#written thing

[thursday-the-13th]

as i try to write a post on my parents

i realize:

i have never heard my mother truly happy

sure, she has said "thank you" and "love you" and smiled at all the right times

but there's nothing behind it

she will never say she's unhappy, not to my sibling or i.

but i realize:

she pretends

and packages away

for us

and i wonder:

will i do the same for my daughters?

[bitter-fell-child]

Today was another day.

She had at least turned back to her normal size long since, so Frisk decided to port back into the hotel room to check in on everything, yawning.

Being in Ebottstadt was a blessing, when going back to her timeline used to mean returning to a cold and dangerous underworld, but some things still made it seem uneasy. She expected it to be late in the day when she went into the timeline but instead it was early morning, the sun not quite risen yet. A scattered rain over the city sparked a mist outside the window, and most of the lights were out. It was pretty, but there was a reason for it.

Tired and not inclined to move her gaze, she spent a few minutes looking out at cars that drove by past the hotel. Until there was a grating, booming shout that caught her attention behind her, “FRISK! WHEN DID YOU GET HERE?”

She turned, startled, to see Papyrus in a pair of black skull-pajamas, having taken half a step back on emerging from the bathroom as though he were equally startled.

“...What are you doing in my room?”

He huffed, scowling. “YOU SAID I COULD USE IT!! SINCE AS YOU SAID, YOU HARDLY EVER DO!!”

Did she? ...Maybe she did. She couldn’t remember. Oh well, she did remember at least that there was nowhere else for him to stay while Sans kept himself locked up in his room. Kicking him out would be… something. The word suddenly escaped her. “Oh, right, uh.”

“…DID YOU WANT TO USE THE ROOM??”

Frisk snorted, and Papyrus stared in even bigger confusion until the child murmured, pointing a lazy finger, “Never seen you wearing pajamas before.”

“OH!!” He scowled. “WELL I WOULD LIKE TO WEAR MY ARMOR TO BED AT NIGHT BUT IT MAKES MY BONES ACHE.”

Another snort, which made a transformation into a full giggle, and his scowl grew sharper. She looked back up and murmured, “That’s just really weird though. I mean,” she added, as he raised an eyebrow at her, “same, really. I guess. It’d be like sleeping on the floor.”

“EXACTLY! SO IF YOU COULD STOP GAWKING AT MY PAJAMAS, THAT WOULD BE GREAT!”

She shook her head, as if snapping out of the trance that lead her to stare. To a skeleton, wouldn’t it be PJs covered in smiley faces? She rubbed her face. “Yeah. I should keep my pajamas around here somewhere. Sleeping in these clothes doesn’t hurt but it gets icky.”

“SO YOU ARE USING THIS ROOM NOW?” His stricken expression, which the gold tooth detracted from a bit, was so irritating to her. “DOES THAT MEAN I HAVE TO SLEEP ON THE FLOOR TONIGHT??”

“Yeah. No. I’ll sleep on the floor.” When that changed his expression to another, more uncertain one, she shrugged. “Well, I might leave when its night time. I have plenty of rooms in other places.”

“NYAH! THAT’S WHAT I THOUGHT.” So saying, he marched back into the bathroom with a swivel of his lanky form, and Frisk followed along after him without thinking about it. Without looking at the child he snatched up a red toothbrush and smothered it in paste, leaning over the sink as he furiously scrubbed his fangs.

He deliberated on the gold tooth for a while, as if it were in need of such polish. It had changed. It wasn’t sitting uneasily in his bony mouth anymore.

Frisk leaned an arm on the sink counter, observing all this. “Hey Papyrus, you’re not sad about… anything, are you?”

“NO.” He spat into the sink and then continued brushing.

The child blinked. “Just no?”

“IT DOESN’T BENEFIT ME TO BE SAD,” he said, matter-of-fact as he spat a second time (how did he do that without lips?) and started taking off his pajama top.

“Does it benefit you to wear clothes…”

He was already stalking back into the main room, where his armor was set on a stand waiting for him. “I DON’T HAVE FLESH. IF YOU’RE UNCOMFORTABLE YOU CAN ALWAYS LEAVE.”

Frisk had seen naked skeletons all the time in school, in textbooks and once in person. Somehow it felt different when the skeleton was moving around. “Um...” She didn’t look directly at him until she heard a squeak and clap, and when she had glanced back his way his ribs were secured inside the spiky black armor. She repeated the process when he replaced his pajama bottoms with the black pants and skull belt buckle. Smiley face buckle. Frowny face buckle.

Mind wandering back, she asked, “So if it did benefit you to be sad right now, would you be?”

“… YES??” He squinted, pulling a glove up the length of his arm. “SURE. IF IT BENEFITTED ME.”

The child pulled at their sleeve. “What are you sad about?”

He turned his head to glare at her, bewildered. “NOTHING?? WHAT ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT? ARE YOU SAD ABOUT SOMETHING?”

It wasn’t an actual inquiry, she knew, but a commentary. She shrugged. “No.”

