Mole

Book Quotes

@Simply Not Real, I love Osamu Dazai. He put to rest some of my neuroticism.

Book Quotes

It was the quiet that pulled him out of his gloom.

— Eowyn Ivey, The Snow Child

What Are You Listening To?

I feel shameless, pretending to be a pretty princess, rn.

Hoyo~!

Welcome aboard! 😎

Topic/Post Deletion

Here.

Reason: 18+ content

𝒊𝒎𝒂𝒈𝒊𝒏𝒂𝒓𝒊𝒖𝒎 - 𝒄𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒗𝒆 𝒘𝒓𝒊𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈

_{a short story | — — — —
generational trauma & pro-life}

[+]

The Holiday Season

Part i.

He was in the padded room, again. By request, he spent the night. Something about his roommate making too much noise. And the smell of disinfectant was giving him a headache.

It was Christmas. She visited every year. Her present was downstairs, like joy being screened for clearance. She was sad. All of everything ran through her mind — how this became her normal.

Nevermind her feelings. He was still alive, and she still loved him, and he still loved her. At least, that’s what she believed. Even if no one else could see or understand it.

As she waited for the patients to make their way to the visitation room, she tried to erase the family festivities from earlier today.

“The turkey is delicious this year,” her husband said to everyone. His voice was light and cheery, despite the heaviness in her heart.

The children had talked. The grandchildren had wiggled in their seats. The house had been full of new lives, but her wine had been untouched, just like all the conversations that strung through the festivities.

Was she selfish to feel so far away?

She had wanted to seem happy. Even performative, if that might shake the feeling. But here in the hospital room, she understood: not today.

Not when her son was somewhere behind these locked doors.

Part ii.

He was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen. So beautiful, she lost her breath when she saw him. Her son. Her beautiful baby boy.

All the pain she had just gone through meant nothing when she saw him. In a heartbeat, she would go through it all over-and-over if it meant seeing him. At least, that’s what she told herself.

“Why is he screaming like that? Are you trying to kill him?” The baby’s dad barged into the room, again. He kept accusing her of abusing the baby boy. He was colicky.

The man blew some smoke into the baby’s face. The baby cooed and fell asleep. “See? He’s my son. I know what he needs.” He left later in the night and didn’t come home for several days.

When he did come home, he yelled at her. The baby wasn’t his. It had blue eyes. She cheated on him. She needed to prove her worth.

Yes, just like that. And he would never cheat on or hit her, again. He would never leave them. He would always love them. Just like that.

Until one day, she decided to leave. “I don’t want you to be like your father…” She held the baby close and tucked all of her valuables into one purse. It wasn’t much.

And late into the night they escaped.

Part iii.

“Did Dad say anything?” His first question.

She tried to smile. She had been practicing. “No,” she said. He was done contacting her after their son’s admission.

He always made sure she understood he was the one who was suffering. Look what he could do to their son. She would never be able to escape. And neither would their baby boy.

His job was finally done.

But, she still loved him.

Their son let out a terrible wail. It was dark and scary just like the screams he made before it happened. The security came into the visitor’s room. They took her son and the pain away.

Her eyes downcast into her lap.

“Merry Christmas, Tim.”

At least, she kept him alive.

Avalia

_{T I M E : One Week After Human Arrival
L O C A T I O N : Lodge, Port10
I N T E R A C T I O N S : @Conscripts
T A G S :
E Q U I P M E N T :}

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_N/A

The Light Elf watched the ogre. The large creatures body tensed and relaxed. Well, it never fully relaxed. His body more so made itself less threatening seeming, if that were possible for an Ogre, especially of his size. Nonetheless, good ole Timothy Babadil was not frightened in the least. He trusted this Ogre. He was, after all was said and done, a good omen.

Rattling his light as he made way for an even friendlier posture, shadows cast about them. Despite the shadows, the small fire made the trees and rest of the forest around them seem less menacing and meddlesome. Maybe it was some hidden power within the Light Elf himself or maybe it was simply the glint of pure hope that continually sparkled in his adventurous eyes.

“The name is Timothy Babadil! Been here longer than most can remember and that includes this here forest. Although, that might mean I wasn’t always here in this forest and was somewhere else entirely before I did come here.”

There was a pause in his introduction. The wind blew a bit and sent shivers through the brush and leaves. Ole Timothy listened intently, but his eyes remained interested in Barrock. When the wind died down, the whimsical smirk returned.

“I am adamant we get you back to my place. I may not have helped your friends as much as I have if it weren’t for you. You’re good fortune to have ‘round. Unfortunately, I have a feeling, we don’t have much time here — you and me, so we best be going to where we’re supposed to be.”

Timothy’s timber body turned. The lantern creaked just enough to sound like a branch moaning. And with that, one brown booted foot in front of the next, he began wandering on a secret path invisible to everyone but him. But, just before he made too much headway, his nose poked behind him. “I wouldn’t wish your friends missing out on an apology just because we took too long making our introductions.”

The lantern light began traveling, again, and somehow, underneath his hat, he became part of the forest. A small nymph flame (most certainly his lantern in disguise) will-o’-the-wisp’d through the whimsies of the forest. It was all just clear enough for Barrock to see.

What Are You Listening To?

Book Quotes

Jesus wept.

— John 11:35

Book Quotes

It was beautiful, Mabel knew, but it was a beauty that ripped you open and scoured you clean so that you were left helpless and exposed, if you lived at all.

— Eowyn Ivey, The Snow Child