You remind me of a dream.
Within that dream there lived two beings.
One a strange creature, small, black, and misshapen.
A shadow unsure of for whom it is cast.
Its feeble legs carry them across endless seas of white.
Its mere existence, a stain upon the pristine canvas of an eternity once meant to last.
It runs, for it is hiding
It wanders, for it is lost.
It weeps, for it is lonely.
It waits, for it is alone.
The other a stark white shape, penned with blood and speckled gold.
A figure he’s bent into a shape he calls his own.
With legs that forever walk the distance of a lifeless void of black.
The only star of an empty cosmos, a disruption to its hollow serenity, made of ceaseless flesh and bone.
What is it that he seeks?
Why is it that he roams?
Where is it that he walks towards?
Does he know?
Does he know?
Realities flicker through them like the slides of an old projector.
Discordant melodies that both end and begin once more without warning.
In an infinite void between the folds of everything,
and in the midst of nothing where the silence sings.
They find that there exists within that chaotic haze of static no one but them.
They live many lives, and wear many more faces.
The edges of each universe fading seamlessly into the next.
Yet time and time again, they find themselves returning to that space where their existence began.
If what they are even have beginnings.
If what they are can even end.
Within a dream there lived two beings.
In a place where nothing else exists, perhaps it meant they were everything.
---
A poem about two friends who are shapeshifters.
I like them a lot. :3c
I wrote half of this ages ago based on general vibes and decided to workshop it yesterday. I don't really have anywhere else to put this so it is going here. ^///^)b
The cat's name is "Cat" (Quotation marks included), and the dude's name is 17% (he belongs to @fullofbones).
Oh! Actually it slipped my mind but here’s the short story I wrote for my creative writing class. It’s not very long and it’s mostly a mood piece as my prof mentioned, but I like it ok. ^///^
(I actually recorded an audio reading of it for a friend of mine but I do not like it lmao, it sounds really melodramatic. He liked it though.)
Uuuh general heads up that it’s eldritch horror themed?
From the Journal of J. M. Jassby
I know now that I’m not in Hell.
To some degree I had always known, but a part of me honestly would have preferred that I be dead. But now, face to face with something my eyes had once ached to see again, I know.
This place is far, far worse.
I’m haunted. Haunted by these sights that once made me smile. Chased by what is, in a cruel twist of fate, what I had always wished for. What once would have made me weep with joy now only evokes within me an unspeakable terror. It’s not fair. I still feel tears in my eyes when I see them, but they’re nowhere near joyous, and they only blur my vision when I need it most; as I frantically weave between the rocky landscapes to find somewhere I can catch my breath. It’s not fair. I don’t want to remember them like this. I shouldn’t have to run when I see them. I shouldn’t have to feel sick to my stomach when I hear their laugh, or scramble to hide myself behind something when I hear their footsteps. Why? Why am I here? It’s not fair.
I don’t even have the time to grieve.
It mocks me. It’s on purpose, I know it. With their faces, with their voices. It knows, it has to. It knows how much each word digs its way into my already battered heart. It lures me out from hiding with its sweet promises and facades as if this were a fun game of charades, and knowingly laughs in the face of my despair. It knows. I know that it knows, that I am but a foolish and desperate woman who would fall for the same tricks over and over and over again with the stupid, naive hopes that it’ll somehow be different this time. That this time, I could possibly feel the warmth of holding my child in my arms again. That this time, I'd be able to lovingly kiss my husband's sleepy, unshaven face while looking into his eyes. I wish I could at least remember what color they were. Is that why I still look back? How could it possibly know?
It’s not fair.
It won’t leave me alone. I see it everywhere, and even if I don’t, it’s still there. I know because I can hardly breathe whenever it’s near. Which is often. Or maybe always. No, the tightness in my chest can’t just be from fear alone. It’s just...oh what do I even call it. It’s everything, but also nothing. Just like here. I’m in every nightmare that I could and couldn’t have possibly imagined having all at once, yet there’s nothing here. Nothing at all! Just dust, and sand, and rocks, and the pitch black sky that beckons to me. It tells me to stop running.
And I agree. I don’t know why I still am either. There isn’t anywhere to go.
Perhaps a part of me still hopes, but I know that hope was dashed the moment I saw my son’s face turn into that...thing. I see it everytime I close my eyes. His smile twisting open into an endless array of jagged teeth, his eyes melting into black voids that would quickly begin to run down his face, and his cheerful laugh would morph into the distorted cackles of a monster. A part of me is still grateful that I can see my son’s face at all, but that’s probably why it laughs at me, isn’t it. Maybe I deserve it. As long as I still can’t let go, it will continue to feed me these false hopes while it mercilessly tears at what I had already barely been able to consider my sanity.
I miss them. I miss them so much. I can’t possibly describe in written words how much this hurts.
It hurts.
I ask myself sometimes if I would have preferred how my life was before. It’s such a tough choice. I hate to say that, because what kind of a person am I to think being endlessly chased by a monster is somehow better than my colorless home? It wasn’t always like that of course, but it felt like a nightmare too. Just...a different kind.
Now that I think about it, what difference did it truly make? I couldn’t speak to anybody. I couldn’t make out what anyone was saying. Hell, I couldn’t even recognize my own son’s face! It got so bad that I couldn’t even name the color of my sister’s hair and we were twins! Oh god I still don’t know...and I hate to admit that maybe that monster does.
I don’t even know when it started happening. I just remember it happening so suddenly. I woke up one morning and my husband didn’t have any eyes. None. Like they were simply wiped off his face. He laughed at me then, but I never saw them again. He kept laughing at me every time I told him, until he didn’t have a mouth to laugh with anymore. By then I couldn’t even talk to him. I’d speak but it was as if nobody could hear me. They’d gesture at me strangely and guide me to the nearest couch. I would scream. Scream at these faceless strangers with only the outline of someone I thought I loved. Eventually I couldn’t even go outside anymore, it was just too much. Or perhaps too little.
Surely I was losing my mind. Oh how terribly unlucky I must be! I remember crying, thinking it must’ve been something akin to alzheimers. And I remember cursing the terrible fate that must have befallen me. Why else couldn’t I recognize anybody? Why else couldn’t I register anybody’s voice? Why else couldn’t I even close my eyes and imagine my child’s smiling face for just a modicum of comfort? It wasn’t fair.
And to think that I was almost fully resigned to that hideous fate.
But my face in the mirror was always crystal clear.
I would stare at it for hours.
And I would loathe what reflected back at me from the deepest depths of my soul.
“Why?” I would ask. “Why are you here?”
In that nightmarish haze where I had become stuck between the real and unreal. I thought that I was somehow in Hell.
I must’ve been, I thought, for I couldn't imagine a place worse than somewhere I could never see nor remember my loved one’s faces ever again.
Maybe that’s why I’m still here.
Maybe that’s why I’m still running.
Even if these cherished faces are what ultimately kill me, I can’t bring myself to forget them again.
So this will be my ever slowly growing list of stuff I write because I do intend to write more!
Smaller Sides to Life
A semi-planned collection of unconnected short stories that focus around objects or small moments in time. Each story is a different pairing with a different theme or circumstance.
Concept list - if you’re curious about what might be written next. Not a definitive list but most of those ideas are in the works one way or another.
Table for Two - Logicality
A Cup of Coffee - Loceit
