"It Is Lovers Like Us That Shine In The Darkness. We See Light And Colour, Like A Canvas Of The Brightest

" It is lovers like us that shine in the darkness. We see light and colour, like a canvas of the brightest of skies. But when it comes to ourselves, our beauty within shines from the silence, the chaos, and the void. Because we fill it with our beauty, our love. " - saturnfairycat

Let's

Archive #18 | copyright to saturnfairycat

Author's Note: hey, didn't I tell you to let go? (enjoyy)

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Let's

Paint me, Like I have never seen art before. If I didn't know what beauty was, How would you describe it to me? I don't know what love is, The affection is confusing. Language is spoken through the absorption of emotion. If it sinks into my skin, Would I make you uncomfortable? If it was lingering in the air, Would you hold your breath?

Thousands of thoughts and not one original, To my sane and reflection. Does our heart sync when I crush My feelings into crested moons? Is love pain? What is pain? Would you show me if I had asked for it? If hoarding became my plate, Would you still feed me?

Let me, Let me go, Let me love, Let me suffer, Let me love, Let me go, Let me.

Sweet nothings is my addiction, Would you whisper into my deaf ear? Sing me good night when I cry. "Just because" Do I crave you or the imagination Giving me what I want through magic and wishes. I want you to read my mind, Living in there gets tiring. I wish you knew what I want, Is it hard to want more than just the bare? Minimum? What is the bare minimum? Magic is not real and so is my perception. Language is my addiction. Would you let me love?

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A stargazer's lover

Archive #20 | copyright to saturnfairycat

Author's note: does it sound familiar?

A stargazer's lover

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Everyone loves differently,

from my way of devotion to your potential declaration of adoration.

In a way, we are all lovers, but just from different lengths and brightness.

Our constellations of mistakes and greatness form scars in our skin; you may find it repulsive,

but a stargazer out there would exchange their skin— a blank canvas that has not touched a single stroke of our paintbrushes, to trace their fingertips against our lines of stars.

We are lovers,

an ocean of sea pebbles that appear all the same at first glance, but compliment each other so well in our strack contrasts.

The lines on our skin,

the clearness of thought,

the dark that surrounds our huddled position in the universe.

It is lovers like us that shine in the darkness. We see light and colour, like a canvas of the brightest of skies.

But when it comes to ourselves, our beauty within shines from the silence, the chaos, and the void. Because we fill it with our beauty, our love.

Snow Cones

Perfection meets Perfectionist #5 | copyright to saturnfairycat

Author's note: this one is definitely heavy. and VERY taken out of context, it is a continuation of the current storyplot, but just very well ahead into the story. enjoy!

Snow Cones

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It was 2 am, when I heard you scream.

I could tell that it was from the top of your lungs. As if all the rage and frustration finally let itself free from years of resentment.

My body shook to the core, the feeling of my hairs standing up at the back of my neck made my blood turn cold. I was beyond afraid, but the thought of you in danger wasn't the only thing that came across my mind. There was a hint of insanity in your shriek, the echo afterwards screamed "revenge". Legs shaking, weak to the bone-- it took a lot to get me to move.

Will I be able to save you? Was the question. Will I be able to stop you? Was the answer.

If you continuously smash against a mirror, cracking it to pieces… at what point, do you stop? At what point, do you apologise and mend your wounds? If all the reflections were painted red, what's the difference in living now than being in hell? Your hatred can be smelt miles away. The crunching noise of your shoes under sharded glass as you kick and fling your arms to the ground with rage. The odd placements of hair was soaking under the blood that poured from your scraped skin. The skin on your arms was like a cracked mirror, in sections of shards threatening to break off completely. You yelled as you flung yourself on your knees, your eyes squinted as you winced at the cuts and impalement-- but still determined and blinded as you throw your hands up to the heavens. You looked down before you, at the frame of which held a quarter worth of what was left from destruction, hands clenching to one big, tight fist.

If a prayer wasn't suppose to be passive, this was the best demonstration I have ever seen. I could barely move. You were in a completely different world, and it felt as if I was just watching through a window, like some sort of sick movie. Do I have to smash through windows to reach you, too? I try to take a step forward, fighting with my voice as I briefly let out a peep of sound. Nothing was heard from you, I bet not even the sound of your heart banging on your rib cage could be acknowledged by you. Will I be able to stop you? The answer was also a question.

