will sit in the audience and watch you perform as Clara. Hell, maybe I’ll be your Nutcracker.” He jokes and I smile, thinking about him attempting to dance gracefully when he can barely walk without tripping over air sometimes. “But I’d rather leave the dancing to you. My ballerina.” He kisses the top of my head as he reaches over, picking up the remote. 

“My nutcracker, full of wonderful ideas and dreams.” I smile to him, trying to hide the internal pain. 

He may be the Nutcracker, but soon he’ll realise I won’t be the ballerina he met. My shoes will remain on the mantel indefinitely, just like I’ll remain in that wheelchair. 

[castawxayaway]

fall apart

was requested: a piece based on campus. gave it a go, hope you enjoy. 

collection of writing / part two

Lifting the folders further up in my arms I struggle for breath. My lungs are being compressed by the weight of the work I completed at 5am this morning and all I want to do is drop it, burn it or let it float off. None of it feels like it’s worth being praised and instead, I look around as I wait in front of the metal doors and think about everyone I see each passing day. 

There are those who seem too relaxed at 9am. They wear an uneasy state of bliss in their eyes as they chew their lips or clutch their jaws shut. I see those who have too much work piled in front of them in the library and all they do is stare at it, hoping it would vanish in front of them or do the work itself.

Similarly, there are those like me. The type who are just trying to survive, keep on top and prove their worth to study and can make something of themselves. The door bings and the metal slide either side,  leaving me to face my own reflection, well my forehead that is. I step in and hear the springs cry in pain at the additional weight of my folders as I reach to press eight. The doors close and the whirring is a comfort, but that peace is short-lived. 

“Third floor.” The automatic voice that is far from the softness a human offered chimed in as the doors opened and I could barely see who it was, only their shoes. 

As I heard them sigh my lungs collapsed into themselves knowing what was to come as we rose, trapped in each others company for a mere two minutes. “So, all that work?” I tried to ignore the slight arrogance that was always in his tone, I mentally threw my work in his face and left him there as the doors shut and a single piece of paper flew out with me and resigned at my feet. 

But that didn’t happen, instead I remained hidden. That was until a weight lifted from my eyes, and instead of a black folder, I was greeted with his blue eyes that were often too misleading, too nice for someone such as him. “I’m not in the mood today, Dan.” I remark as the floor numbers roll too slowly, we’re only on the fifth floor. 

“Why’s that? Left everything too late? Stressed?” He kept throwing words I’d used or heard too often in the past two weeks. My parents, my friends, my flatmates and other students all talking about their deadlines and exams that were coming too quickly for them to keep on top of it all. I didn’t need to respond, the growing purple marks beneath my eyes and the sleep that hung heavy above my eyes spoke on my behalf. 

Sixth floor. “Do you always have to be so,” My brain was shuffling through endless sheets of blank paper for a response, but nothing would compute. 

“Philosophical?” He raised an eyebrow at me, waiting for me to snap back. Yet I stayed quiet. “You are just another brain here, another walking cash machine to them.” Leaning against the railing he watched the numbers rise, avoiding my gaze. “I’m just more aware of it, I know I’m another man on the field to them. I don’t matter, all that matters is the cycle that endlessly repeats itself. Students come and go. End of story.” All his words sounded too impressive as if he’s too aware of his own intelligence. Or, more his ability to understand the system like the rest of us, but in his eyes, that means he’s better for knowing he’s nothing but another person. He’s not unique, and that’s what makes him special. 

I stay quiet, my brain not picking a response as it has shut down. I’m in total darkness mentally and as the door pings, I walk out without saying another word. “See you later, number-” The doors closed just in time. Heavily I drag my feet through the doors to my front door and pull out my key. 

As I enter my room the door creaks behind me, and I collapse into bed and discard my papers and folders to the floor next to me. I close my eyes and all I see is him, the gaze of integrity and arrogance that leaves my stomach unsettled. “What does he know anyway? Say a few statements whilst looking off into the unknown of a lift and think everyone will fall to his feet?” Scoffing lightly down the phone my friend yawns loudly, she is in a similar boat to my own. “I’m sorry, he just.” My free hand balls into a fist, partially unsure how to express my feelings towards him. “He’s infuriating.”

