Six Split Ways - Tumblr Posts
Blind Writing
I crush the hugs wrappers with my phone as I set it on the table, waiting for a sign that my work has come to fruition. A sign that I’m no longer trapped in this disheartening reality where there is no magic, no flight, and the colors are dim. Let me break free of such disasters so I may fly myself to the farthest reaches of the stratosphere, only for me to plummet back down in what looks like an act of self-destructiveness, but is in reality a way of building up the energy that I’ve collected from the air, thin air. Potential energy. But instead of kinetic, the energy goes towards something else, something more material. Something tangible. It crackles beneath my fingers as I fall further and further, and the force of my sheer determination mixed with the raging bolts of electricity travelling up my arms forces this realm to split, to tear as if it were none but a sheet of paper. I fall through the tear, expecting to be led to the place I have longed to be a part of my entire life. The void of black in-between clears to reveal another portal, one not of my own creation but of the world’s; it opens with a warm beckoning, as if I were a long lost friend, finally home after so long. I welcome the warmth, and the sky around me swirls and flickers until the blue-pink sky is all that can be seen. Beneath me, the garden looms. Its trees, each of a different kind, grow larger and larger in size and detail as the wind rushes past my face. A comet-like aura of flames begins to encircle me as I plummet farther and farther, falling falling falling until my eyes can no longer remain open from the heat surrounding me. I finally hit something soft. I open my eyes to gaze at the burnt petals surrounding me, and feel the pad of a gigantic, cushiony flower slowly lowering me to the ground. Panicked cries ring from a nearby grove as Hope rushes onto the scene, her green eyes clouded with worry as she rushes over to tend to the smoking flower. She glances at me for a second, then continues tending to the singed flower until she does a double-take. “...Quail?” She whispers incredulously. “That… that couldn't possibly be you, could it?”