and this week's prompts:
Image: "Sharqiya Sands Desert", third place in the international landscape photographer of the year award2019 by Adam Hoszang
Music: "Under the Pressure" by the Score
Word prompt: a fragment from Women by Charles Bukowski
she had wild eyes, slightly insane,
she also carried an overload of compassion,
that was real enough and which had
obviously cost her something.
hjcvhvcjh comic sans has been proven to boost creativity in writing for some god awful reason, so i try to use it when i need to get my motivation churning because i'm inspired.
Guess who has another project because motivation has abandoned her? Dis gal. Have a prologue for a casual write called White Rose.
| Before the Storm |
The marble floors were cold against her bare knees, biting into the torn skin ruthlessly. Her wrists burned from the tightly knotted ropes binding her hands in such a way that she couldn't even move her crooked fingers. Inky black hair spilled around her frail form, encasing a haunting face set in cool anger. Inhuman eyes shone with bloody promises.
"I could have you executed. You'd do good to remember that, witch."
The girl kneeling on the floor before the dais, flanked by–not only two–but ten guards, glared up at the insufferably uninterested boy king. Her wrath seeped through the leather gag, the biting words visibly implied by her steely gaze.
The king grinned down at her from his perch, seated safely upon the throne, the knuckles pressed into his cheek making it all the wider. "You think you're all that," he crooned, making her squirm with the need to rip his throat out, "And all for what? A little wiggle of your fingers and a dusting of some magic?" His grin quickly fazed into a scowl, and he lurched forward to rest his forearms against his knees. "You're nothing. Nothing but a worthless hag, a murdering witch, an abomination. Anyone could do what you do without that disgusting weapon in their arsenal."
Her nostrils flared; her eyes were wild. She would love nothing more than to make him shut his mouth on a more permanent level. She could practically hear the snapping of his bones, his ear-piercing screams as he was torn inside out by vines of thorns. Her hands itched with the ghostly feeling of his blood, the tang of it lingering on her split lips.
The king leaned back once more, crossing a leg and folding his hands over his lap. "But," he stated with almost a disappointed frown, "It'd be such a shame to end your life here when you've yet to experience what it means to hit rock bottom. That is a fate I want to see you live." The corner of his lips curved up into a barely-there smirk, eyes widening and glowing with insanity that the guards seemed blissfully ignorant of. "I want you to suffer, to live day by day wondering if you'll live to see the next. I want you to struggle to survive, to be haunted by the ghosts you've put into this world."
Rope bindings could barely hold in the thrashing she put upon them, a guttural snarl slipping past her lips as the king smoothly stepped out of his throne and strode over to her. She didn't stop even when he bent down to whisper in her ear. His smile was almost heard as he breathed, "I want to see you bleed, my little white rose, just like they did."
"Take her away." Hands grasped at her arms, ignoring the screams muffled by the gag and the sobs raking through her body. She couldn't see anything beyond the blood in her eyes, couldn't hear beyond the wails of pain in her ears, couldn't taste anything but the salt on her tongue, could only feel the lashings on her skin.
Her pleas were ignored. Her kicks were blocked and soon restrained. She was being carried now, dragged out of the palace to be tied to ship and taken away. Her brother, her brother. She needed her brother. She refused to leave without him.
Mel!
"Dee!"
Another violent sob tore through her body when she heard his terrified shout. Her eyes swept around her, body twisting more than should be allowed to find her little brother.
There, being carried by a single guard. Also restrained, but not gagged. Unharmed, only scared and confused. At least they had that much of a heart. He was too young, too sickly to be like her. She doubted he was, anyway.
His big, toddler's eyes zeroed in on her, and she did her best to calm down for his sake. If she was freaking out, then he'd freak out. The poor kid was traumatized enough as it was; she didn't want to make it worse on him. I'm here bub, she tried to tell him with her eyes, I'm always going to be right here.
The travel between the palace and the docks was all a blur. She was so focused on keeping her brother calm without words or touch that she barely registered being put down and forced to walk, or even where they were going. It was all about him, her baby brother, the child that didn't deserve this kind of life. How someone could be so cruel was beyond her.
