I speak for the Moon.

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[writingfromthemoon]

Not Heliophilia.

TW: Implied depression, vague panic attack, anxiety

Storms were unrelenting, painful, tiring. His body, mind, and soul were drenched in an endless rain and constant claps of thunder caused migraines. He could never sleep through the storms; the electricity in the air pricked his skin.

The sun was always far too bright. He didn’t want it; it hurt his eyes, it burned his skin-- the warmth was never worth the pain he’d have to endure just to receive it. The very thing that gave the world life was something he loved in theory, so why is it that he could not love it in practice? 

The storm was getting bad again -- not that it ever fully dissipated anyway -- and he was returning home drenched once again. The thunder pounded in his head, lightning strikes causing him to wince from the pain and dig his fingers against his skull in an attempt to lessen the blow. The work was piling up again -- his boss made him work overtime just like every other day and demanded he do his share of work as well. The stacks of papers were like skyscrapers and words blended together until they were unrecognizable. His back hurt from his crummy chair and keyboards were nowhere near as ergonomic as the company had thought they were. Stuck in his little box, he spent the day as well as hours into the night working away as the storm only grew closer and closer -- the box growing smaller and smaller. The mixture of the two were suffocating.

He hated it -- the storm, the work, the rain, the words-- he hated it all and nothing in the world around him felt as though it could save him from drowning. He couldn’t focus on where he was going, simply walking on auto-pilot until he made it to his destination, and focused all his energy on holding his head. He wanted the clouds to go away, to clear up, to feel saved.

Maybe he should go visit the sun? It was an instant clear all, but so very temporary and not worth the pain it caused. Then again, a visit to the sun would mean bothering his friends once again with his problems, and he wouldn’t want for them to grow tired of the rain as well. Maybe he should invest in a raincoat to shoulder the downpour.

The sun -- his friends -- far too bright for him. His eyes could never adjust, and he’d never be able to protect himself from the way it burned his skin. The warmth was only helpful for a moment before it became like flames of fire. The sense of clarity was inviting, he would admit as such, but it was never worth the price. The mundane paperwork he filed every day would never bring enough wealth to buy him an umbrella, let alone sunglasses or a bottle of sunscreen. Their cheer was simply too much; their personalities so vibrant and smiles to match. Was it a short-coming of his, doomed from birth? Was it simply a curse? A curse to live his life underneath a typhoon that followed him around? The stress started to cause his shoulders to hunch and his feet to drag. 

Thoughts became too much; the rumble of thunder against the walls of his head. Self-degrading thoughts came from every corner of his mind; he’ll never be good enough, he’ll be stuck at this meaningless job for the rest of his life, constantly walked on like a doormat. Maybe his friends never really cared about him, or maybe they’ll grow tired of his depression and run to hide from the storm? He was worthless, wasn’t he? He couldn’t even hide underneath a street awning to save himself, why would his friends -- the sun-- bother staying too? He was going crazy, insane, unhinged -- there was no difference between voices and thunder claps within his head anymore. He felt like he was drowning, his throat started to close and he found it hard to breathe. Where was the sun? He needed the sun to get rid of some of this water. He frantically reached for the handle in front of him, throwing open the door to find his savior.

Just beyond a layer of clouds, there was a spot of light in the dark. Blindly, he swam towards it, attempting to outrun the rising waters and bracing himself against the heavy winds; the rain pelted him and knew there would be bruises left in their wake. There was no possible way he could hold on any longer, knowing there was no way out; his breath caught in his throat and his chest heaved before he noticed the wind carried his name beyond the rain.

The moon, yes! The moon! It shined so brightly against the dark sky most days, and illuminated the thick clouds from behind. The rays of the moon never burned him, only giving a soft glow to remind him he wasn’t alone-- that he was worth loving. If something so beautiful could love him, where was the need for the sun? The moon had control of the waves that surrounded him, slowly parting them so that he may catch his breath and stop flailing aimlessly. The moon’s whispers were powerful enough to stop the wind -- it took time for it to die down and remove the sounds from his ears, moving to caress his head and work on removing the thunder within. The tender tone greatly outweighed the rumble of thunder, and demanded the lightning strikes to halt, his mind easing itself into a calm state. As the wind brushed his hair out of his face, he could feel his head laying on the Earth now, the rays from the moon peeking through the clouds as they started to wave them away. He managed a sigh.

Her fingers ran through his hair once again as she softly cooed, reassuring him that she was right there. His head must have landed on her lap after he came into their shared home. The way her voice carried was merciful, taking pity and caution to the headache he now endured. Her smile was a crescent, an invitation for him to take his time as they’d go through the phases together. Her touch was far from the heavy beating of the rain or the burning the flames of the sun brought along; her entire presence was welcome, calm -- ethereal even -- as every part of her being was so divine he almost felt himself a dirty sinner just laying eyes upon her. As one who could part the everlasting storm in his mind, she took his breath away in the most positive capacity. 

“Hey,” the moon sent him a gentle breeze, “you alright?”

His silence was a grab-bag of emotions. Would he take the moon's grace and respond in kind, free from the storm? Or would he lash out from the unbearable pain he had endured now that he's gotten a moment's rest and regret each drop of poison that rolled off his tongue? She knew neither responses were his fault, but to him it felt as though the storm was created solely to bring torment to his life in the form of harming others. His silence felt like it lasted for hours before he mustered another shaky sigh and mumbled against her skin.

"Today was hard." An understatement. "I just need to rest."

"Rest, yes," She could see straight through his lies. He knew better than to try and hold secrets away from the moon; she's heard all lies throughout the darkness. "But tell me what happened. Tell me why you feel this way."

"It's dumb--"

"It's not dumb if it  bothers you."

"It's the same as it always is--"

"It still bothers you, so it's important. Tell me about it. Let me help you."

"But it's--"

"Please." The corners of her lips tugged to a larger smile, as gentle as petals from flowers. "Let me listen to you."

She had to have been a saint. Who knew angels could part storms or disguise themselves as the moon. Who knew that the moon would have a lap like a pillow or hands like the breeze. Who knew that he'd be so lucky to gain such graces or even have a chance with someone like her. He's just glad she had met him with an umbrella in hand.

There were no other sounds in that room aside from his desperate and muffled ramblings against her skin and the gentle hums of affirmation she gave in response. For just this moment, the sky above him was dark, but in the sense that the night will take care of him. No clouds, no thunder; no thoughts screaming at him or insecurities blaring their horns. His head no longer hurt so long as her fingers were woven in his hair. He could finally breathe now that the last drop of water had dried up with the last of his words.