You closed your eyes for a brief moment, as you let your fist ride the heavens down to earth, gaining purposeful speed as you opened your eyes. The crashing sound of flesh and bone against glass was sickening, like listening to a bone saw cutting through someone's skull. There was a moment of silence. Where you stayed still. It appeared that you were enjoying the quiet, or perhaps, the sound of more blood gushing out of yourself.

It was the perfect time for me to move.

But how can I? When I have been watching this whole time? How could I find the audacity to save you now, when I couldn't even stop you?

Then there was a sound. Not a very loud one, but it grew in intensity as you threw your head back to the starry night. You laughed as bloody tears poured down your face, as a pool of your own blood surrounded you like a ritual circle. You laughed even when your voice cracked, you laughed even when you saw me. What was the look you gave me as you laughed at my face?

"Pathetic."

You eventually stop laughing. Your face turns cold as you continue to stare at me.

"Leave, February." I step a step back on instinct, the shock of your seemingly normal voice made my finger tips feel like ice. "I said go." I look with desperation in your eyes, they appear… normal. Have you realised I was here the whole time? Just… watching? Words finally escape my throat. "Etta, please-".

"I said leave, February. You saved me once, and I am thankful. But you can't save me for the second time, so just let me go."

I love you. And for the longest time I did not know whether it was platonic… or, something more. The conflict of the choices-- legally, I can't just let you be. But in terms of bonds, this is probably aligned for us at the get-go. The feeling I felt when I was around you, like I was able to help-- like I made a difference in your life and you felt the difference. If the effort and time I spent was really worth it, then how come it all came down to this? Haven't I given enough? All this time, when I thought I was being selfless-- have I truly been selfish?

"Etta, look… I. I don't know how to convince you to let me stay by your side. H-however, I do know that we're in our twenties. We're p-proper adults! We can make heart shaped pizzas around this time of night when we have watched too many movies, or eat snow cones earlier than we usually do-- or buy all the available awful muffins you like at the cafe. We can go climb snowy mountains or attempt to find Atlantis. We're not 17 anymore, we can do anything we want by our comfort levels…. a-and, I can't do all of this if you bleed out slowly, in the front of the abandoned building behind our apartment complex. I cannot fix you. But I can convince you to do it yourself."

I have managed to walk slowly towards you while I blurted out sentences from the back of my mind. My eyes hovering above yours as tears drop down to meet yours on your bloody cheeks.

"Just let me in that big broken mind of yours, and I promise it will get better." I cup their cheek slightly, determined and shaking. You close your eyes for a moment, eyelashes fluttering from my breath blowing onto your face. My heart pounds in my chest as I nervously survived through the long silence. The longer, the better. I swore I heard sirens in the distance approaching, though it is too soon for that just yet. I called as soon as you left my apartment, because the deranged look in your eyes made me think of death himself. I just need to stall as long as possible. I may not be able to stop you, but I can still answer a question whose answer is also a question.

"Alright." Your eyes met mine once more. The look behind your eyes was good enough for me to stand back and sigh with relief. I turn around for a second, avoiding to grit my teeth in front of you as I fought back tears. I may be selfish, but it is love's doing. I heard scraping noises behind me, in which made me smile because it sounds like you were slowly standing up. One baby step at a time, darl.

"You know how we always have snow cones on your birthday?"

I turn around as I hummed my answer, in which I forcefully stop as I gasp in horror. You have scraped all the small broken glass from the concrete, and cupped it in your sore hands levelled to your mouth.

"Looks like your birthday has come sooner than expected."

Asphyxiate

Work #2 | copyright to saturnfairycat

Author's Note: holy shit?? another "official" work??? ain't no wayyyy. Anyway, time for the debrief. Debrief: Word count: 738 Warnings: gore, sensitive content, trigger warnings, horror, death. Enjoy!

Asphyxiate

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Suffocation. 

I couldn’t breathe through all the corpses piled on top of the mighty pyramid. The irony of “mighty” is strong. I swore I could see a glimpse of light at the surface, but I knew from the lack of flesh beneath my spine that I was at rock bottom. If the plague doesn’t kill me, the pressure will. 

