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Refuge
Archive #3 | copyright to saturnfairycat
Author's note: Hiya! Short one today, I have been meaning to try and write more concisely in my essays... because, well, the whole ordeal of "less is more". So I thought that also applies to writing, so, here we are!
Refuge
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God forbid I write about happiness.
For I find comfort in suffering, like an old friend that I know I can always rely on.
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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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"👏just 👏because 👏you're 👏traumatised 👏doesn't 👏mean 👏you 👏can 👏go 👏around 👏and 👏traumatise 👏 others 👏" - saturnfairycat
Mágoa
Archive #29 | copyright to saturnfairycat
Author's note: can you believe I wrote this one on instagram? lmao being a writer is weird. enjoy!
Mágoa
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Our love was like home to me. It felt like a physical place for my mentality to lie.
On days where the world seemed colder, I seek warmth near the fireplace— cuddling up with blankets and hot cocoa. On days where it was spring, I would be dancing on the deck over seeing our garden— you always believed dancing is best in silence, the only sound was careless whispering to each other. Such sweet nothings filled our house with warmth and my heart with comfort.
Of course, it was never easy— the belongings in our home were the memories and bonds we have made and shared together. If it wasn't for me, the house would be bare to the bone— only left with the original wallpaper that you put up after breaking down my walls.
I know you tried, and you would visit the house as much as you could— but we both knew deep down it wasn't enough. Soon, it wasn't only the world that seemed colder; my breath is shaky as I puffed out frost from my lungs. The fireplace was no longer used, even when I tried multiple times with the damn lighter you gave me. Our garden started to wilt, and home felt more like a distant memory.
But the belongings were still here— and so I kept them near me at all times. Hugging them to my chest like it provided me with the warmth and care I needed, ignoring the distinct coolness that came off it every passing day.
'When will you return home?' was the question I used to always ponder. 'Am I bad at maintaining our home?' I scrunched up my face in frustration. It started raining a lot during that time, it was salty— and made the skin of my cheeks feel dry afterwards.
One day, it stopped raining. Warmth came back— tenfold— but the fireplace wasn't the source. The draping wallpaper had caught on fire, I guess I have sparked the lighter a little too close to the dangling pieces of wallpaper above the fireplace.
How did I not notice the fire? I don't know. I think I have always seen a spark, but mistook it for hope instead.
The fire consumed everything in the house, even climbing out onto the wilted garden.
I managed to get out… But barely. I was harmed, yes. But people came to my rescue— I was safe. I was hurt. I felt sick, our home was getting destroyed and I could only helplessly stand back and watch it burn.
The only two choices I had left were to either stand there and watch it burn, becoming homeless without shelter— or walk away, and build my own house. I reluctantly pulled away at my spot outside the burning house, turning my back and glancing behind me a couple of times.
And then that's where I saw you.
You stood at the entrance of the house. Your foot edging past the door and threatening to enter the burning building. You looked back at me, beckoning me to follow you.
I felt a million emotions. You probably didn't understand what I was feeling— the fear of false hope, the desperation for that second chance, the dread of seeing your face again. I thought back to our memories, and how a lot of them were destroyed by the fire— you didn't remember them at all.
You were giving me mixed emotions, you didn't look certain to be where you are, but you didn't move.
Was this the second chance I was so desperate for?
Do I follow you in?
You seem to be completely different and just the same as I once knew you all at the same time. You must have lost your way, your visible scars prove so. Maybe… I could help. I could help somehow, what can I salvage? Is that why you're wanting to enter the house? Are you wanting to retrieve the remaining belongings?
I rushed towards you, following you in. If I just save the things we both loved in that house, maybe we can restart as something new— maybe just a small vegetable garden, or an ash tree.
The smoke blinded me, I have lost you in the smoke. But I knew what to do, I didn't lose my way. I reached and grasped at what I could, wincing at the heat. When I neared a window, I saw your left hand holding one of our more newer possessions— while your right hand held our oldest possession. I was confused, you were outside— don't you want the others?
I guess you got cold feet, too scared of the flames to salvage the rest. You left, after I hesitantly stared back at you— your eyes begging me to follow you once more.
I was burning up, I was lost. What have I done? I have caused more pain for myself. I gave you a second chance and ran into a burning building to save the things I loved. But you didn't save me.
I escaped the collapsing house, leaving the belongings behind in the fire.
Without a single glance. I walked away from the burning house I once called our home.
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.
I have the desperate urge to be a buff gay man in the military who makes out with a rookie in the back hall after a mission briefing knowing he probably won't make it back alive.
ZONE OF TRUTH!!! What TAZ balance character are you? Take this quiz to find out!!!
There are 21 possible answers and all of them are kind. It's all about bonds, baby! Maybe once you've gotten your result, try to get them all?
only yesterday (garlic bread)
yesterday i went to
get garlic bread
crusty
buy one get one free
it hurts when i pee
