lazeling

lazeling

This user account status is Approved

they were farmers, yes, but their harvest was not one typical of an ordinary farm. where others harvested rice, they harvested teeth, from heads both dead and living. where others harvested fruit, they harvested flesh, bloody and dripping. where others harvested legumes, they harvested fingers, carrying them by the bucketful. no, their harvest was not your average harvest.

he's changed, you think. he still laughs like he used to; smiles like he used to; reads like he used to but sometimes he'll crack one of his black-tipped fingers, and you don't want to think about where he got that quirk from. he still drinks coffee the same way; reads to hinami the same way; adores her the same way but he can switch from kind and loving to cold and ruthless in an instant, and it scares you; scares everyone that knows him. you don't want to think about what caused his hair to turn completely white ((heavy mental and physical stress [what comes from being tortured for ten days])) you don't want to think about why his fingernails are permanently black ((being cut off numerous times [enough to fill a bucket], only to have them grow back again time after time)) you don't want to think about why he intently scratches at his ear, as if there were something inside ((a centipede, scrambling his brains inside his head)) you don't want to think about who he picked up his finger-cracking habit from ((a man with lizard eyes and a white suit, sadistic and manipulative [devising his amusement from screams and faces contorted with pain])) nobody wants to think about those things, and you're scared.

you're bleeding on the ground, half-conscious and raving, but the sight of the small accessory triggers something in your mind, despite the blade through your eye. [locket... locket locket locket locketlocketlocketlocketlocketlocketlocketlocketlocketlocketlockitockit lockit lock-it lock it lock locklocklocklocklocklocklocklock] it's incredibly silly; trivial (almost ridiculous in a situation like this), but you are only aware of one thing (other than the pain [painpainmyeyepainithurtssomuchpain]) in the few minutes you have left. you left the door unlocked.

You are entirely unapologetic as you tear out the intestines of the person in front of you. You're not sure if you can call them a "person" anymore. "Body", perhaps, or "food". You hesitate before you bite into the meat in front of you, but the hunger wins out over whatever made you wait. You dismiss it as weakness, and do your best to ignore it. The sweet flesh almost seems to melt as it slides down your throat. You cram it into your mouth, revelling in the sensation. You are a ghoul; Ghouls consume human flesh. However... You still can't shake the feeling that there's something wrong. ((because you may be a ghoul, but you are [were] human too, aren't you?))

doubt

It's been a year since the raid on Anteiku. You, Touka, live with Banjou and Hinami in a small apartment in a different ward. At first, the three of you and Yomo moved around a lot, since the 20th ward was teeming with CCG investigators after the raid. Now Yomo's gone back to his old shipping container, and you try not to attract too much attention to yourselves. You haven't heard from Tsukiyama or the rest, and Yomo doesn't talk about Uta or Itori. You've seen Nishiki around a couple of times, but you don't really talk to him. It's been a year since you last saw Kaneki. At first, you had faith that he would return. It was all you could do. For your own sake, and Hinami's sake. You firmly believed that he would come back, because he had to be alive. He had to have survived the raid. Surely... But now, a year later, doubt has furtively crept into your mind. And now, a year later, you suppose a part of you always knew that he wouldn't come back.

You don't say grace before meals. As a ghoul, you don't really believe in any god, or gods. Some ghouls do, but most, like you, do not. There's something distasteful in thanking a deity before you begin to messily consume a human corpse (Not that you, the Gourmet, are a messy eater). However, the meal that lies in front of you will likely be the most delectable repast you will ever consume in the entirety of your lifespan. (You will not cook him as you have others; the flavours in his flesh are subtle and best consumed raw. You wonder if such a sweet taste is typical of half-ghouls, or would Kaneki taste just as wonderful had he been left human?) And for this, you cannot help but feel truly grateful.

You don't say grace before meals. As a ghoul, you don't really believe in any god, or gods. Some ghouls do, but most, like you, do not. There's something distasteful in thanking a deity before you begin to messily consume a human corpse (Not that you, the Gourmet, are a messy eater). However, the meal that lies in front of you will likely be the most delectable repast you will ever consume in the entirety of your lifespan. (You will not cook him as you have others; the flavours in his flesh are subtle and best consumed raw. You wonder if such a

"you've done hardly anything to make me trust you," he says, looking down at you with what is surely disgust. "but you've done a lot to make me distrust you, gourmet." something inside you crumbles apart at those words, despite the truth in them. you open your mouth to protest, to insist that you are still trustworthy, but the one-eyed ghoul silences you with a look of pure, utter contempt.

frown

you smile as the blade plunges into your back. you feel it scrape your ribs as it slides past them, piercing your lung to protrude from your chest. you've been waiting for this moment for a while now. there's a moment of silence, and your assailant is stock still as you- that's a lot of blood, you think disconcertedly, as you bring a hand to the wound. the liquid drips through your fingers. you should probably be in a lot of pain right now, but you feel oddly detached from the whole situation. the blood pouring from your chest catches your attention; there's a lot more of it than you'd expected. frowning, you wonder why it's taking so long for you to die. an hour later, you're still there, still wondering. still frowning.

you should be furious you should be furious; mad; wrathful; enraged; livid you should be hunting down those responsible for his death (for he is surely dead), tearing them limb from limb; you should be leaving pieces the size of fingers in your wake but you can't move; can't eat; can't speak you've remained like this since last night, when you tried to stop him ("would you please not go...?") and failed ("i'm sorry, tsukiyama"). "...i appreciate you coming to stop me. but... i'm done with not being able to do a thing." his words echo in your mind, for the pursued shadow is no longer there. as a result, it is no longer in this world (deaddeadhesdeaddeaddeaddeadhesdeaddeaddeadhesdead). and so, we head to the end. ("you'll die, you know," a voice says, as its owner places a can of coffee in front of you.)

load more entries

writing since 2014 · 26 entries · 25 days shown up

each square is a day—lit means laze showed up.

6longest streak

25days written

0.8entries / week

on this day 12 years ago

laze wrote about farmers
“they were farmers, yes, but their harvest was not one typical of an ordinary farm. where others harvested rice, they harvested teeth, from heads both dead and living. where others harvested fru…”

the words laze reaches for

nowpossibleotherstimelineharvestedluckminddespaireyesfingersghoulconsumehumanfleshanywayface