I’m freezing, the detached limbs hovering around me like a ritual circle didn’t help the goosebumps on my skin— or my teeth chattering. I am shaking, in a jigsaw-like position. It’s silent, but too silent. 

It allows the aftermath of the sheer pressure from above to be heard. The sudden cracks of bone and the moan of flesh being ripped apart; all because of the build up from the weight of it all… it causes ringing in the ears. It’s sickening. I will be one of those cracks soon. 

There is an eerie, hollow feeling inside this pile. Everything present is here on purpose; I am liable because it was written in stone. How I wish my bones would turn into stone. There is something directly lying on top of my forehead and it’s crushing my skull. Blood is gushing towards my brain— adrenaline is kicking in as I panic from the pain. I can’t even open my eyes, and the smell has me in a chokehold. 

It’s dark, but I am starting to see red. I can’t see, yet it feels like a thousand cold, dead fingers are grasping at my thighs. Is the flesh around me rotting, or is it my knees that have started to decay? I’m going to die. I’m actually going to die. But… I can’t. I have so much waiting on me. I finally have something to live for. I have to protect and experience… and live. 

How did I end up here? This is the borderline simulation– 

I remember the murmurs in the back of my distant mind. It feels close and yet further than the sea of stiffness on top of me. The snickering, but not from the dejected faces that surround my decrepit body. Mockery? Or was it obstinate? I recall confusion and panic— the necessity of changing face.

“I am just so tired, why am I never enough? I try so hard.” 

“I understand how you’re feeling–” 

“No, don’t even try to please me. You’re a bad liar. How could you EVER understand how I’m feeling? You’re perfect, you never had to try–”

Perfection is a dirty word, especially when it neglects the backstage input.  

Memories drown my head like I’m on a boat, casted away into never-ending sea. The rocking from left to right is vomitous, churning my stomach like a horrible stew. I am probably hallucinating, it’s all just a bad dream. It shakes me— not the cold— but the thought of being just a face. A mask designed for success. Everyone wants a different version of a product; some want pink, while others prefer red. You’re bored? Just throw it away… wait, what?

The tower looks more like a pile found in a dumpsite than anything, what it looks like from the outside must be appalling. Was I thrown away? One of those mere faces? No. I said already that I’m at rock bottom, that doesn’t make sense…

Oh. 

…I’m the first face.

The realisation makes my skull cave in. I can’t do this, this can’t be the end. Not like this, never like this. Is that how the people around me died? Did they know it was their demise? Am I the only one who has the true fate of misfortune? I need help. Anyone? I need anyone. Everyone. I can’t think, is the air getting lighter? I think I can open my eyes now, it’s brighter than before. But I can’t breathe, my chest is heaving mountains at this point. Help? HELP. PLEASESOMEONEHELPME. 

Hollow in the gaps, but solid as a whole. No one can hear no one in this pile, the dead corpse consumes the noise pollution like it was their first meal from the afterlife. Half of my consciousness is slipping, while the other half mocked me. This is it. But it can’t be. I have so many regrets, I have so many things I want to do right. I need to live my life right, this can’t be happening, I need help. I NEED HELP I NEED HELP. I nee–

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God is dead, long live mortality

Archive #25 | copyright to saturnfairycat

Author's note: this one is slightly different, more abstract and structured. let me know what you think - enjoy!

God is dead, long live mortality

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I believe it has come to my attention that I have to re-introduce myself. For it seems, even you cannot recognise me.

A pleasure to meet your acquaintance, my name is the same-- but my heart beats in a different rhythm.

Freedom is a broad topic that even god may not be familiar with. Being stuck with mortals for the rest of their existence sounds anything but like freedom, from my own record. Who cares about greed and lust, anyway?

Alas, I've been impaled by the sin of pride-- I can drown all who have wronged me with my complexity. Some mortals believe in me, while others dare to look the other way. But when the world starts to burn, when the envy takes over your precious innocent blood, I am the one who slips off your sly tongue.

Admit it, you can't stand me, can you? Or is it, that you've fallen for a god? My my, call me the devil if you will-- but that is quite the ironic name to give to your lord and savior, isn't it?

To be worshipped by someone who is the closest perception of heaven is like forgetting my past of immortals that relied on me to fix their lives. To be with a mortal that I would die for is like eating the forbidden fruit with everything to lose.