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Who dat

Some call me sick, others call me twisted I’m often found wherever you may standFor I am but the manifestation, of this here land

#writer speaks #m!a influence #new roommate #asks #anon #wonderland #she’s possessed by the spirit of the land

A new roommate m!a

an evil spirit possesses my muse’s body. How it behaves is up to the mun. Lasts three days.

Writer spent her day outside this morning, the calm autumn breeze accompanied by the gentle white noise it brought just seemed unusually more tempting. She placed a cup of tea beside her on the table, steam dancing off it and into the wind. Her journal lay pressed finely before her as she wrote, ink staining the page.

Today she wrote about just the land itself, and took a break from everyone living in it. Perhaps she believed that it too would vanish if there was not a word in its name to be read. The sun overhead changed her lighting of the page as if it read what she wrote.

And by the time it was sunset she had filled yet another book. The sun set fully as the last page fluttered over to her left, and she closed it neatly. Her tea only had a few sips from it, and she realized then how hungry she was, having not taking notice to herself for a day. She stood, bones cracking and aching from being frozen in one position for too long. Her hands begged for the release and it came with a deafening snap.

She took the book back inside and placed in on the counter as she got something to eat. Her house seemed cold and empty, like it got used to no one being in there, and all of its color traveled with her. The moon shinned gently through the window above her counter, illuminating the book like the sun once had.

She bit into an apple while she waiting for more water to heat up for tea. Her eyes looked over the journal then followed the beam of light to the window, and the moon outside. She didn’t know why, but she opened it across the counter and began to read her work aloud. She often rereads everything she writes, but speaking to an empty house with no one to hear it but her, was something she never did with her stories.

She spoke about the complexity of the land, both in beauty and in mind. How it’s forests are vast, filled with tall and colorful plant life not known to many men. And as you walk amongst them you find yourself turned around, and placed somewhere you weren’t originally trying to go.

She delves into the sickness that plagued the land. How no one entirely cares. How it turns any who fall into a type of monster, and how there’s dangerous toxins in tempting fruits that make you loose yourself more than you already have. She grew quieter as she read about how the land takes your memories and places them in lanterns to illuminate the woods.

A sharp hiss than a whistle snapped her from her focus as the tea kettle screamed to be dealt with. She gently moved it off the burner as she poured some into the teacup, the tea leaves instantly turning the water into something new the second it hit them. The sugar dissolved quickly under the hot water, and everything was quiet again.

She took a sip, and spoke again to fill the silence. Only this time she barely uttered a word. This time a knock at the door interrupted her. Wind whipped wildly outside so at first she assumed it was no one, she hoped it was no one, which is rare.

The door opened as if the wind was pressing all its force against it, and it nearly took her off her feet. The trees outside bowed and swayed in the winds as leaves filled the night sky, blanketing the stars. The woods seemed to move in a way that beckoned her, she stared into its familiar dark patches, with flickers of colorful light deep within it.

The book was tightly against her chest as she walked towards it. Her hat blew off from her head, she watched it for a moment as it fluttered back inside, and the wind closed the door, then she continued walking.

The wind sounded like a million whispers coming from one voice. The air was cold as it was whipped through the trees and around her. Although outside the threshold of the woods the wind was more violent, inside the trees offered some security and silence.

The moon appeared broken and fragmented against the leaves overhead. It’s light barely stretching down to the leaf covered ground. Suddenly she stops, she looks around. She’s been in this woods enough times to know which way to go, she isn’t lost. She’s at the center, it’s barely a clearing, and on a tiny bump of a hill. The one place the moon can fully break and touch the ground as if it were a spot light.

She sat down there. She didn’t read, she didn’t speak. She just watched the surroundings with one hand on the soft ground. Then she smiled, she could feel the life of this land as if she sat upon its heart. The wind it’s gentle voice, the sun and moon its eyes. The trees waved to her like hands, bowed like a spine.

Perhaps then there was a mutual knowing. No one was around her, just her and the land. That’s how it used to be. And perhaps it was then that the wind changed. There was a gentle breeze that pushed her hair off her face. And fluttered her book open in her lap. Perhaps the wind spoke to her, perhaps she replied.

But as she walked back out of the woods there was no more wind. Everything was calm and everything was still. The night continued on in silence as everyone else slumbered. Writer and the land permitted that. There was no excitement from either of them through the night.

She grabbed her tea again, and drank it down before picking her hat up off the ground. She looked it over as if for the first time, and placed it on her head. Then, rather excitedly, raced towards a cloth covered mirror in another room. She examined herself within it in detail, something she never does. And she smiled.

“Writer... you’ve always been my favorite one to reside here.”

There came a laugh, and a gentle gust of wind outside.

“I know you won’t mind this... just for a little while.”

Her eyes shown more brightly than before, as if tiny fireflies in the dark rooms.

Her smile grew brighter as she then walked back on her marry way.

Whoever that was in her home, it wasn’t writer anymore.

#new roommate #writer speaks #m!a influence #my writings #i was hoping someone picked this one

The moon watches over you as you lay your head to rest

Visions and worlds yet to come to you, crafting themselves in your head.

#writer speaks #m!a worst fears #m!a influence #goodnight

A world like this warps and bends

You must dance with it, let it take your hand