 "So you had a panic attack on the way home, then?" Her voice reflected her small frown. “That’s why you were having troubles breathing when you came in.”

He gave a meek nod of his head, his eyelids feeling like lead and his body following suit now that he had spoken his mind. His words had started to slur -- he wasn’t even sure they made sense anymore -- but she still validated him with her quiet hums and loving words. Slowly, the silence in his head brought along a serene wave of emotions, his body now aching from releasing the tension that had buried itself so deep within him. He asked her to sing to him, gentle, and allow him to stay with his head perched on her lap. 

It was hard to keep his eyes open, but it wasn’t because of the light of the moon. The moon -- his moon -- was a gift from above that he never expected to experience in his life. She was so beautiful; with his eyes, he traced the delicate curves of her features, recollecting each detail as though they were brand new to him. Physical beauty was nothing compared to the way she was patient, caring, loving, despite the ugly monster that causes the storms of depression within him. Even on the hardest of days, he knew the moon would always smile down on him at the end of it, reminding him that he was loved and that he was much more than his illness. No matter how many times he had come home in a frenzy, woken her up in the middle of the night with his stressed out breakdowns, or ruined a night for them because of his anxiety of being enough for her -- she had loved him through it all.

He took solace in knowing that no matter what the storm may bring, she would love him regardless. He closed his eyes, and allowed himself to drift off to sleep with the moon shining down on him, wrapping him in the most comfortable wave of love. He could hardly hear the storm brewing in the distance. His last thought wondered if there was a word for loving the moon.

[writingfromthemoon]

Sea of Wisteria.

What lies beyond the wisteria trees?

For as many days as I’ve witnessed the rotations of the sun and moon, all my gaze has known beyond the yard was gentle, purple petals that flow with the breeze. On the particularly windy days, they were all I could see in the sky as well, blocking the one view that allowed me freedom.

I’m not allowed to go past the edge of those trees, my father has made it clear, but it didn’t matter. My spirit has never been strong-willed enough to defy his wishes anyway. Though my will is not strong enough, my curiosity does get the better of me, and the words of my father do not stop me from dreaming. Though I’m meant to stay surrounded by the flowers as though I am a caged bird, it doesn’t keep me from singing. 

I sing of dreams, stories, hope. Of love, family, friendship. Of grand adventures, evil, and good. I sing to the sky so that the breeze can take my voice to places I cannot go. Why could I not go? What lies beyond the trees that smell so sweet?

Father would return sometimes, shielding his sword from my view as he parted through the drooping vines, smelling of blood that overwhelms the sweetness coming from the lavender petals. No matter how many questions I ask him, he returns them with a question of his own, completely different from the topic of mine. He always reserved the softest of smiles for me, no matter how often I asked him of his adventures. He’d simply end my bombardment with a wave of his hand, a pat to the top of my head, a smile, and an additional warning to beware of the trees once again.

On days he was not there, the days were long and the nights were lonely. The sun brought along songs of other birds, free to roam to their heart's content, and sounds of creatures hustling and bustling, sounds of other humans far off in the distance. The nights, however, peak my curiosity far more. I almost broke my promise, walking through the trees to just the outer edge to get a peek of what was outside of our house’s circle. I see nothing out of the ordinary, really -- an abandoned road, trees donning beautiful green leaves illuminated by the moonlight rather than the suffocating purple hues my eyes had been used to, and run down buildings a ways off.

I made it to the edge of the wisteria again today, hoping to investigate whatever sound had been travelling through them, hiding within the shadows of the moon. I stumble back, just out of reach, of a being so terrifying I could make no sounds to accompany the tears streaming down my face. With teeth as sharp as an animal, and eyes as piercing as my father’s sword, it was a creature from nightmares. It reeked of blood, torment, and despair that felt as though it was not theirs. It stretched it’s reach as far as possible, pulling their hand back as though the petals burned it’s skin. I push myself up from my fallen position, turning my back to it and running as fast as my legs will allow me. My feet hit the ground hard, my eyes never leaving from in front of me as I ran mindlessly towards the safety of our home, my lungs burning and my heart pounding so hard it felt like drums. I don’t stop until I fall into the dirt, the open area between the wisteria and my home, and allow the dull light of the lantern on the porch to wash the feeling of safety over me. 

I stare at the stars, begging for my heart to rest, and wishing on all the ones I could count that my father would return home soon. A rogue night owl flew across my view, crying out into the stale air; sleep would not be finding me tonight. 

I would never sing again. My words could never drown out the sounds of demons from the other side of that blissful sea of wisteria.

[writingfromthemoon]

Love in Lanterns.

TW: Implied suicide.

She pulled on the sleeve of her mothers clothing, pointing to everything that caught her eye. Whether it be strange, large, beautiful, colorful, or anything in between, she cried out just how happy it made her, and praised whoever spent their time and poured their hard work into it. The festival around her was a world of wonder and beauty, as her soul was pure and innocent and allowed it to shine through her eyes.

There were so many people, her voice was going to go hoarse with how often she said hello to those she passed by. Her cheeks burned from her smile, but she paid it no attention as she held it for the next person she got the chance to lock eyes with. Her mother always taught her to be kind, to love others with whatever you’ve got. She took this to heart and was more than determined to share that love with the world at this festival. She smiled and waved to yet another person, thanking them for their hard work to make the event so beautiful. 

She watched as other children ran to their fathers and hugged their mothers, as parents held their children, lovers whispered to one another, and friends playfully laughed with the others. The world was so full of love, and she had never felt so warm and thankful to be able to witness it. 

As the moon rose to the sky, as did the lanterns. Glowing softly, the sky lit up with several hundreds of them, all carrying the deepest wishes of people's hearts along with them. They reflected in her eyes as her gaze was starstruck, her smile reflecting the same amount of light. She didn’t speak, simply enjoying the beauty these lights provided in place of the stars that night. Her mother handed her the lantern they had built together -- made from wood and carefully painted paper-- she made sure to write her wish on a heart-shaped note as she gave the lantern a small kiss before releasing it to the heavens.

Her heart whispered it’s deepest wish right back to her, her smile never wavering though tears spilled from her eyes. She only wished that daddy would have felt as much love in this world as she had before he had left.

[writingfromthemoon]

Storm Season.

The leaves were the vivid hues of autumn once more, leaving their homes from the trees above to find their way onto the creaking roof of the old temple. The colours bounced against my shiny silver necklace, I liked to play with it to see each and every one. I’d have to occupy my hands and find the broom to sweep the porch once again; the leaves had fallen so rapidly, it felt as though I did nothing at all.