With a “HMPH,” he was pulling on his high-heeled boots, steadying himself with his foot on the bed.

“Are you glad everyone’s free now?”

“I’M—” he stopped, the buckle in his hand, and Frisk blinked. He was thinking. It wasn’t that often that he didn’t already have an answer on hand for one of her questions.

After a moment, he mused, loudly and yet as if to himself, “I REALLY THOUGHT!!! THAT I’D GET MORE OF A HAND IN IT WHEN THE TIME CAME....”

“--Oh...”

“I’M EXTREMELY GRATEFUL???” He rose his hands up defensively, although the usually crabby attitude she sent his way wasn’t here today. “BECAUSE THE SURFACE IS INCREDIBLE!! I ALREADY HAVE PLANS TO BUY A MOTORCYCLE! BUT!” Another pause. “IT FEELS LIKE! NOTHING HAS REALLY CHANGED FOR ME UP HERE YET. I’M NOT ADMIRED NEARLY AS UNIVERSALLY AS I WAS EXPECTING TO BE BEFORE I BECAME THE LEGAL DRINKING AGE, FOR EXAMPLE, NYAH HAH HAH!! 

“...NOT FOR SANS, EITHER. YOU’VE SEEN HIM?? HE’S BEING IMPOSSIBLE AND IRRESPONSIBLE AS HE ALWAYS IS! IT’S LIKE HE DOESN’T CARE AT ALL THAT WE’RE MAKING HISTORY!!!?”

“Um. Um, yeah.”

“IT’S ALREADY LOOKING UP FOR OTHER PEOPLE. SO, I THINK--I’LL BE HAPPIER WHEN THINGS CHANGE FOR ME!! FOR NOW, I’M JUST DOING MY JOB!”

She exhaled. “What if they don’t change for you?”

“THEY’RE GOING TO CHANGE??” He snorted, giving Frisk a shove as he finished with his boots and meandered around the bed. “ASGORE WILL REPEAL HIS LAWS, MORE PEOPLE WILL BE COMING UP FROM THE SURFACE, THE CITY’S GOING TO BE FINISHED, THE HUMANS WILL LEARN TO MIND THEIR OWN FUCKING BUSINESS!!!....” A huff. “ANYWAY, I HAVE TO GO TO WORK!”

He slipped out of the hotel room, slamming the door shut behind him. Frisk had learned to be quick and speak before it closed. “Bye Papyrus.”

[ladykamerackharmony]

Ask away, dear anons, for I've returned to you your anonymity.

  Return to your cowardice.

[ladykamerackharmony]

Over the next few days, I might be planning a few presents for you.

  AKA: you'll probably get one today because I'm currently getting it going and holy crap, computer stop lagging. You're just doing a thing. It's like two minutes long. Keep it together.

[ladykamerackharmony]

Dear anons:

You have officially turned my persona character into a evil creature. Congratulations. Now I can't make happy-go-lucky videos with my persona as a character in them because the video turns into something practically based on the mastermind from Dangan Ronpa.

  Also, I've found that I fail to be actually upset about this and am more going "well... this is an interesting turn of events".

  Sincerely,

  The Artist

  (Also: I will be back soon. Probably in, like, a couple of weeks. Possibly with cute and not-so-cute doodles for you.)

[drszm]

Right.

So, part of my, not really resolutions, but rather, improvement goals for the year is to write more. Believe it or not, at one point in time, when I was but a wee little geek, I wanted to be a writer. This plan was snagged by my special genetic brand of lack of self confidence, and was later put on the list of past regrets.

I am not yet thirty, but I feel like I spent the majority of my twenties just trying to survive them. Well, it looks like I just might make it. To my forties, even, if trends continue. Hell, in two month's time, I will have health insurance for the first time since 2009! Excitement! (One day those under twenty-five may understand.)

Well, I suppose this blog is as good a place as any to write on, hopefully someone will read it. If not, what else is new, eh?

Right.

I could do as many do at this time of year and look back, but really, I have spent an entire year looking back, and have little to show for it. Going forward, that is going to take work.

Like, I just got married alittle over a month ago. And bugger it, marriage is weird. And challenging. Suddenly taking a whole other person into account with your everyday life, all those little details that you forget you make. What time to go to bed, what are you eating, are you eating? is today laundry day? should I shave my legs, what if someone calls? What time are you going to bother waking up?

We have had a few misunderstandings, seeing as we are not the fighting/arguing types, but I think we are headed in the right direction.

As I told my husband today, we don't have to be getting it right, we just have to gain enough experience points to properly level up our marriage skills.

We have enough going against us as it is. He's a gentle, sensitive, aspergerian doctor with social needs. I am a slightly insane, sarcastic, genius academic who lives rather isolated comfortably. Not exactly the bird and the fish, but difficult enough.

Hopefully, processing my thoughts in writing will help me.