Keening bells were heard first, then the shrieking gulls. She's been to the docks before, but never on the seas. Men shouted at each other in all sorts of tongues, tossing and carting crates to and fro. Children laughed with one another as they tossed old bread up into the sky, feeding the spoiled birds. The ocean lapped against wood and rock, wanting a taste of what it loved to devour.
Nimble fingers pulled off her gag. She snapped her eyes up to the guard that had taken the job of escorting her and her brother through the entire journey across the ocean. His eyes were warm and sad. Why? She continued to stare up at his face in confusion while he worked on the bindings that kept her upper-half immobile, and never broke her gaze away even when she was completely free.
"I don't trust you," he whispered, meeting her eyes finally. He wasn't afraid of her or appalled by her unnatural appearance. He didn't recoil from the sight of her eyes, which lacked a pupil and iris. He simply stared at her and met her challenge. "But I trust your anger."
That was the first and last thing he ever said to her. The siblings never spoke to their guard, and the guard did a lousy job of following the strict orders his king gave him. They roamed free aboard the smuggler's ship, watching the sea crash against the hull and feeding the trailing gulls. The guard remained present in her peripheral vision, but he never intervened when she subtly eased the waves to calm their passing or prevented her brother's seasickness from bubbling over.
He stayed a stranger; she wanted answers.
Months went by. They traveled from country to country, ditching and receiving illegal and legal goods all over the world, and yet the guard never roused them for their departure. She was starting to wonder if they were simply sailing to their deaths when the final stop arrived.
Lochlas.
"Dee?" Tiny arms wrapped around her waist, and she gently patted down her brother's hair without looking down at him. "Is this our new home?"
Rotting boards and crates littered with nails. Frayed ropes and skeletal birds. Haggard men and overworked women. Even the ocean limply licked at the jagged teeth of the earth. This place was a sad reality, the cruelty of the world made bare. From far off, a dockhand shouted, "Laedita and Meleki Woods!"
She sighed and looked down at her little brother, clinging desperately to her frail body as if she was the last thing on earth that could protect him from nightmares. His eyes peered up at her, big and sad and so full of life–and fear. She would deny even herself death to protect him.
"Yes it is, bub." The girl lifted her heavy gaze to the broken city beyond the docks. "Welcome home."
@Dances_with_Shadows-might-be-demi
fdsdfjsfj this was so good
I loved the worldbuilding!! I have little to no idea what's going on, but you managed to give me enough information at a time for me to not get lost without giving me a bunch of infodumps.
I also love this character dynamic. so much. But maybe it's because in general I'm soft for characters who have opposite (symbolic) associations.
One thing I noticed in the first paragraph is that you use the passive voice quite a bit ("were alive", "were thrumming" etc) which isn't inherently an issue, but where I'd definitely see if you can substitute for an active verb (for example, "thrummed" works just as well in context and reads a bit smoother).
Thank you so much for sharing!
Huh, I didn't even notice that. Then again, I was tired and sorta forcing myself to write, lmao. But thank you! I also love their character dynamic, especially with their backstories.
hjcvhvcjh comic sans has been proven to boost creativity in writing for some god awful reason, so i try to use it when i need to get my motivation churning because i'm inspired.
it…. I…. what
I think a part of my brain just imploded
I don't know what to do with this information
hjcvhvcjh comic sans has been proven to boost creativity in writing for some god awful reason, so i try to use it when i need to get my motivation churning because i'm inspired.
it…. I…. what
I think a part of my brain just imploded
I don't know what to do with this information
I've seen that it's because it's such a informal and laughable font, so you aren't as afraid of writing something and making mistakes, whereas if you did something formal or fancy, you unconsciously don't want to mess up and "degrade" the writing
Here's the post I found about it
that makes a disturbing amount of sense
AND IT FUCKING WORKS TOO. let me tell you, i have never written as well with any other font than with comic sans. that drabble for lilia? i knocked that shit out with some sad music in around half an hour. every other thing ive tried to write with a different font? it takes me four to five business days
Based on the image prompt.