The breeze seemed nice, but I had been moving too much to truly feel how cleansing it may have been. Too busy, too stressed, I could not sit down or take even a moment's rest. Too much to do, to many tasks, to keep up this old temple. Sweep here, polish there, sweep in the first position again as the leaves seemed to have found their way back. It was never ending work, though I did not tire. I smiled, taking solace in knowing I had something to work for. 

I ran my fingertips along the lines of the front wall, a crack as large as a bolt of lightning splintered the structure and caused my lips to turn to a frown. How was one to fix this? I moved along to notice the other flaws around -- a broken fence, a hole in the porch, the creaking door thrown about by the wind -- how had the temple become so run down despite all of my efforts to keep it happy and beautiful? This all must be fixed before the storms come in. A sigh escapes me as I move along.

The day starts coming to an end, the help of the sun now dwindling as the love from the moon starts to envelope the world. I pause for a moment to notice a small fawn in the yard, looking wearily at the structure before it and dancing nervously in place. As gentle as possible, I held out my hand to beckon it further. Slowly, gently, it starts to come forward, perhaps hoping I was holding food. 

It walks through me, up the steps to the run down temple and through the open door. It carefully steps over the burnt rubble and fallen building to search beneath years worth piles of leaves for hidden berries or something left behind. It nudges a dull silver necklace from beneath the soil, and moves on.

I sigh, hoping mother won’t be mad that I allowed a deer into the temple. I have to get back to work -- cleaning, fixing, doing my temple duties -- because I cannot rest. Everything must be fixed and ready before the storm season comes. I wonder if it’s thunder I hear in the distance.

[writingfromthemoon]

Shadows on the Lovers Path

TW: Implied abuse.

Beneath the line of cherry trees stands lovers; the string of lights along them add to the sparkles in their eyes and leave a soft glow on their skin. They’re happy, giggling, playing pretend. The atmosphere is gentle as it drowns them all within the falling pink blossoms and flowery scent that followed the disguise called love.

Fleeting touches and whispered words are shared between a pair. They’re smiling so much you’d think their cheeks would get tired. She looks shy as her gaze is fleeting; he looks at her longingly, hoping for a chance to lean in. They’re happy.

I too share my hand with someone, mindlessly running my thumb over her knuckles as I’ve done countless times before. I listened as she spoke of vast spaces and endless possibilities. The lights illuminated her smile though all I could notice was her shadow, lingering behind as it hypnotized me with it’s dances. She called me back to Earth, so I gave her a smile.

There’s a couple against the railing-- she sat on the fence while he leaned his elbows on it beside her. He laughed while she playfully smacked his chest, her false anger subsided by a laugh so genuine she held her stomach. They seem happy with their sense of fun.

I’ve felt a few hits to the chest as well, usually following things I’ve said. She didn’t laugh afterwards, however, and she would never kiss away the bruises. I try my hand at another joke, and apologize quickly as that shadow crossed her features. She smiled at me once again, dismissing my words and pulling me further along the path meant for lovers. The fallen petals beneath my feet are making it hard to stay standing.

A couple asked another for a photo, taking the opportunity to be creative with their love and making heart shape with their shadows. It was cute, the others said, and a good keepsake for their memories. He looked flustered while she leaned against him, beaming at the photo on her phone-- but they both looked more than happy to set it as their backgrounds.

She wanted a photo too. She roped another couple into her antics and asked with honey-filled words for them to help her out. She smiled for the camera, and I tugged at the corners of my lips. She asked me, “Aren’t we cute?”, but my eyes could only focus on the way her shadow twisted, smirked, and begged for release. Her smile was forced when I told her I’d rather not set it as my background. 

Her grip on my hand grew stronger, letting me know just how she felt. The cherry trees above felt as though they were closing in, her sin of a shadow swallowing the hanging lights and making my hair stand on end though it were not cold. I’ve felt no happiness for a while, wearing a mask called love to save myself from the devil. I’ve taken a wrong step, now, and found myself trapped in this path meant for lovers though the woman in front of the shadow was far from loving.

[writingfromthemoon]

Beyond the Fae Circle

I should’ve listened to her. 

It was my fault I treaded in places I should never have been. She warned me, but I’d been such a fool. No one could tell me what to do, I was much smarter than the world around me; I thought I was that smart, at least.

The thicket tore at my skin, leaving trails of pure scarlet in their wake. I had to move, I had to run, I had to do whatever I could to get out of there before they found me. Nothing in the world would know what they’d do if they caught me. I didn’t want to think about it.

My heart drowned out the sounds of leaves and twigs beneath my feet. I never knew true fear until this moment; I hadn’t feared when I took those steps over the forbidden line-- those mushrooms-- though I shouldn’t have. Through tears, my eyes started to focus on the far away sight of what was supposed to be home. The sun seemed to kiss the ground at those tall, British-style hedgerows my family hoped would keep me in the yard, and I’d never been happier to see them. I ignored the tearing of my clothes and hopped over them, crouching on the other side of safety.

With my head in my hands, I took a breath. I smiled with ease and praised myself on avoiding danger. I’d made it home, and could hear the breeze above my own heart once again. It seemed to get dark, and I wondered if a storm was on it’s way, but the raindrops on my skin had been from the cloud of my own eyes.

“Hello little one, care to tell me your name?”

[writingfromthemoon]

Kitsune.

TW: Abuse. Mentioned, nothing too graphic. TW: Blood, mentioned.

Legends of old spoke of the woods beyond the village who never saw light. With brush overgrown and branches interweaved with one another, the woods was a dark and dreary place where shadows could roam and fear dictate your every move. 

Fear-- the keyword-- as the plants living within feed off of the emotion, and the monsters that dwell inside thrive from the very essence of a frightened soul. Even the moon choses to keep her distance from the place, the evil within screaming out harsh notes of sin. No living thing has entered the woods and returned.

Centuries of humans have avoided the woods, sure that their village would be plagued with demons and devils if anyone were to even dare play with the keepers of those shadows. Terror and dread filled families who even thought about what could happen should they venture beneath the leaves. No one trusted the creatures that would visit from beyond the gates to Hell, no matter how small or innocent. 

The kitsune got the worst of the treatment-- “sly little foxes”, they were known as, “filthy sinners”, or even “the devil’s demons” as though they were evil apprentices to the lord of the underworld himself. No human within the village dared to interact with one, unless for sport. The kitsune that once ruled the village were no longer welcomed guests after centuries within those woods. Shouted words stained their hearts, tossed stones broke their bones-- the humans and their legends did more to make them evil that the shadows ever did.

