#splattered ink

[splattered-ink]

If I only had one week left to live

I would spend the first day afraid.

Crying.

I'd realize that in my hatred for my own life, I had forgotten my fear of death.

I would stare in the mirror and try to find something, anything worth leaving behind.

I would wonder, do I even deserve to be remembered?

I would spend the second day talking.

I would tell my best friend I love her, tell my boyfriend I love him.

I would tell my brother that his anger is only a weapon if he makes it one.

I'd tell my mom that I keep a pack of cigarettes in the cabinet for when she forgets to buy more, but that doesn't mean I approve of her smoking.

I'd tell my friend I'm sorry for saying he was annoying

I'd tell my sisters the reason my cakes are better than theirs is because I use less oil and more melted butter.

I'd spend the third day in bed

I'd wonder what death is like.

I'd think about the hospice nurses, who describe it beautifully

I'd think about what comes next

Id try to find god again, or any deities that never really listened to me before.

I'd question everything.

I'd spend the fourth day allocating my things.

My best friend would get my favorite squish mallow. My band totes. She would get what held me together like she did.

My boyfriend would get my poetry, my jack skellington squishmallow, he'd get my favorite book. He would get what kept me going, and every comfort he gave me.

My brother would get my posters, my tarot cards, my jewelry and my black nail polish, and my headphones too. He would get the little things I know he would think fondly of, the things that made me, me.

My sister would get the rest of my stuffed animals. She would look after them. She would get the parts of me I seldom share with others.

I would spend the fifth day writing.

Letters for the people I won't get to talk to again.

Apologies for those I've wronged

Forgiveness for those who hurt me

I would write pages on pages of things I didn't say out loud, address each one carefully. I'd burn some, mail others, tuck some into the shoebox in my closet, already filled with secrets.

The sixth day, I would stay out late.

I'd stare up at the sky, watch the clouds pass, watch the sun go down, and the brilliance of the stars like holes poked into the lid of a jar.

Maybe thats what they are. Windows of the light from another world, shining down on our little planet from the cosmos.

I would pick out my favorite stars.

Mira, Polaris, Vega.

I'd count the constellations and try to spot the planets one last time.

The seventh day, I would go somewhere quiet.

I'd send my last texts, post my last poems,

And I'd tremble with fear

Because I'm afraid of death.

Because in my haste to prepare everyone else, I'd forgotten that im just a scared little child

Id sit alone, in my quiet place, and realize that I'm not brave enough to die alone

Not brave enough at all.

But oh well. Too late now.

[raemoriendi]

“vampire” as in you have the kind of autism where you have to be explicitly invited to participate

“vampire” as in you wear the same outfits until they’re ancient rags, regardless of aesthetic, because they’re the clothes you’ve always worn

“vampire” as in you were always asked by your classmates why you talked funny. you thought this was just how people talked

“vampire” as in the adults always liked your jokes, but people your own age never laughed

“vampire” as in something was wrong with you, something in your very essence kept people at bay, but you swore you looked just like the rest of them

“vampire” as in you felt so disconnected from the seasons of life - your peers’ milestones, their growing up - that you felt out of joint with time itself. something ageless about you in the worst way

“vampire” as in people talked about things like you as something dangerous and sinful, something that would seduce the young and innocent

“vampire” as in you can’t remember ever getting to be either

“vampire” as in there’s a lot of time you can’t account for, actually. how old even are you?

“vampire” as in you remember the first time you looked at girls and boys with a longing, a twisting in your stomach like hunger

“vampire” as in no one else you knew liked people that way, like they wanted a taste, and you thought maybe you really were a monster

“vampire” as in your nightmares always involve a crowd of people - sometimes living, sometimes dead - finally realizing that you’re something else trying to pass yourself off as one of them, and they feel tricked

“vampire” as in you don’t know who made you this way

“vampire” as in you don’t know if everyone like you is hiding somewhere you can’t find them, or if they’re just gone. if they’ve always been gone

“vampire” as in it felt like you were alone for centuries, before you finally met another

[leximpwrites]

Unlikely Places

"You're an Anduthian."

He paused, and turned to her, a half smile on his face.

"Oh? And how did you deduce that, may I ask?"

She gestured to his bare torso. "Your tattoos. The one one your left shoulder is your clan mark. The Rolkasa. The one on your right was your clade, the Wind Brotherhood. The small one on the inside of your wrist was your rank. You were shimava, a commander."

He raised an eyebrow, impressed. "How do you know all that?"

She blushed and looked away. "I...ah, I read it in...the...uh, Royal Library."

He stared. Then he started to laugh.

"Ooooooh, Lady Fate, you are a cruel, fickle bitch," he murmured, almost to himself. "The Princess Ludicia Vacorum. Well met, mi'lady." He bowed to her, almost mocking in the over exaggerated courtliness of it. "You come to me, one of the last of my kind, and one of the greatest foes your ancestors ever had, and ask me for help?"

She looked him square in the eyes now, head held high, unafraid. For the first time, he realized how young she really was. Only just into adulthood, if he was any judge.

"Yes," she said firmly. "I cannot undo the crimes of my lineage, but I can atone for them. I am asking for your help. I need your help, if I am to retake my throne."

Jastinius chuckled again, shaking his head in wonder. "Very well, little princess. Let us see about reclaiming your kingdom."

((This is a potential story idea that came to me in the middle of the night, and I wanted to put it down somewhere before it escaped.))

[scorp-ling]

I tried to get my pen to work by searing it with a flame. It exploded.

[fabricofbooks]

New Year's

You: New year, new me!

Me, an intellectual: New year, new people to hate!

[splattered-ink]

We were never Orpheus and Eurydice.

I know this now

Because love would not drive you to the realm of the dead.

No, not love. Pride. Greed.

And you,

You would never have turned around.

You would have marched straight back home

Straight out of the depths of the underworld

And I would have followed, like a dog behind you.

And you knew that. Knew with every certainty that I would follow you anywhere you went.

You would only have gone, because you missed the way I fawned over you.

Missed my obsession

It would have been nothing more than another labor for you.

[splattered-ink]

All this anger in my chest

Boiling in my throat

Was once the most intense love

Bubbling sweetly in my soul

[splattered-ink]

Look at the stars

Look at the stars

Specks of brilliance

strewn across inky black

An eternal

and untouchable presence

Look at the stars

Scribbled by messy hands

and wandering minds

Unique as the real thing

In the minds

of even the most bored

Look at the stars

Hidden everywhere in life

In the eyes of our most adored

In our veins, flows stardust itself

Look at the stars

In everything you touch

You will find a piece of a star

Or what remains of it

They are the very blood of the universe