The stars were bright on the night before the hunt. On a rocky outcropping in the middle of the desert, Guinevere, a tall Shiaran woman with enough muscle to crush a man like a wet toothpick sat in front of a campfire sharpening her Greatsword. The whetstone never touched the Rathian scales that enveloped the blade, and the poison-soaked bandages that wrapped around the clip point and teeth on the spine were removed and placed in a leather bag so as not to dry out in the cold air. One of her companions, Milo, was eating dried jerky while inspecting his Gunlance before he went to sleep. Turning over her shoulder, Guinevere saw Joseph, a new cadet, carrying a heavy barrel bomb and setting it down with a loud thunk!
"Careful with that!" she barked.
"Sorry," Joseph replied weakly. Gunpowder was dangerous enough, but the desert air made it especially volatile.
"I'm back!" called a voice from under the stone arch that led into the rest of the desert and further away from the familiar steppes. It was Anila, a fellow Shiaran and Guinevere's best friend since she first entered the Hunters Guild.
"Maasa' al-khayr," Guinevere said, greeting Anila with a warrior's handshake and a kiss on the cheek. "Have you found it?"
"Yes. The Diablos will most likely be in Area 3 tomorrow. Mating season hasn't started yet, but the havoc it will cause once that's happened means that relocating it will be difficult. Remember, we must only kill if necessary," she said to the rest of the group, giving a particularly focused glance to Joseph.
"Hey, YOU get gored by a Duramboros and tell me how charitable you're feeling!"
Everyone brushed him off. Shit happens when hunting wyverns, so it wasn't always the worst option to kill a monster before it killed the rest of your team. Unfortunately, clients don't always understand this, so rewards were almost always docked if not rescinded completely. The quest that the four had received was from the Caravan itself, and while it hosted a franchise of the Hunters Guild, a request from the Caravan meant a request directly from the Caravaneer and Caravaness, respectively. A Diablos was in the middle of the Caravan's route, and despite it being a massive ship designed to sail over the dunes, a Diablos could cause thousands of zenny in damage.
As Joseph and Anila sat down to eat with Guinevere and Milo, everyone made one final check of their weapons. Joseph's Insect Glaive was sharpened and the hinges were well-oiled so the blade could flip out with ease, and the massive rhinoceros beetle that clung to his arm, called a Kinsect (or Little Bastard, depending on who you asked), eagerly snapped at a chicken ration Joseph was trying to eat. Milo's Gunlance was cleaned and reloaded, the flaming shells tucked neatly in their revolving cylinder. Anila's Light Bowgun, named for the bow arms that operated the firing pin, was in a fabric bag next to neatly-organized magazines and boxes of ammunition. Guinevere set her sword down next to her bedroll, the bandages could wait until the morning.
The four spent the rest of the night regaling each other with stories about hunting and about home, and they all went to sleep under a blanket of stars and drifted off to the whisper of the desert wind.
so it's 1 am
and for some godforsaken reason I was hit by a burst of inspiration from last week's prompt
so this is now a thing?
(It's kind of angsty I guess, which means it constantly toes the line between actual human emotions/reactions and over-the-top melodrama. I tend to err on the side of drama in my writing, I think)
HI I CANT FORM COHERENT THOUGHTS OR WORDS TODAY BUT THIS MAKES ME SO SAD AND HOPEFUL AND THE SAME TIME I WOULD DIE FOR YOU AND EVERY ONE OF THESE CHARACTERS AND I HOPE EVERYTHING TURNS OUT OKAY FOR THEM THEY DESERVE IT
AGH. THAT WAS…I WANT THE REST OF THE STORY NOW?? GIVE IT TO ME???
Okay okay but in all seriousness….that was fucking amazing, Ninja. I loved it so much
ffghfdhfdshj thank you??? that makes me so happy??