Kitsune had their own legends within the village, however, like how they’ve accepted their jobs as the devil’s advocate or how following one would lead you to the fae that dwelled in the same Hell. The fae were the creatures responsible for whisking away the living to their untimely death should they impede on the sacred grounds of night. Just as no one has seen past the shadows of the woods, no one has laid eyes upon the creatures of the fae, though many believe they were the very devils they feared, preying on the unfortunate souls who found their way in there.

Legends of old grew darker through time, rivaling the state of the woods themselves, as generations of families passed them down and the balance between the nature surrounding them and the so-called humanity they held was certain to tip given a little push. The woods were a living nightmare, and no one had gone into the woods for centuries.

Centuries time was up.

A young woman far too wise for her years lived in peace with the nature of things around her. She did her chores, wore a smile, and was kind beyond need for recognition. She loved all that surrounded her, and chose that love over any ill feelings; those in her proximity didn’t seem to share that same love. All her life she had been ridiculed-- hateful words spewed from people’s mouths like venom and their fangs pierced cold with each disgusted stare. She’d been beaten, broken down, and punished for the love that filled her heart, yet she continued to find herself just on the outskirts of those woods with a smile on her face, offering any small creature that emerges a share of her kindness. 

If asked, she’d speak softly, saying she didn’t see a reason to fear the woods-- they were just woods, were they not? Legends didn’t scare her, but she stayed out of them out of respect for her family's wishes; be a good girl, and stay away from the woods. Love all who were worthy, and waste no time befriending those who were tainted by the dark. She was told time and time again to be a good girl, but how was she to do so if she were to turn her back on the creatures who simply longed for love? 

She grew tired, and words grew old. Be this, do that-- how could she shine when all they wished to do was to suffocate her loving flame? The words grew colder while the sting of their hands grew warm and the impact of their weapons burned like flames; disgusting, tainted, disgraceful-- their hearts turned to stone over the years while hers simply overflowed with the compassion she desperately wanted to give. She was the outcast, the evil one, the shame to her family name. What she viewed as love and freedom was seen as vile and eternally damning by everyone else, and she could not understand why they allowed words to dictate them in such a way.

The woman grew accustomed to sneaking away over the years, running to a small little spot untouched by the darkness though just beside it. She had decorated the area, making it feel open and welcoming of her little friends who visited from the wood. As she did every day, she made her way there with food she had collected for her little friends, accompanied by a smile.

Friends had gathered a ways out from there, and she thought they were simply waiting for her arrival. After calling out to them, they scurried away, fearful of whatever hid within her little den. Carefully, she crept through the brush and took a peek through the leaves to find a small kitsune, curled in a ball. It seemed angry, she thought at first, though the aura around it seemed more sad as she watched it from behind.

Approaching carefully, she announced her arrival first, and watched as the animal from the legends turned its head quickly, afraid of the impending danger. She spoke softly, her steps light as air and every bit of her demeanor asked for peace. The eyes that locked with hers opened a new piece of her that she never knew she owned before-- courage.

Ice blue eyes paired against a dark-as-midnight coat with markings in a pure white though they were in the strangest pattern she’s ever seen. This creature had come from the woods? It seemed to fit the bill of the animal from the legends, but what about it had been so frightening to others? It’s eyes seemed sad, crying out for help but fearful of what the human approaching it may do. As she got close, she offered her hand to try and calm it, allowing it to sniff and desperately hoped it felt her intentions. It seemed as if it had no other choice. Weary, it rested it’s muzzle into the palm of her hand, closing its eyes as a sign of trust; before they closed, she got a glimpse of her own reflection in its eyes. 

It had been hurt-- one of the village people, she gathered-- the crimson red staining some of the beautiful white markings. She audibly gasped and rushed to help it, going as far to even tear her own clothes to make bandages and tying them sturdy enough to help the kitsune heal. She sat with it far into the night, petting it soothingly and singing it to sleep softly.

Many moons passed as she cared for the little kitsune, nurturing it back to health and finding solace in its presence. It had been a star in her darkness, the thing she looked forward to the moment she opened her eyes in the morning. She strangely felt at home with the creature-- at peace. It waited for her every day with eyes shining as though she were the sun, and bounced around her like it were the leaves in the wind. She held it close and spent her time there until it grew later and later; the village started to notice her disappearance. 

They started questioning her intentions. Where had she gone? What had she been doing? Many turned to the idea of witchcraft while others thought maybe she wasn’t as innocent as she claimed to be and met with a lover. Both roads lead to hate, and she could not convince them otherwise. Telling the truth held more risk than allowing them to believe what they wanted of her, but their words made her sick to her stomach. How could they be so hateful? Days of their suspicions led to her worst nightmare-- the lashes of their anger no longer hurt against her numb skin nor did she let herself react to their venom anymore. She allowed them to do whatever they liked to her so long as she still had the freedom to go back to that little kitsune, though her longing wish turned to horror.

The sounds of metal locks scraped outside of her bedroom door accompanying bangs of the hammer and splintered wood. Her heartbeat in her ears matched the heavy rhythm of the hammer, and followed her fists that pounded on the door. She screamed, cried, begged for them to let her out until her voice went hoarse while her mother cried that her daughter had brought shame upon them. She cried throughout the night until her body could no longer hold her up, and sat against the very door keeping her in place. The sun and moon had once again become her only friends.

One night, she heard muffled conversations beyond the door; something of a creature on the outskirts of town, seemingly looking for something. She heard gasps, anger, nothing concrete until her very own father uttered the words that made her heart drop-- “kill” and “kitsune”.

She could hear the group of hunters who gathered in her family home start to shout at once, hateful venom once again thrown towards her, calling her the devil herself. She pounded on her door once again, crying, begging for them to leave the poor thing alone while they started accusing her of becoming one of the devil’s advocates as well. They ignored her pleas, and once their voices died down, she grew frantic. She tried shaking the door handle, running full speed into the door with her shoulder, even kicked it with all of her might to no avail. The moonlight caught the glass of her window in just a way to remind her that she was not alone, and offered her help. With disregard to her own safety, she took a deep breath and ran at the window, the sting of the glass was nothing compared to the pain in her heart, and a bit of blood only ran warm down her forehead for a moment before she forgot all about it. All her body could whisper at that moment was “run”.

So she did. She slunk through the brush, snuck around houses and ran as fast as her feet would let her when possible. She avoided the voices around her and the faint lights of the flames and lanterns they donned. She knew her punishment would be bad; she knew her punishment would be nothing compared to the pain she would feel knowing her actions had cost that poor little kitsune’s life. Nothing else mattered.