She laughs to herself, chuckling away at my prolonged silence. “For someone who seemingly infuriates you, you sure talk about him an awful lot babes.” I sit upright, the sleep that was thick in my mind has vanished. 

“No.” I shake my head as if she could see me, “No I don’t. He mocks me constantly, how is that attractive? He is so far up his own arse to notice anyone else or have feelings.” I’d cross my arms if I could and have a tantrum like a child, but no one is here to witness it. 

A sigh follows down the line. “Listen,” Her tone has quickly changed, shes more assertive now. “did you manage to get it all done though? Work wise.” Changing the topic calmed my heart rate down. 

“Yes. Yeah, everything's been done. I finished it a few hours ago.” A draining yawn escaped my lips. “Everyone is the same. Literally, every person I’ve passed has had piles of paper in their arms or bags that are fitting for a camping trip-” Stopping myself I think back to less than ten minutes ago. 

Unlike every other person, he was perfectly calm and collected. No papers piled high before his eyes. I doubt he would’ve had it done so far in advance? My name is repeated until I zone back into the conversation. “I’ll call you back later,” I hang up and let my phone sit in front of my lap for a moment as I contemplate it. 

Whenever I see him in the library he focuses more so on judging everyone rather than working. I’ve never seen him take a book out, nor study for that matter anywhere. I see him on social media watching films or writing in his free time, not working or studying like the rest of us. “What’re you up to Dan?” I mutter to myself as I run my fingers through my knotted hair. 

*

Placing my card on the scanner I turn to walk through the gate, into the open space and head to the computer area. Sitting down I take out my earphones and search the area, and if by luck hovering by the printers he stands facing everyone. 

Even with glasses on I’m not fooled of his intelligence. I walk over to him, leaning against the printer until he turns to face me. “How’re you doing Dan? Stress settling in at all yet?” I ask as everyone around us remains silent, each focusing on the screens and occasionally wandering around for various books. 

He keeps a straight face and shakes his head in response. “Nope. I feel perfectly calm about it all. Why sink to the level they expect me to?” I couldn’t stop my eyes rolling into the back of my head. 

“Must be easy to keep calm though, considering all of those people who are writing or ‘helping’ your dissertation, right?” I struck a nerve as he stood upright, no longer relaxing against the printers. He crossed his arms, and unlike before avoiding my gaze.

He didn’t say anything as his jaw remained clenched, I watched as his blue eyes darted around the space we were in. “You have no idea.” Muttering under his breath he quickly walked off, pulling his glasses off of his eyes and shoved them forcefully into his pocket. 

After he disappeared out of sight I went back to my computer and began to write the next thousand words. 

*

Unaware of the sun setting and night emerging I continue to type, fighting the tiredness that wracks my body. My fingertips hitting the keys becomes more urgent as I have less than one hundred words left until I’ve finished the next section, and consequently three less books to take back with me. 

Sighing I read through my last paragraph, hitting save as I read and change. A few people walk by, clearly happy with where they are for the night whereas I along with a few other devoted third years continue, even if it is almost morning again. 

Unable to stop my eyes closing and I go to hit save the screen goes blank. My mind snaps into action as I hit any and all keys to get my work from today back up, the part that required the most research. Yet nothing works. I’ve lost it. 

My eyes become too watery and I stand up, heaving the bag of books and drafts with me and head out of the library. As I walk I spot those still working, all eyes locked on screens refusing to acknowledge anyone going by. I scan out of the library and pause, allowing myself to cry silently. “Hey, you alright?” A voice interrupts and I straighten up, wiping my face as I turn to see Dan. 

I go back to how I was, wiping my face and not caring as it’s only him. “Oh, me? I’m doing swell.” Sarcasm drowns my voice, I laugh lightly as he keeps a safe distance as if crying is contagious. 

“Come on.” He walks up to me and takes my bag of books, carrying them in his arms. I stand still, unsure of a kind action. Usually, he’d have some comment to retaliate with or make a statement about how society and the pressures of education have caused this. Or perhaps how if I were a man I’d have to keep my tears inside, as it is not yet acceptable. Something, anything like that, but not this. 