I also want the rest of the story now!!! my brain just doesn't want to write it??? it's like I want to read it, and I want it to have been written, by me, but I just. can't. write the darn thing
You're welcome!!
OOF big mood lmao
Once I was naïve,
Now I am sprawIed.
I tear apart my legs with envy.
I tried to be what they were.
I changed my looks so much that
Not even my mother knew who I was.
Not even I.
Why?
So. I wrote this because…idk. Inspiration struck me lol. Here you go
The greatclock chimed, brass workings shining even in the dim light of late evening. The sky was dark, sun only recently downed. A new moon meant that the sky was dark, dark as it could ever be in Trae. The aether lights' dim blue glow cast only a faint light, a light that only barely penetrated the thick curtains of smoke that still hung in the sort. The sharp, wailing klaxon of the alarms pierced the air, driving people into their homes.
Zar Tantum watched from the eaves of the clock tower as the Bellum House for the Mentally Insane burned to the ground. The Bellum Madhouse. Where he had spent two years of his life, screaming. Mad.
He touched the pistols at his sides, the grip comforting, familiar. His haunted eyes found Isobel, his best friend and his savior. She was studying him with a dark eyed gaze that he remembered oh so well.
"Why." He asked, voice quiet to disguise the madness burning inside, that even now screamed to be let out.
"I had to." She said simply. "Do you remember Criston?"
He nodded. Once. Sharp. Criston, his older brother and only family. Who had gone mad, and thrown himself from this very tower.
"Do you remember what he said before he died? Of…of men who weren't men at all, but automatons?"
He nodded again.
"He told me…" Isobel trailed off. "Zar, he told me that…that he was one of them."
"He was mad, Bel." Zar finally replied. "It runs in the family."
"What if he wasn't, Zar? I mean… obviously he wasn't one of them, but…Zar, since you…left…I've seen things. Things I can't find any other explanation for." She said softly.
Fury rose, strangled him. "Since I left?" He hissed, the madness glittering in his eyes. "You mean since they locked me up. Since I went mad, and stopped thinking in gears and logic." Rage choked him, made it hard to see. Suddenly he was seeing one of the orderlies instead of Isobel, a slightly older woman who had taken advantage of him when he was drugged and unable to stop her. His fist flew out and struck her, and she turned back into dark haired Isobel.
Isobel cried out, shrinking away from him.
The clicking and grinding of the clock they stood inside filled his ears, reverberated through his mind. He was breathing hard, staring at Isobel. The orderly. Isobel. The orderly.
Isobel.
The orderly.
Isobel.
The orderly.
Isobel. Isobel Isobel Isobel Isobel Isobel.
"I am so sorry." Zar whispered, hands trembling by his sides. "You should…you should go home. To Anna." Anna, Isobel's…well. Zar wasn't exactly sure what those two were to each other.
"Zar…Anna's missing. I think those…the things that Criston was talking about got her." Isobel breathed, watching him. "I need your help. To find her."
"I can't. You saw…I'm not sane anymore. I haven't been in a long time." He touched the scar at his hairline, the evidence of his time in the Madhouse. Of the experiments done. His grey eyes were haunted as he watched Isobel. Haunted, mad. Insane.
"You… see things different, Zar. And that's what I need. For Anna. Please, Zar." Isobel begged.
He clenched his jaw. "Not once."
"W-what?"
"Not once did you come and visit. I'm a ward of the state, Isobel, do you know what they did? Bellum was an experimental hospital, and without anyone to vouch for me…" His hands shook, mind filling with terrifying, disparate memories. "Isobel, do you know what they did?" His voice shook and tears sprang to his eyes even as laughter bubbled up in his throat. Dry, cracked, mad laughter.
She looked at him with pity. "Zar, they wouldn't let me." She whispered. "They wouldn't let me see you, because I'm not family."
He started to really laugh, high and cracked and the sort of laughter no sane man could produce. A scream of laughter that tore from his soul and was snatched away by the breeze to echo around the clock tower.
"Zar, please. You…you're the best at finding lost things. I need…I need you to find Anna. Please!" She spoke over his laughter, desperate.