Waiting for her in the little den the two of them had created, the kitsune had curled up into a ball, wondering where its friend had gone. It had jumped to its feet at the sound of rapidly approaching steps, but dropped its guard as it saw the familiar beauty, though it cocked its head to the side at the visible blood on her skin and frantic look in her eyes. She dropped to her knees, explained what happened to her and begged for the creature to leave. She cried, words of apologies bubbled up her throat and she pleaded for it to run to safety. She was desperate, and it could sense that.

Just beyond the bushes, she heard a couple of people mutter to each other, wondering out loud what they would do to her once they took care of the kitsune. Violent words of torture, stakes, and fires passed their lips and the kitsune’s ears perked while her eyes overflowed with silent tears. She whispered an apology against its fur once more before asking it to leave again, though it only tugged on her torn clothing instead. Silently, its eyes pleaded for her to join it, run from the injustice she’d been placed with. A moment of silence followed before she rose to her feet, confidently disobeying every legend she had ever been told.

Just before the pitch-black darkness of the woods, she stopped at the sound of her mothers voice above the shouting of the mob. The look on her mothers face was distorted, angry, disgusted. The kitsune quickly jumped into the dark. Her words sounded as though she were begging for her daughter to come back, to turn around and realize she could atone for her sins. As she did not answer, her mother’s words turned to the venom she grew accustomed to-- she insisted she had been stupid, that she was being shameful and putting dirt on their families name solely because she could not listen and be the good little girl they had wanted her to be. She could not listen to the legends nor do what she was told, that the kindness she tried to call love was nothing but a curse brought forth by the demons she associated herself with. Her mother no longer looked human.. Looking amongst the crowd, she had realized the true monsters, the true devils, were the ones she called human. She turned to find icy blue eyes waiting for her in the dark, and never turned back.

Aimlessly, she ran through that darkness, not seeing a thing around her. She stumbled, running into tree trunks and slipping down small hills. She tripped over roots and felt the scratches of overgrown brushes against her skin. She started to grow cold. Perhaps she was already dead? Maybe the legends had been true; maybe the kitsune had been working for the devil, and just maybe she had been naive enough to follow it to her death. She did not care. She did not fear what awaited her in the woods.

A gust of wind caused her to gasp, and the sudden illumination of a circle around her frightened her. Small mushrooms formed a ring around her feet, shining brightly as though they were formed by magic. Was this the end? Shouldn’t she have been scared? Through all of her pain, she felt oddly calm by the silence. She noticed a person in front of her, towering just a bit above her height. His hand felt warm against her skin as it carefully wiped away the crimson stain that dripped down her face and caressed her cheek in a fashion that felt all too familiar. Icy blue eyes met her own.

“You helped me at my worst, human.” His voice was smooth like the wind around them, “You’ve shown my compassion I haven’t felt from your race in centuries.”

Her heart skipped a beat as the beautiful man in front of her gave the softest of smiles, his thumb brushed against her cheekbone lovingly to reflect the emotion in his eyes. This must have been the fae the legends spoke of, though she held no fear. His eyes were mirrors.

“This world does not deserve you.” 

Her eyes started to well up, now coming to the realization that she could never go back-- she would never go back. The life she had known was thankfully over though it was awfully bittersweet.

“Just as you’ve poured your love into me, little one, I shall pour all of mine into you.”

He backed away from her, but offered his hand instead. She did not hesitate. Gently, he guided her out of the circle, though the wind caused her to close her eyes. The rays of light warmed her skin and caused a shock to her system. The light was blinding at first, though she fought to look past it. Trees surrounded them; trees of old and new donned such vibrant colors and opened to a world she could only have dreamed of. Water in rivers and ponds were so blue she was sure it was the sky, and skies so clear she was sure they were fake. Flowers bloomed every which way, and soft pink petals carried by the wind fell so gently on top of her head. People seemed happy, holding one another as children ran around with laughs so bubbly they were contagious. She had stepped into paradise and an endless sea of icy blue eyes.

“Here, little human, we are free.”

The legends of monsters beyond the dark of the woods never crossed her mind again.

[writingfromthemoon]

High Priestess.

TW: Implied death. No graphic scenes.

There she stood, barefoot in the grass, cream and pink petals falling around her. The dress she donned was pure white and blinding, flowing with the wind as though it were the breeze personified. She was a beauty he couldn’t describe beyond ethereal; the gold that topped her head and flowed through her body were the signs of her being.

He had found her by accident; his soul was broken, lost, searching for something to heal it. She said she loved humans, and wanted to observe them closer. He didn’t know what she had meant, but the way she had said it was as soft as a music box, and he liked what he had heard.

She was beautiful, had a voice like spring and a gaze like autumn. A touch like summer and a comfort like winter-- each feeling sent a shiver up his spine. She was like the books in the library he could not read because they’d been written in a language long lost. Symbols blended together through thick ink, yet they were fluid and perfect as they’d been practiced time and time again, and she was just as mysterious and interesting to gaze at.

And like those books, she held knowledge--things so sacred that he could not hear through the hurtful sounds that passed those wine-stained lips as she tried to educate him; her mouth would move, but otherworldly words would not give him the time of day. Written, they looked like ruins. 

She knew nothing of his time, but he hadn’t minded. She listened like they were in church. She knew what he was thinking before he even did. She picked up on the smallest of cues and could pinpoint every mood. The woman who sat before him could read the stars that aligned with his soul, but she could not read the way he fell head-first into something he was certainly not strong enough for.

She was ethereal.

His fingertips adored tracing the golden scars that graced her skin as they glinted in the sunlight as gentle as a feather. As the moon, the goddess could shine light on those who are worthy of blessings, or ensure those who deserve the weight of their sins never escape the void of night. The High Priestess card that she held in her heart reversed before he could even learn to read it.

Days grew dreary and dark, an icy rain chilled him to the bone though it were her eyes that caused him to shiver.

She grew silent, her lips constantly pursed and head tilted towards the sky; she didn’t bother to even spare him a glance anymore.

Had he done wrong? He’d beg for forgiveness and receive no reply. Her eyes had then grown distant, longing for something he could no longer give her. Her skin had donned new golden scars. She only scoffed at him when he inquired about what had happened, who had hurt her.

What were the words she had said? He spent night after night trying to decipher them. Now the bags under his eyes matched coal. He had wracked his brain for what had been days only to find the words she had said vaguely resembled a tale of humans and their sins being unworthy of her time.

Days passed by with a blur, he was unable to tell one day from the next since all that occupied his mind was her. He tried to stay away, tried to do anything to rid himself of the curse that was his love, but found himself running up that hill where she used to stand waiting for him with arms open. Beside her he had sat once again, begging, pleading, for just a glimpse of her beauty.

