[ writing dump??? ]

[emoji movie]

never complete any of thjese challegenes anyways man

[emoji movie]

Misfortune and tragedy always seemed to rear their ugly repugnant heads around him; they were the bullies in his life, the coloured disappointment, and the silent beasts that swallowed him at night. They haunted him during his tranquil slumber like nightmares and plagued him during his moments of lucidity through his thoughts. With the two as his carry-on every moment of his day, he sometimes found himself thinking that every time he ended up in the wrong place at the wrong time, it was fate-- sometimes, he found himself thinking he was just unlucky-- though sometimes, he just thinks.

Usually, he thinks about the bad things that have happened to him: he thinks about the time he was accused of stealing when he was just an innocent bystander, and he thinks of the time that he somehow fell down three flights of stairs and into a dumpster, and he thinks of the time that he accidentally answered all the multiple choice questions right on a test but one question below. At this point, his life was basically a sitcom, except he was the background character that always comes on for comic relief and leaves with ten broken bones.

That being said, sometimes he thinks of the good. There hadn't been much good in his life- his mother never did hang up his scribbled drawings on the fridge, his father never took him on outings and told him life lessons- but that only made him cherish the good even more. Thinking back on it, one of the only recent super significant things was the time he was walking.

Just walking.

You'd think for something significant to happen, it'd be magical. An explosion of colours as chemicals went haywire with awe buzzing, nerves shivering, eyes widening, stomachs flipping-- not for him. It was just a walk. In the rain. After slipping several times.

The rain had been pelting him, slamming down on his sweater and soaking into the fabric. The umbrella was adorned with water droplets inching lower on the surface of the pulled material, and he remained shivering under its cover. There was no one else walking down the sidewalk, only the rushing of cars along the road and the tapping of water droplets against the umbrella. He wasn't sure how long he'd been walking, but when he'd looked up at the sky once more, the cerulean sky had faded into a grayed and dismal canvas.

He wasn't sure what he'd been thinking back then, but it had been something philosophical and tragic-- Juliet-and-Romeo-esque, but lacking the actual care and more so centring on the death. And misfortune. But could you blame him? He had been walking in the rain, right beside a road of hurtling cars.

"Whoa! Could you slow down for me?" A call from the distance had interrupted his probably melodramatic thoughts. It was high-pitched but not grating, and it filled his eardrums and swarmed his senses. Perhaps it was just the shock of hearing a voice after such a long period of silence or perhaps it was the cold, but he shivered. Soon, he paused, craning his neck to spot a girl with dyed hair and a pointed nose sprinting towards him.

"Hello, hi!" The girl breathed out between pants, and he had cocked his head.

He doesn't remember much of his reactions- mostly because he had his gaze focused on her- but he remembers hers exactly.

She brushed her teal-dyed hair to the side, and she leant forwards with hands on her knees, bent forwards but staring up at him with doe eyes and puffed cheeks.

Thanks so much for this! It's raining frogs and fish out there," she mumbled, and he almost raised his eyebrows. He'd opened his mouth to reply to her, but his throat felt clogged with water. Instead, he simply tilted his umbrella to cover more of the girl, and she straightened her back. Suddenly, the pitter-patter of rain seemed to disappear and he felt captured with her, surrounded by a bubble- the two of them. It was all silent for a moment, but then he blinked, and she quirked her lips upwards and asked in a feathery voice.

"Hey, are you going to say anything?"

"Hi."

"Well, that's a start," she stated in a matter-of-fact voice while shrugging lightly. He felt his lips tremble and a smile shifted his lips. This seemed to prompt an even better response as her tight smile pulled into a larger grin.

"Sorry 'bout this, anyways! It was raining and geez I did not come prepared."

Immediately, his eyes darted down and examined her. All she wore were a pair of shorts and an over-sized sweater. Granted, he wasn't wearing much more, but that didn't change the fact she wasn't wrong. Shifting his gaze from her clothing to her face, his breath hitched at what he saw. Beautiful. Her smile lead into a deep dimple, and her nose formed a small hook, but those didn't shock him as much as her eyes. Staring up at them, he drew in a sharp breath. Her eyelashes were long and shrouded her blue eyes like a blanket, her pupils as blue as the sea.

"You have beautiful eyes."

Then he had tripped on a bucket. A bucket.
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look at me being ##tryhard okay lmao this is so bad, like i have never read something before that made me cringe this much and that's saying a lot because i have read my grade three writing. anyways, one percent done, already dying. great start!! c::::

[Ranger of the North]

Ahahahahaha. If I'm honest, that was hilarious XD

[emoji movie]

hnng thank you so much!! :'-]
this was probably one of my least favourites since it got so confusing, with all
the switching between present tense and the genre changing randomly, but it
means a lot that you found it funny!!