The laughter slowly died away, and he swallowed. Raked a hand through his black hair. "I…I can try, Bel. For you." And he would try. But he didn't know if he would find Anna.
all right guys it's feedback time!!
(looking over my feedback, I realise that this is like 90% me nitpicking people's sentence structure. sorry about that haha)
@Dances_with_Shadows-might-be-demi
ok but this is so fabulous?? I live for the vivid imagery and intense descriptions!! You've really hit a perfect balance between sharing enough to let me know what's going on and not oversharing irrelevant details.
Something I noticed that, again, is super nitpicky and just a minor stylistic thing. But you use a particular sentence construction quite frequently and I wonder if it might read more smoothly with more variety. It happens when you have a short clause like "x did y" followed by a comma and an -ing verb. (An example would be "Inky black hair spilled around her frail form, encasing a haunting face set in cool anger".) And there's nothing inherently wrong with this at all! It just happens enough for me notice that it does, if that makes sense.
but yeah. I really love this. thank you so much for sharing!
@Yamatsu
this is so cool!! I particularly like how casually the worldbuilding is sprinkled in, with enough explanation for me not to lose complete track, but generally only on a need-to-know basis. That's a tough coin to balance, so it's cool to see you managing so gracefully!
One thing I would recommend looking over again is your sentence length, especially in the first paragraph. Long sentences are fine in general, but I feel like there are a lot of them back to back which can be a bit difficult to read.
but yeah. thank you for sharing!!
@The-Absurd-Nerd
This is short but boy does it pack an emotional punch!
Favourite line: "I tear apart my legs with envy"
Of course, I do wonder if the length means it's a bit disjointed? I feel like there are a lot of conceptual shifts in the last three lines alone and we end up in a very very different place than we started. Which is good! But I wonder if it might read more smoothly/coherently if it was longer so we had more time to adjust to each change as it happened. (idk if that even makes sense. but yeah.)
Thank you so much for sharing!
@Icefire
whoa hello suddenly I want to know everything about these characters?? I really love this! The narration is a really cool reflection of how unstable Zar is, the dialogue is on point, imagery is lovely. This is really cool!
One thing I noticed is that you don't really use conjunctions a lot? Your sentences can be long, but they're structured around commas rather than "and", "or", or "but". The first "and" comes in paragraph three, and you only use "but" three times in the entire piece.
and the commas definitely add a vibe to the text. which I guess could be intentional, since we're reading this from Zar's perspective and it's clear that he's not the most stable, but I think they do make the thing a bit more disjointed than necessary.
so yeah idk do with that feedback what you will, it's just something that stuck out to me.
but thank you so much for sharing! I really enjoyed reading this either way!
and this week's prompts:
Image prompt: "Someday" by Alena Aenami
Music prompt: "The Curse" by Agnes Obel
Word prompt: "Napoleon" by Walter de la Mare
'What is the world, O soldiers?
It is I:
I, this incessant snow,
This northern sky;
Soldiers, this solitude
Through which we go
Is I.'
@Icefire
whoa hello suddenly I want to know everything about these characters?? I really love this! The narration is a really cool reflection of how unstable Zar is, the dialogue is on point, imagery is lovely. This is really cool!
One thing I noticed is that you don't really use conjunctions a lot? Your sentences can be long, but they're structured around commas rather than "and", "or", or "but". The first "and" comes in paragraph three, and you only use "but" three times in the entire piece.
and the commas definitely add a vibe to the text. which I guess could be intentional, since we're reading this from Zar's perspective and it's clear that he's not the most stable, but I think they do make the thing a bit more disjointed than necessary.
so yeah idk do with that feedback what you will, it's just something that stuck out to me.
but thank you so much for sharing! I really enjoyed reading this either way!
Haha thanks!!
Yeah I…used to use a lot of run-on sentences, so I use the commas to try and stop that?? I guess?? It's sort of a stylistic choice, and yeah I wanted to show Zar's instability.
Thank you!! I'm considering turning it into a full-on story 😅
Based on the image prompt.