Obsession was a hex that follows the curse of love, she had explained to him. His love was nothing more than superficial; a way for his soul to heal while doing nothing to ensure hers remained untainted. He didn’t realize he was one of the humans she spoke so lowly of-- one of the ones who had selfishly hurt her for his own happiness.

A sharp pain ripped through his body like an unannounced fire-- burning so hot it had appeared cold. His body had grown weak, and he could no longer will air into his lungs as the source of his life bubbled from his throat. His vision had grown hazy and his head started to spin. Her eyes finally looked at him, though they were no longer bright.

She was ethereal. Dark as night with eyes like stars. Her smile was wicked, lips stained blood red. She had been blessed with clothes as black as ash and gold graced her skin. She was as knowledgeable as old legends, unpredictable like spring, changed like autumn, unrelenting as summer and as deadly as winter. Her smile held more secrets than the world could ever hold, he thought.

She was ethereal.

What was once a blessing was now his downfall as love led him to a curse. Still, as her hand had caressed his cheek, gently calling for him to give in, he smiled.

[writingfromthemoon]

Venom.

She thought it weird that I gave her a smile-- one that had reached my eyes with no hidden intent to be malicious or evil.

She asked me: why not?  How could one smile  after enduring words that cut like razors and knives that passed by the lips I couldn’t take my eyes off of.

I told her not to be silly, she never meant those things-- she and I both knew the venom was fake and the pain in her heart was simply residual  from evil before that she had to endure. The venom left no stains and there were still blood in my veins which told me she loved me, even if the words she spoke showed no evidence of it. No apology offered as she crossed her arms with a huff turning away from me, ignoring my teasing-- my playful pleas-- for her to look at me with those eyes that told me that she loved me even when her words could not.

A fool, she called me; too patient, too calm, too kind, too gentle, too trusting, too forgiving. I didn’t know what she meant when all I was guilty of  was loving her.

A fool, she was; too angry, too distrusting, too scared, too blunt, too willing to hold grudges, too easy to rile up. She didn’t know what I meant when I told her that everything about her was lovely.

She threw words like knives again; her eyes telling me  she wished she hadn’t  been this way.  I gave her a smile-- one that was gentle-- before leaning in, and whispering words of comfort and of love, to watch her eyes soften and look as smitten as mine.

I leaned further in, ready and willing to drink the venom from her lips.

[writingfromthemoon]

Torii Gates.

TW: Implied death. Nothing graphic.

The only reason I knew there’s still time in the day is the small glances between the leaves where the sun shoots down. These graces are few and far between, the rest of the time is spent in an eerie darkness which the spirits must use to hide.

The path is worn from long use, though I find it hard to tell behind the ivy that crawls across it. The green vines felt like they moved on their own, wrapping around my ankles to keep me as it has to travelers before. They felt warm, like an embrace, but I had far more to travel, and could not stay like the leaves had asked me to.

The forest had taken over the torii that had been long forgotten. The line of arches was where I had needed to go, but would I be able to pass through? What lied beyond the passage from mundane to sacred? Would the temple still stand? Vines wrapped the gates, moss growing in place of old markings and words. Standing at the entrance looking in caused goosebumps; the dark had been no help, either.

I could feel the brush of hands and shivers of breath both behind, and beside me. They were cold, the spirits-- rather, they felt empty. Their touch felt more like a morning dew than ice, a gentle mist across my skin. Their faces held no malice, as one would expect, but instead a profound sadness. Vines wrapped around some of their bodies, others donned torn clothing and ragged robes. Children, elderly, and those between murmured words I could not make out, though I had not tried.

Growing up, legends spoke of the forgotten temple stashed away by the woods; a woods so deadly, the growth kept those who dared travel to the temple for life, spirits collecting and doing the same. Those who travel through the torii gates are blessed with the words of Gods and are thought to live lavish lives. Many seek such fortune, but none survive the woods before.

No one had warned me the gates held no air, though I suppose they couldn’t anyway. Each step heavy as the vines held on so tightly to protect the shrine, my lungs burned and begged for release, whatever the spirits had been calling out to me replaced with a sound so piercing I thought there might have been blood. Thorns pricked at my skin, cutting deep and leaving behind trails of blood and stings. They lunged at me, tearing my robes and ripping away at all that I had, including my ability to speak, to cry, to try and return home.

The aura was no longer mysterious, scary, or even tempting. It was disgusting, heavy, crushing-- something truly evil standing as nothing more than a silhouette at the end of the path. My skin crawled, knowing a pair of eyes fixated on me and a daunting smile held their lips. Their arms were held open, a gesture for me to come accept their embrace.

The dark had now truly turned a pitch black, my eyes hoping to adjust to the faint light of whatever had captured my soul the moment I passed through the sacred gates.

They had warned me, I realized, as consciousness had started to leave me. The vines held me so that I would not venture forward, not to keep me from happiness, but from death. The whispers were pleas from those before me to turn and run, not coax me into becoming one of them. They tried to hold me back with desperation, but could hold no true form.

I awake in front of the gates once more, hoping the pain and terror had only been a dream. Another traveler came along, and ignored me as I called out to him. As I reached, my hand had fazed through him.

I searched for blessings in the old, forgotten temple-- but only found a curse.

[writingfromthemoon]

The Star’s Goodbyes.

Heavy sighs and fingers intertwined;

the silk sheets of the bed were forgotten

for just one night as we took the liberty of 

sharing the warmth of our bodies 

on that thin blanket where

she could feel the blades of grass

leave indents on her skin that clashed 

with the ones I liked to give.

The stars left her eyes as the ones 

in the sky decided it was time to go--

just as she had, silently.

She and I knew that our time was limited

as the Ladies of Fate had written it

in the very stars she loved to stare at

while I stared at her instead and listened

to the stories she told about them

as though they were her long-lost friends.

She disliked goodbyes, she told me 

they were far too emotional, and she’d much rather

leave like the stars, quietly knowing they would

be back to do it all over again--

but I thought she was more like the moon,

watching the phases of her slowly go by

as she normally illuminated my sky

and I never had to worry if I’d see her again

as the stars were never promised another night.

Like the stars, once the break of dawn had hit

and the sky turned into beautiful light blues,

my arms grew cold as they had been empty

much longer than I had realized; 

though I should have known that once the sun

decides to show it’s face and bring the warmth,

the moon grows distant and leaves the sky,

which leaves me waiting to hide in the shadows

with her in my arms once more.

[writingfromthemoon]

Raindrops on Rooftops.

TW: Death. No graphic scenes.

Mommy and Daddy spoke softly in the front seat. ‘Grown up stuff’, they always told me. It never bothered me; I didn’t want to know anyway. I was happy where I was.