[Pyjaks]

Awhhh, I love your writing style! It's so dry and witty, but also has a ton of depth. I can't wait to read more from you :)

[emoji movie]

thank you so much :'-0
i appreciate it a lot!! i'll try and make my next one better!! c:


also sorry my comment under the story was pretty #edgy but i'll
blame that on being up past 12 am

[emoji movie]

There are times where she feels absolutely alone in the world. Like there is nothing beyond the white walls that seal her in-- like there is no one alive beyond her small little cage. It’s a feeling of alienation; disembodiment. She is floating- drifting- in the vacant sea of white, and all that exists there is her.

Just her.

In the grand scheme of the universe, in all that there is and ever will be, exists her. She is constantly constrained in a room with every thought revolving around her, and in that room, she is significant: the center of a burning star. Of course, she’s long since lost the naivety to believe her significance to the world. She’s learnt of the outside and felt the prick of needles and the buzzing of words she can't understand, and she realizes that she is only a pawn in a much bigger game of chess. But in her room-- the pawn becomes a queen. In the coils of loneliness, grips of steel around her, she is somehow everything, and the relief that provides is overwhelming but short: over in a snap.

The room is white. The walls and floor and ceiling; a cynical white. There is nobody in the room but her. Not the white-cloak observers who steal her away from her room, not the dull and tasteless substances fed to her during an ashen and dismal day-- just a pawn and its dwelling. There is a vibrant sense of loneliness in the cell, and it is almost a painful, throbbing feeling. Her cage constantly silent save the sound of her dribbling fingers. The empty silence of the small little room is present in every quaking move, and she feels vulnerable yet powerful; something so agonising like silence can be broken by her.

Time is easily manipulated in the cell, and the isolation highlights this fact in gold and shapes the contours of seconds and minutes. It seems almost as if hours either passes by at bullet speed or inches across the line of life, soluble and brittle to the invading touch of sinister white. In fact, it seems as if everything within the room is unstable, constantly drifting between the boundary of stationary and static, memories and thoughts and ideas-- perhaps even her.

The pinch of the handcuffs leave red blemishes on her wrists, the clasps of steel welding her hands together and keeping them stiff. Her limbs feel constantly wooden, and a sandpaper heart pumps battery acid through her veins. Her eyes are bloodshot and weary-- the trickling shafts of light from artificial lights above seep into her eyes and creates a spiderweb of red lines. Her bones feel weak and frail, and her feet ache from standing up for so long between her brief periods of the white cell and observation.

Inside the cage, her head swells with thoughts that she almost longs to go away. They are useless thoughts, and they buzz inside her head like a distant siren. The thoughts are her only company, though, and they shift inside her mind only when she is in her room. When she is stolen and observed by the white-cloak observers, she cannot think.

They pump her with drugs and insert needles into her and send charges that cause the hair along her limbs perk. She never sees their faces. Under the sweltering light they line her skin with, she cannot see anything.

Often, she found herself captured in a dreamless slumber induced by those drugs and shots. They are rare and sporadic, always between the hours she spends with the constant flood of thoughts in her room and the sadistic jolts that run down her spine, but they are the only times she finds herself at peace.

Peace is a hard thing to come by these days, and she craves the moments of nothingness she is lured into. It is the break between the prodding of white-cloak observers and standing amidst her desert of white, and she has to have that break to keep the paper skin of her mind glued together. She isn't sure how long that period of time is, but she wants it- needs it- nonetheless.

A long time ago- or perhaps not that long ago- she'd dreamed of leaving her dwelling. She'd imagined a world of trees and of mountains and of plains and sun. She'd dreamed of the sun's rays brushing her skin gingerly and caressing her hair, and she dreamed of climbing those trees and seeing the world. She'd dreamed of running across those plains with the grass brushing against her heels and welcoming her with warm arms. She'd dreamed of the ocean and the roar of waves and the claps of thunder and the dribble of rain.

She'd dreamed of stories and songs and dreams. She'd dreamed of people. She'd dreamed of the peace she so desperately craved. She had dreamed of colours.

But that is a long time ago. Peace is now found in the pitch black of nothingness, and found in the inbetweens and the needles and the slumber. The handcuffs and her own cage of white keep her grounded and alone and in her room, significant, but only in a small way. She is no longer that naive. She is no longer a big dreamer.

Perhaps the white room and the observers has changed her so much that she no longer dreams of escape. Perhaps now, she dreams of sleep.
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i was trying angst but idk bro
edit: tweaked slightly ^^;

[Ranger of the North]

Dang I love your descriptions <3

[emoji movie]

haha, thank you so much <33
your opinion means a lot to me!!

[Pyjaks]

AHHH I live for your writing ;__; this one shot was so poignant and pretty!!!