The end of the world had come and gone. Not many realized what had happened until it was over. People said that drugs, sex, and war drove the economy, but soon they became the only economy people listened to. Governments rose and crumbled so fast in the span of three years that Anna hadn't a clue of where she belonged. Was she American? British? Japanese? At this point, borders and demarcation lines were merely suggestions, you either lived or were killed through some combination of economic factors.
As she sat on an old bunker next to the highway, Anna saw the sun setting for what felt like the first time in years. Explosions rocked the sky so frequently from bombs, cannons, and fighter jets that smoke blotted out the sun and created a brief facsimile every couple of seconds. However, on that day, the smoke from the wreckages had dissipated. It felt like the wars had just stopped. It was quiet. Serene, almost, if you didn't count the crumbling ruins of Boston and its surrounding boroughs.
As the red sun washed the clouds in pink, Anna saw glimmers of light from the city below. Shattered windows and bombed-out cars picked up light like prisms as if the whole surface of the city were made of glittering crystals. It reminded her of what Boston used to look like; proud, tall, housing scores of defiant sports fans and acting as a melting pot for all of New England.
Now, it was just a wreck.
Someday, Anna thought as she slung her torn bag over her shoulders. Someday, things will be better.
Nice, Yamatsu!
I wrote this…idk why. Like at all. But I did lol
Imagine Zeus
Using his power to create a better world.
Imagine a storm of power and light
Making the world into something lighter
And more beautiful.
Imagine Hades
Using his power to help know when someone
Is close to death. Letting people say
Goodbye to their loved ones. Imagine him
Using his riches to help poor families out
Of poverty.
Imagine Poseidon
Championing for the oceans and
Saving shipwrecked sailors. Imagine
The power of the ocean harnessed for
Good, for the right things.
Imagine Hera
Championing for marriage for everyone.
Officiating ceremonies for women, for men
Who love each other and have fought for it.
Of her working with Artemis to protect
Young women from being hurt.
Imagine Ares
Fighting a very different type of
War. Helping children escape from a shooter
His shield used to protect innocent lives.
Imagine Aphrodite
Whispering words of "You are beautiful" to
Girls and boys who have never been told so
Before. Imagine the goddess of love
Holding a sign with a rainbow and championing
The rights of those who fight so hard
For love and equality.
Imagine Artemis
Protecting girls from danger and
Accepting any woman at all, regardless of
Whether or not she was born one. Imagine
The goddess of maidenhood protecting those
She calls her own.
Imagine Hermes
Carrying messages across the world for
People who need it. Imagine him
Telling stories and smiling with
Travelers.
Imagine Dionysus
Helping those struggling with addiction,
Teaching moderation and restraint and
Coping methods. Imagine him teaching
Responsibility and self control for the very things
He is god of.
Imagine Athena
Using her mind for good. Taking to court the
Perverts and pedophiles, the rapists and
Abusers of the world. Imagine her
Helping those who cannot help themselves.
Imagine Apollo
Raising the sun early for someone who
Would not otherwise live to see the morning.
Imagine him helping growing musicians to
Play their instruments.
Imagine Hephaestus
Designing wheelchairs or limbs for
Paralyzed or hurt children. Imagine
His forge at work at all hours to benefit the lives
Of the innocent.
So, I'm still kinda not over this one thing that happened. I had the sudden urge to just word vomit about it, so…yeah…here's that
| Fuck you :) |
“You need friends to survive.”
I disagree.
Over the years, I’ve watched. I’ve observed. I’ve lived. I’ve died. I’ve risen. I’ve fallen. I’ve helped. I’ve paid. I’ve tried. I’ve given up.
Friends don’t tolerate your existence until the people they prefer come along. Friends don’t emotionally and mentally break you down until you’re nothing more than a tool for their entertainment. Friends don’t come to you, not for support, but to help tear down the other during one of their many fights. Friends don’t abandon you for the next best thing.