[pentaclops]

Alone - A Short Story I Wrote for a Descriptive Writing Asignment

At first glance, the hotel seems perfectly normal. If you stare long enough, you see small cracks forming in your peripheral vision. The desk stands alone against the cream-coloured wall. A collage of keys, clanking in the slight breeze, reflects rays of dim light through the dust filled air. The corners of the hallway are hidden by ancient cobwebs that look long forgotten, even by the spiders themselves. No sound disturbs the eerie silence except the pounding of your heart, nor the millions of dust particles suspended beautifully in the musty air. Behind you is a short corridor, with three doors on either side. At the end, the air seems to be thicker, dulling your vision of the last door. This peculiar sight is formed to encourage curiosity and bewilderment.

At first, the number on the first door flickers, as though it is not sure if it wants to be read. It then settles on a fierce and fiery one. On the other side of the door is a land of fire and rock. The ground is home to all sorts of demons and devils. Each one, dragging behind it a human, shackled and bound in unbreakable chains and clasps. The sky is filled with flying monstrosities, screeching high above you head. Screams fill your ears as your eyes water from the heat and the taste of fear creeps down your throat. As you look around the hellish domain, you see the door you entered through is standing alone. Behind it are many more miles of lava and fire. As you turn back, one of the shackled humans glances in your direction and wails. Its personal devil slowly turns its head, but you are already halfway through the door back to the hotel corridor.

You are uncertain if you wish to enter the second door. Cautiously, you reach for the door-handle, and are surprised to find no sign of a number. You push open the door and step into the room. You find you are no longer standing on solid ground, but are suspended in the darkness. All around you are swirling white particles that you could easily mistake for snow, but when touched, they disappear with a slight popping sound. Quickly, the delicate sounds become a cacophony of small explosions as you flail about trying to reach the door. As the sound becomes unbearable you feel the hard wood of the door-frame. You reach your hand down to the find the door handle. When you do, you push and tumble back onto the soft burgundy carpet of the hallway.

Even more cautious than before, you look at the next door. On this particular door there is a very certain number. Three. It is written in an elegant scrawl and takes up a small portion of the large, decorated, door. A large amount of effort is needed to prise this door open. When you look in, all you can see is darkness. You hesitate, wondering if this room is the same as the last, but your curiosity causes you to step inside. As you do, a slight nudge to the side of the door makes it swing shut with a soft click. The high ceiling, covered in dark beams of wood, is home to bats, owls and many spiders. A quiet scuttling makes you shun away from the walls. As you stand in the middle of this great hall, massive gothic chandeliers light up from nowhere, illuminating the previously hidden corners. You stare up to see where these lights could have come from. Staring back down at you are four demonic gargoyles. Their twisted, evil, faces look down at you with cold, dead, eyes. Something scuttles past your foot, you look down to see what is was but there is nothing in sight. You return your gaze to the high ceiling and now, instead of four stone creatures, there are six, each one boring a hole into your soul with their cold stares. As the sudden smell of rotting tissue reaches your nose, you stagger against its pungency. A quiet whooshing sound. You look up and see no faces. Look around? Eight horrific monsters, now fully illuminated by the candle light, stare back at you with glowing eyes. You run for the door and are back in the familiar hotel.

The fourth door is metal and is marked with four indents, made from the other side. You are now wary and decide to listen at the door before entering. Inside it sounds like a very heavy chain is being thrown around a small, stone, room. It then progresses to a loud roaring that makes you take a step back. You make a decision to not enter this room.

Another metal door greets you with its cold touch. On it is imprinted the words ‘Room 5’. Again you listen but this time you hear nothing. The stiff handle clanks open and the door swings away from you. The floor is a dull grey stone, carved into slabs. The walls are similar, except there are hooks driven into the hard stone. As your eyes adjust to the dim light, you hear a soft moaning. Behind you is a fallen angel, tied to the wall, with cuts and tears in its long, black, dress. It turns its beautiful face towards you and the sad expression quickly turns to fear as it flaps its torn wings frantically. A quiet, discordant, tune plays from nowhere and the creature drops its head. You look around and see an arrangement of instruments of torture and pain. On the wall is an old notice board. Its dull, cork, surface is covered in small faeries, each one with a tiny, black-headed, pin through its chest, their delicate, diaphanous, wings limp and lifeless. You feel utter repulsion towards whoever did this to the beautiful creatures, both the faeries and the angel. Quickly, you return to the hotel.

The final door is significantly smaller than the others. This door reminds you of something but it just slips away from you. You vaguely recollect a house, with a glass door. It is a large house, with long windows. Inside you see someone. It is yourself, doing your daily routine. You burst through the door, hoping to find the memory behind it, but instead you are in a strange place. There are tall constructions, with many more windows, each one showing you a different person all doing the same thing. Around you are more people, each one with purpose in their eyes. A knock from the side throws you to the ground. The scene disappears slowly, the image dispersing in the wind. You are left alone in the dark. This is the worst nightmare of all. Every man, woman and child wishes to be alone sometimes, but when left alone for ever, breaks down and turns to lunacy. To be all alone is to be unloved, unwanted and exiled from the world you once knew.

All alone.