apaperflower

apaperflower

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He couldn't go to a hospital. It was closer, yeah, but he couldn't. His mask was torn and his outfit was ripped, and anyone would have been able to see right through the gaps in his identity. He couldn't make it to the clinic though. It was too far. What was he to do??

bark

Keith glanced outside. As much as he hated that dog and knew it was mutual, he felt bad that the dog had to spend Christmas on the heated porch, away from the festivities. Plus, his ears twitched every single time he heard the little thing barking. With a sigh, he silently got up, ignoring his boyfriend's questioning glance, and grabbed a treat from the kitchen. He made his way to the porch door, cracked it open just enough to fit a finger through, and tossed the treat on the porch. He sat back as the little creature stopped growling at him and focused on happily munching on the treat. He thought back to the movie the family had been watching and grinned. "Merry Christmas, ya filthy animal."

He'd never been happier that the walls of the bathroom were soundproof than he was at this moment. He couldn't even imagine the humiliation he would be feeling if they could hear his pathetic cries. He clutched at his stomach and gagged up more bile and snot from his sobs, feeling every tear drip into the disgusting fluid in the toilet. His hands shook so badly that he couldn't even get a proper grip on the seat, and he sagged against the side. Why him?

Stillness Time isn't moving And neither am I Growth is gone Nothing is born All of it just stops The only thing I want I want to be free Only then will I be alive New and useful and needed and loved

shell

He was a shell of his former self. His once radiant blue eyes were dark and listless. His flaxen hair was wispy and dull. His porcelain skin had taken on a gray hue. His hands trembled. His footsteps dragged. But no words were spoken. No one knew when it had started. No one knew how to make it stop.

He was having a dream, no, a nightmare. Some distant part of him knew it. And yet... Sora could not help the elation he felt when he ran towards Cloud's open arms, knowing that he was here, he was with him after all this time. There was a blurry figure behind Cloud, one that reminded him of someone he knew, but no, that couldn't be. He couldn't seem to run any closer though, no matter how hard he tried. Their images started to fade, the blond hair being replaced with a deep crimson that seemed to engulf all of him until he shattered. And the other? Well, it seemed like his other father was never there to begin with. He merely faded away.

There was fire everywhere. Alarms rang through his head as he clawed at his ears, trying to make the terrible ringing go away. There was ash on his skin and smoke in his lungs, itching, burning, making him gag and cough and sob all at once. His voice was hoarse from his screams. He could smell burning flesh. And somewhere, in the distant background that was fading away every second, he heard a mechanical voice attempting to calm him down, to get him to open his eyes. The words "panic attack" were drown out by sirens.

His sleep was filled with nightmares. His dreams were full of memories. Screams and burning flesh. Silver hair and long blades. Scalpels and greasy glasses. Bullet holes and forgotten promises. He would never forget again, no matter how much he wanted to.

It's a portal to the past, a portal to the future, a portal to anywhere but now. The option to redo the past, remake the future, and change all time. The past was written in stone, but stone could always be eroded away. The future is concrete, except when that concrete cracks. Time itself is immovable, but the events can be changed. Altered. Renewed. All it takes is moving through time, and the portal is right there.

sum

My stomach dropped. My skin went cold. My mind went blank for that half second until everything gained a new, vivid light. It felt like the sum of the universes problems had dropped down my throat. But at the same time, it was like reality fizzled away until every detail was shaded in gray. It was overwhelming. It was familiar. And it was not wanted at all.

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writing since 2014 · 34 entries · 34 days shown up

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on this day 12 years ago

A wrote about allowed
“He should never have agreed to it. He allowed her to try clothes on him one time. One time! Now, as he stands before the mirror in a frilly, sparkly dress, complete with a tiara, he loathes …”

the words A reaches for

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