Tap tap tap.

The backseat was normally lonely, but my best buddy was right there with me that time. I stretched as far as possible to pat Doggie on the head, but Mommy told me I had to stay in my seat. I wasn’t allowed to unbuckle. I remember her telling me that a lot. I watched Doggie yawn and lay back down beside me and decided I’d just let them nap.

Tap tap tap.

The radio played some songs I didn’t know. I didn’t know most of the words, but I liked to sing, so I mumbled and made up some funny ones and giggled along. Mommy asked me if I could sing a bit quieter for now, and that I could sing louder in just a little bit. I nodded my head really hard and moved to enjoy the music instead. I bobbed my head around, wiggled in my seat and kicked my feet gently so that I didn’t kick Daddy’s seat in front of me. 

Tap tap tap.

The tapping caught my attention-- it sounded like little fairies were jumping on the roof of our car. Maybe that’s what it was? I imagined cute little beings with bright wings and magic dust floating around as they danced along the roof of our car, the bells on their shoes jingling. I wondered if they were dancing to the radio, too. I guess it was just the rain.

Tap tap tap.

We passed a sign. I couldn’t read it yet, so I asked Daddy what it said. He told me it said something like ‘Dryplace’; A giggle bubbled past my lips-- I thought it was funny because how could it be dry if it was raining outside? I asked Daddy that and he just laughed and said he didn’t know. What a silly name.

Tap tap tap.

I watched the raindrops run down the window and gave them all names. They were racing, and I cheered for each and everyone one to do their best. They moved pretty slow against the background outside that seemed to go by so quickly my eyes couldn’t keep up with it. The tapping on the roof had been much louder than before, it drowned out the music now. Mommy and Daddy still spoke quietly, but I couldn’t make out any of the words anymore. I kept calling for them to turn the music up so I could sing now-- since Mommy promised-- but they didn’t. Maybe they couldn’t hear over the rain, either. I kept shouting it so that they could hear, but they kept talking anyway. Daddy started shouting over something, he said something about the road, I thought, but why would he shout at the road? What was ‘drifting’? What was ‘hybro-planing’? I knew what an airplane was, but what was a hybro? Mommy started shouting now. I was looking out of the window and saw the world go by a lot faster than it was earlier. Was that the hybro? I turned to look at Mommy as she shouted louder-- she had reached for me, leaning out of her seat. Where was her seatbelt? She told me it was bad not to wear one.

I had flung forward, only to snap back into my seat. Daddy sometimes hits the other pedal a little hard, it normally made me giggle when he did it on purpose. Mommy got back in her seat. I heard the radio start up again, though the song was a little fuzzy. I asked Daddy to fix it for me. I asked Mommy to fix it for me. Neither of them fixed it. I sat and listened to the tap, tap, tapping of the rain on the roof mingle with the fuzzy song on the radio, and looked outside of the window. I couldn’t make anything out. It was cold. I thought a few of the raindrops from the roof made it inside, ‘cause I felt a little wet. I asked Daddy to roll up his window, but he didn’t move. Maybe they were sleeping.

Tap tap tap. 

The rain grew louder until it was the only thing I could hear. Why didn’t Mommy or Daddy listen to me? Why was Doggie still sleeping? Was I supposed to be taking a nap, too? The raindrops started to hurt my ears as they were ringing; the tapping of the rain sounded like they were echoes. I heard something coming towards us, but it wasn’t very loud at first, but it got louder. It hurt my ears. I saw some people come to the car, I didn’t know their name. Mommy told me not to talk to strangers, so I didn’t want to say anything. I called for Mommy as they helped me out of my seat. I called for Daddy when they took me towards the loud sirens. Neither of them could come help me. I was too little to be alone.

Tap tap tap.

The fairies had lost their wings, and they no longer danced. The music was replaced by grown ups saying things I didn’t understand. Machines hurt my ears. 

The sound of the raindrops on the roof of the ambulance was haunting. 

[writingfromthemoon]

Hero’s Argument.

She stood in front of me, arms open like her smile-- ethereal and kind; she didn’t know I could see behind. Disgusted by the secret evil that gleamed in her eye; eager to throw my life away because she was divine

Evil, she spoke of. A secret, dark plight-- town in danger, an end in sight. True hero, she said, to give my life even though I did not choose this light

Tired and jaded, I cut her off. Forcing her hand, she gave a scoff. Facing my title, I told her no, objecting the idea of playing hero

Officially insisting, she rapidly grew angry-- yawning, I turned, and told her she’s cranky. Yelling, she told me I couldn’t say no; omens were omens-- or so she said so

Opening the door to get up and leave, empty and ugly, her threats interweave every crevice of the room, making sure I knew my goal was a tomb

Baring my teeth for a sarcastic laugh, hurdling venom on a snake’s behalf, forcing my way out through the door, reminding her that I was no bore

Ever the annoyance, I honestly thought, truly astonished that she thought I could be bought; telling tales of gods, riches, and power, really thinking her words were not sour

Rampant evil and no protection, nebulous warnings deserved more reflection. Negotiating was not my thing-- giving my life like it were a fling

Going out into the world on my own now looking for something alone; earnest and powerful to protect them from strife evasive of the idea of giving my life.

[writingfromthemoon]

Hero’s Journey.

The characters featured here are my own dnd character, Aerglo, and the goddess of the moon featured in the series, Selune.

The room was illuminated by flickering candles, the flames bouncing as the breeze in the air whipped around. It was a place so familiar to him, he could map every inch of it out with his eyes closed. Here, he grew up; here, he lived. Within these temple walls, he was raised perfectly.

A well-mannered boy, he was. Aerglo was given his name to fit the theme of his family’s work--running, caring, and praying at the temple made to worship the goddess of the moon, Selune. From the moment he could stand, his family taught him the ways of worship, of protection, of legends, and of gods. Aerglo was taught to be kind, gentle, and soft-spoken. He’d care for anyone he passed on the street, and offered smiles that could melt hearts to those who needed to see it the most. A mix of timid towards conflict and outgoing towards justice, he was a bright young boy.

He learned early on that legends and heroes held truth to their tales, and as bright-eyed as any young child, he’d become enthralled with the idea of getting his own chance to be one. His family would scold him, telling him he must settle down and behave should he wish to remain in the goddess’ good grace. They’d cut the stories short, and preoccupy him with work at the temple to keep his mind tied to that place. He’d spend his days reading and learning scripture, prayers, rituals and languages lost to the rest of the world outside of his own village. He’d learned to communicate with spirits and beings long gone from the realm of the living-- of the humans. Aerglo was a cultivated boy who knew nothing else of the world aside from whatever happened within those temple walls. ‘Sheltered’, the other children would call him as they passed by; ‘respectful’, the elders would call him as they left after their prayers. Neither words would dull the star-like smile that reached from ear to ear. Aerglo was blissfully ignorant.