I’ve tried and tried again, agonizing over being good enough for them, desperately trying to at least have one person near me, else I sink into myself and become the pitiful laughingstock of the crowd. I’ve drifted from island to island, each smaller than the last. I’ve reached out with my roots, only for them to get cut off.
I’ve tried.
It wasn’t enough.
We, as a species, rely on the attention of others for a stable mind. I’ve come to know that more than ever. Just within a short amount of time, I’ve made the best of friends I could ever ask for, even if I can’t see them. For the first time in a very long time, I’ve felt like I belonged.
. . .
My name is Unimportant, and I have a message.
You don’t abuse the abused. You don’t learn of someone’s trauma and add to that. You don’t act one way, then completely flip the script and play the victim card. You don’t suddenly change your mind on how you feel about someone, then blame them for things they’ve never done.
You just don’t.
I still have yet to understand your reasoning behind everything. I still have yet to understand what I did wrong for you to cut the friendship just like that, like I meant nothing to you this whole time. Do you know what you’ve done? You’ve taken the trust someone who had very little to give and ripped it to shreds. You’ve added another notch into the wall of mistakes, the wall of regret. You’ve made it even more difficult for someone to bond with others because they feel even more useless than they already did.
Here’s a little story for you.
A shy little girl walks through the halls of her high school. Very little people even know she exists, and those that do often forget about her. This girl already has self-esteem issues. She makes a friend, then suffers under mental abuse for a year. Her mind is cracked. The dam leaks. The esteem goes down a notch.
Here comes a set of two friends. They’re great, she can laugh with them. She starts to feel better about herself, like she might actually belong somewhere. Not until she sits back and observes does she realize this is just another form of torture. Yet another tool, only for a different purpose. When she finally cracks, she is punished for saying her peace.
Another crack. A few more notches go down.
During this war, she’s met two amazing people. They’ve helped her through so much, intentional or not. They’ve given her people she can relate to and talk to about anything. One is there for her no matter what. They’re her coach, guiding her through life and steadily refilling that bottle of self-esteem, patching up that dam. The other is her joker, the one that gets her through rough times by slipping a joke and being there as a pick-me-up. They were the perfect trio, a tightly-knit friendship she never wanted to let go.
Little did she know, that, too, would break her in the end.
One stayed, the other left.
But they weren’t done with her.
Never in my life have I had a mental breakdown. Never had I felt the need to remove myself from a room because I felt so belittled and worthless. Never had I felt the need to lock myself in a bathroom during school because my mind was so damaged and stressed out it. Never have I hit such a low point in my life where I simply wanted to quit trying to repair relationships.
Never have I felt so unwanted, so ill-liked.
Until I met you.
How can you look at someone that genuinely cared about you and say they are at fault for the end of the friendship when they had no clue it was even gone? How can you paint yourself as the victim when you’re the one that pushed someone over the edge multiple times in such a short span of time? How can you look at yourself and say you’re a good person when you did nothing to try and help repair the damage done before you, only declare that they’re a lost cause?
Yes, I’m difficult. Yes, I’m aware you’re trying.
But I’m trying too, and you’re not doing me any favors. I’m trying to build myself back up from the foundation, to figure myself out, and you’re pulling away the lifelines I desperately need while saying it’s my fault.
I tried, and you didn’t, yet I’m the one that caused this ache in my chest.
They say you need friends to survive, but I say friends only bring you down.
They say I need to try harder, yet don’t understand that I’ve done all I can, and only got shit on in the end.
They say it’ll all work out, but you won’t even acknowledge my existence anymore.
So here’s my message to you in particular—you know who you are: I’m still hurting, still trying to figure out what I did, still trying to repair the collapsed dam and shattered bottle. The one that holds half of my soul is still repairing what you did, and I am eternally grateful for them.
And, despite everything, I’m grateful for you, too.
Grateful you showed your true colors before it was too late.
Rot in Hell, you bastard.
WOW, Circe. That was…a gut check. Like…I'm physically hurting after reading that.
while this is a not-so-happy thing that wasn't pleasant to write I'm glad I managed to get the emotion across