Hey

Hey

My name is Calvin Phil. I'm a queer refugee originally from Uganda, but I'm currently living in a refugee camp called Gorom in South Sudan. I came across your profile and felt compelled to reach out, though I know it might feel a bit random. I’m really sorry for reaching out like this; it's embarrassing, and I hate to ask for help in this manner. I hope you understand.

I represent a group of fellow LGBTIQ refugees here, and we are facing some serious issues that I wanted to share with you in case you're able to help or know someone who can. We are currently in urgent need of support for survival. Many of us are starving, with no access to food or medication, and some are living with HIV/AIDS. The situation is extremely dire, and on top of that, we face daily persecution, as Sudan's laws against the LGBTIQ community are harsh and unforgiving.

Any support or help for our cause would mean the world to us in these desperate times. If you're unable to donate, sharing this with others would be immensely appreciated.

GoFundMe Link:

https://gofund.me/4d80b32c

Thank you for taking the time to read this, and I hope to hear from you soon.

Best regards,

Calvin Phil

.

Ok then.

(This isn't gonna end well...)

ᛍᛁᛜ ᚤᚮᚢᚱ ᛚᚢᛚᛚᛆᛒᚤ

(Sing Your Lullaby)

Chapter 2: "You start to doubt everything that you know. "

I made my way down the aisle and finally found a seat toward the back. I set my bag on the seat next to me, allowing my sore shoulders a moment of rest.

    A moment of solace.

    "ᛔᛂᛍᛍᛁᛉᚢᛍ ᛂᛍᛐ ᛆᛑᛡᚢᛌ ᚡᛂᚿᛁᚱᛂ," I muttered under my breath as I pulled a few small scraps of metal out of my pocket and began fidgeting with them, assembling them in no particular arrangement. I was grateful that everyone else was toward the front of the train, so no one could see me stimming.

    That was the moment he boarded the train.

    I recognized his outfit the moment I saw it.

    A Salmon Runner's outfit.

    A murderer's outfit.

    His was a sickly emerald green color and seemed... worn-out, as if he'd had it for a while. He carried a weapon at his side, a Splattershot Jr that had, from the looks of it, was used frequently for his "job." Both his outfit and his face were slightly soiled with an irregular ink color.

    An ink color that, even when it was such a small amount, called to me, beckoned to me with a familiar energy.

    I knew this color.

    It was my ink color, the greenish-teal color of the Salmonids.

    He attempted to sit next to me. I immediately drew away from him, dragging my stuff with me, trying to act as casual as possible.

    My act fell apart the moment he spoke.

    "What are you doing?"

    'Shit.'

    "Just... adjusting my stuff," I answered as casually as I could, trying to make my voice sound more intimidating while trying to stay calm.

    'Don't let him see through you,' I scolded myself. 'Don't let him find out who- WHAT you are.'

    I waited for his reaction.

    He finally shrugged, took a seat across from me, and acted like nothing happened.

    I took a moment to put the scraps of metal I'd been fidgeting with back into my pockets. I wasn't about to let this murderer watch me stim like the freak I was.

    So, I decided to catch up on sleep instead.

    This was a decision I would soon regret, for I immediately slipped into a nightmare.

    It was the same jarring nightmare I'd been having for as long as I could remember: a raw scream of pain, a feeling of helplessness, and, most prominent, a sense of betrayal.

    All of this was accompanied by a broken melody; fragile and soft, too far away to make out words, but just close enough to hear its sound.

    The sound of a lullaby, shattered and distorted.

    I had experienced this nightmare several times before, it was usually just those distinct elements.

    This time, however, there was a voice.

    A voice that shattered the broken melody.

    I didn't notice it at first, but as it grew louder, it became impossible not to notice.

    And then there were words.

    'SO. IT'S YOU. I THOUGHT YOU'D DIED A LONG TIME AGO.'

    Its voice sounded like a knife being scraped across stone, its words sounding ancient and powerful.

    I wanted to scream. I wanted to fight, to rebel against this horrible intruder.

    But I could do nothing but listen.

    'FINALLY, I'LL BE ABLE TO TAKE BACK WHAT IS MINE.'

    AND YOU WON'T BE ABLE TO STOP ME.'

    The darkness then seemed to collapse in on me, slowly strangling me, suffocating me, leaving me to die.

    Then, I fell into neverending darkness.

------------------------------------------------

Is anyone there? Reading this?

Damn it. I knew I should have tagged this properly.

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you're welcome

Duskull — S&V Shrouded Fable #68

Illustrated by: James Turner

Oh shit Dedf1sh is actually a dead fish

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