The candles in the room simultaneously blew out, the wind in the room picking up as he stood there now, years later, facing the one person he dedicated his entire youth to. She was beautiful, Selune, though Aerglo could see nothing more than the dark, malicious grin that hid behind such a porcelain-like appearance. 

“There you are, chosen one,” her arms had opened-- a kind gesture. “Here, come to me.”

“So you’re spouting off that trash, too?”

Aerglo had bared his teeth in disgust for the title he grew to hate over the years. He recalled hearing it the first time as a child in other’s whispers, but never faced it outright until his early teen years. ‘The chosen one’, he always thought, ‘what an awful name’. Chosen for what? He hadn’t known for most of his life, though his family always told him he was meant for great things; meant for things much bigger than him. ‘Touched by the goddess’, they always said to him-- how was he to know what that meant? He only ever got told snippets of what his great journey was to be, and it hung far too heavy for his liking.

“Trash?” her features had turned to a forced sadness, “you are far from trash. You’re meant for--”

“Great things, yeah yeah, I’ve heard it. What exactly are you talking about?”

Selune’s face had grown serious, her chin turned up so that her eyes could cast judgement upon him from down her nose. Her gentle, kind tone now seemed strained as her arms had crossed in front of her chest and the aura around her had shifted. 

“Have you no manners?”

“Must have forgotten them along the way.”

“A great evil threatens your village-- your people, the ones who trust in you, Aerglo, to protect them. It will take you, and only you, to protect them. You must connect worlds between humans, demons, angels-- and all between. You, Aerglo, are the key to saving them all.”

“And how, pray tell, am I supposed to do that?”

Aerglo’s face had said it all, if his tone hadn’t come through his words. Not only had his question come out irritated, his facial expression had screamed exhaustion and sarcasm. 

“By fighting this evil, of course. You will be known as a god on earth, one who stopped the evil plight, protected this world, and sacrificed your life for--”

“Sacrificed? You expect me to die for this?”

He didn’t care to look at whatever expression Selune had given him then. His eyes had been closed, his palms held up and open towards her to signify she stopped her speech. His head shook from side to side.

“No, not happening.”

“But you’re the--”

“I’m not dying for some bull like that.”

Aerglo faced Selune fully, then. His face had become void of all emotion, and his words had passed his lips like venom as he had spit them out at her like she was nothing more than trash. He had thought about his life up to that point, how others had paved this path for him-- how everyone had molded him to be this perfect little puppet for Selune’s game. He decided: he would no longer be her little toy to throw away as she had gotten tired of him.

He turned his back to her and had started to leave, feeling that the room had grown heavy with something livid, hateful, and nasty. The wind had whipped around like a storm, the room had no longer felt the gentle, magical flow as it had when she arrived; instead, the room felt like it were a boat thrown out at sea, battling a whirlpool-- only for it to turn dry and void of air like a black hole. Aerglo did not care.

“I’m not playing your game, Selune,” he informally addressed She Who Guides by her true name and threw a hand up over his shoulder to dismiss her. “I’ll find some other way to stop this ‘great evil’ you’re talking about. One that doesn’t require giving you anymore of my life that you haven’t already taken.”

[writingfromthemoon]

Photo.

TW: Implied death. Nothing graphic.

She looked at her hands-- they looked as they usually did,

feeling a bit colder than usual though, so perhaps

she needed to sit by the fire. Daddy must have just had the

floors fixed-- they made no sound with each step she took,

running, bounding, jumping as she normally did

knowing that mommy will call out and remind her that

she needed to calm down when in the house lest she

forget about daddy’s favorite vase that shattered into pieces

her favorite blue glitter clue couldn’t fix. She heard her parents talking

about what, she did not know; all adults talked the same,

muffled and boring until they mentioned something she enjoyed.

She bounced around them, waiting for one to look down and acknowledge her,

though she knew she’d be waiting for a while since they liked

to talk for long periods of time, and taught her something they called

patience, since they said it’d do her good later in life.

She tugged on daddy’s pant leg, wrapped her arms around momma’s, and

tapped on both of them until her arms grew tired. She wanted to go

make a snowman as surely it snowed last night with how cold

the house was indoors. She didn’t know it could rain inside, but water

surely started to fall onto her skin, so she asked daddy

how it was possible, but he was too busy to answer her, so she’d

have to remember to ask him later. She wanted to play with the toy

they put on the fireplace, and reached for it. She accidentally knocked the

photo that sat next to it to the ground. As the glass shattered, she apologized

knowing that mommy was going to scold her and warn

that the glass will cut her. The girl in the photo was so pretty, though.

She liked it a lot. She wondered why mommy apologized and picked up

her memorial photo.

[writingfromthemoon]

Rearview Mirror.

TW: Hospitals. Just the setting, nothing too graphic mentioned.

Looking at her hands, she noticed just how sickly her colour has turned. The leaves on the tree outside reminded her of marmalade and apples-- so a whole year must have gone by since she first laid in this bed. She wonders how well the flowers must’ve looked this year.

The ones that kept collecting by her bed were artificial-- she knew why. Those who come and go, or flat out refuse to see her, are afraid that watching real ones die would be too sad, scary, or even painful. The idea didn’t affect her soul anymore.

The day finally came where her mother held her close and cried-- hard. Her gown served as a tissue, growing warm and sticking uncomfortably to her skin. The doctor’s words were unclear, her head swarming and the raging of her heartbeat muffling her ears.

If the flurry of nurses and doctors using the door as though it were revolving wasn’t annoying before, it certainly had been now, and she grew much more tired than she had been. Poking, prodding, checking in more than before. It drained more from her than her sickness over the past year.

It was time, finally. Her mother sobbed, but her eyes, personally, held nothing but love and appreciation for her life. It was time to leave, her body decided, it was time for goodbyes.

It was bright, when she left, and so cold she couldn’t feel her mother’s embrace. The sight of the hospital from the rearview mirror of their car brought warmth to her skin.

[writingfromthemoon]

Three Card Spread.

This story had a personal limit to set! So I set my limit/challenge to write a story using a simple, basic, three card tarot reading.

Three Card Spread.

Three card spread: past, present, future.

Fool-- upright: beginnings, innocence, free spirit.

Three of Swords-- upright: heartbreak, sorrow, grief, hurt.

Nine of Cups-- upright: gratitude, satisfaction, wish come true.