We walk in silence to the block of flats that are ridden with students. A few months ago it would’ve been so different here, music would play and drown out each and every floor like it were a competition of sound and vibrations. No one would be silent until at least 5 in the morning as everyone was living, being free. But now, now it is silent too often. Everyone keeps to themselves as we are all in the same boat, living through the Titanic and scrounging for lifeboats. 

Stepping into the lift it creaks and whines as always. The metal doors close, trapping us and I sigh loudly, prompting him to speak up. “You know,” I glanced up at him, seeing him in such unflattering lighting eased the pain slightly. “at 4 they turn the computers off, restart them. Just part of their routine.” 

I can’t help but sniff loudly, “Guessing your writers told you that?” I remark, not wanting to admit what he already knows. He doesn’t respond as the doors open to the eighth floor and he follows me as I let myself in. 

The corridor remains silent as I go through to the kitchen, ignoring his presence and putting the kettle on before collapsing into a chair and resting my head on the table. Light movement surrounds me and the scrapping of a chair and a hand in between my shoulder blades is unnerving. 

“I only talk like that because I’m terrified of failure.” His hand remains still as I sit upright, black settling under my eyes only adding to the purple that has been marked since we started three years ago. “I’m working from the moment I wake up until I fall asleep. Everyone who is rumoured to write for me is simply checking if it’s average or above if I’m lucky enough.” 

Looking at him now with his glasses off I can see his exhaustion. The rim of them hiding the matching darkness that has embedded itself on his face, how in his blue eyes they don’t shine with passion or for justice against being just another brain here. Instead, they’re defeated. 

“Then why make everyone else feel like they’re less worthy? Or that you’re better than the rest of us?” His hand begins to slip from its spot on my back and settles on his own knee. 

“In the first year I was myself, and no one liked that. They thought me, being myself was weird. That my love of music but being too nervous to perform wasn’t right for me, not my niche. So I went down a different, more douchy posh lad route and it stuck. Sometimes I play my keyboard in my room and wonder what it’d be like if it were all different.” I fully sit upright, facing him. 

A new found sense of fascination entices me with him now. “But, why are you telling me all of this?” Curiosity laces my words, and he simply smiles. 

“Tonight you are at your lowest. I can see how tired you are, and stressed out about your lost work.” His hand reaches over and pats my knee lightly before walking over to the kettle and making a cup of tea. “I’ve lived in that state for a long time when everything just falls apart and no one offers to pick up the pieces you leave as a trail.” 

I watch as he opens various cupboards, “Top left.” I pipe in, and he nods. 

“What I’m saying is, oh sugar?” I shake my head and he squeezes the tea bags, dumping them in the bin and presents a warm mug of nearly black tea before me. “I’m saying I can help in some ways. And that I want to. I went through it alone, no one helped me but I want to help you through it.” He smiles wholeheartedly, fiddling with his glasses in his hands. 

“Thank you, Dan.” A smile forms on my face, though defeated for now I want to get better. “For helping me as it falls apart.” 

The two of us sit, chatting about the stress for a while as the sun rises outside. Warmth slowly catches our ankles and illuminates the dust that floats to the floor. The dark tea stains the mugs and turns bitterly cold as we talk, neither pausing until the warmth reaches our eyes, blinding us. 

“I better go. When did it get light?” He asks, chuckling for a second before going quiet, unsure what to say. 

I shake my head, partly not wanting him to go. “What’re you doing later?” The first thing that comes to mind. “I mean, if you’re busy I-”

“Nothing.” He quickly states. An eager expression lining his eyes. “Are you, you doing anything?” When I shake my head his smile only grows and he slips his glasses back on. “Well, I could come by this evening, offer a better cup of tea?” He jokes half-heartedly. 

“I’d like that, yeah.” We walk to the front door, “Safe journey.” I joke as he walks to the lift, heading three floors above my own. As I go to close the door I hear a thud, and quickly open the door to see him on the floor crawling out of sight.