[annie15970]

username:
name:
gender:
thought process:
(please try to keep this under 1000 words, but you definitely DO NOT need to use all 1000.)

[kittybby]

username:
name: astraea star maiden
gender: female
thought process: WIP
(please try to keep this under 1000 words, but you definitely DO NOT need to use all 1000.)

[Sneky]

username: Sneky
name: Orga
gender: Female
thought process:

The gentle winds of autumnal dusk whisper through the dried reeds and grasses,
children of breeze and light dancing and cavorting through the tall golden stalks.
The wind musses through my hair, as gold as the reeds I lay in,
running its wispy fingers through my soft locks.
I revel in it, all of it; the whispering of the reeds and leaves,
the cool brisk scent of the autumn air, the calm breeze in my hair,
and the feeling of the highland grasses against my locks and skin.

Autumn has an almost preservative affect to it; encasing the prairie and forest
in a fiery golden haze before the snows of December cover the earth with their pillowy clouds,
a natural formalin until spring.
Then the buds poke through the tapering frost,
reaching for the kiss of the strengthening sun
as Ostara takes the earth in her grip.
The sun grows, emboldened by the plants calling for its loving embrace,
until the June solstice scorches in a wave of unrelenting heat,
and Samhain offers the heat-weary woods a golden reprieve.
The cycle continues, uninterrupted by petty trifles of blood and bone.

The keening cry of a barn owl signals the oncoming night, but I lay unaffected.
The creature stretches its wings, gold in the setting sun,
and launches itself silently off its old oak perch to begin its nightly hunt.
A remnant of a God older than the land I lay on,
a solemn reminder that someday I will be claimed by the earth,
my flesh feeding the reeds and grass I lay among.
I reach my arm up, feebly imitating my plant compatriots swaying gently in the wind.
Dueling zephyrs pull them in different directions, but they always sway gracefully, dancers of flaxen silk.

The sky, unaffected by my hands pawing toward the clouds, changes as the prairie sun sinks below the horizon.
Stars begin to peek out in the darker parts, little diamonds emerging in a sea of opal and jasper.
Clouds cut through the paint,
dividing the sky into sections of pink and orange as it blends into the loveliest shade of violet.
If it were warmer, perhaps I would see the silhouettes of little bats darting through the peace,
joining their fellow nocturnal hunters in the sky for a feast of fruit and flies.
But its far too late for that; the grass is beginning to frost

Perhaps if I were to close my eyes, to let my consciousness drift away with the fading shades of pink and orange,
I would be overtaken by the earth I run my hands through.
The reeds and moss would claim me, the worms beneath me taking my body and working it back into the land,
back into something useful.
But another cry from the owl, the last fleck of gold in this twilight sky, says it's not my time to go.


first time trying out for one of these guys, this was fun to write!

[puddssoul]

username: puddssoul
name: Vergil
gender: male
thought process:

It takes a moment to slip into the serenity of being surrounded by nothing but nature, even as I stare up at the clouds and devote all of my attention to not paying attention to nothing at all. Life and stress nags at me, trying to drag me away from the inner peace that I'm seeking as I instead marvel over how soft the grass is and how blue the sky can be on a nice day. Eventually it'll all slip away and leave an almost emptiness in my mind. Like all of the background music and white noise has been wiped away leaving me with a clean slate to work with.

Then I focus on everything around me - the sound of the leaves rustling on the trees, or birds calling out softly to each other. Things that I wouldn't normally take the time to listen to or appreciate. I alternate between watching the clouds slowly roll by on their lazy way, and searching for animals in the tree branches above me. Maybe even have a conversation with a bug as it wanders curiously across my arm, wondering when I became part of its home.

Usually then I slip into daydreams, living out worlds only my head could make up as the sun warms my skin and makes me sleepy. When there's no one around I can just slip in between drowsing in my fantasy lands and enjoying the soft breeze and the sweet smell of grass and any flowers that might be in season.

Sometimes if I'm not in the mood to daydream, I'll just lie there and try to tie together little flowers into a daisy chain. It's fun even if they usually end up falling apart shortly after.

No matter what I do, by the time I leave I feel rested and refreshed, like I just needed a little break from the real world. From the bustle and business to just watching fluffy white clouds drift by without worrying about what time it is or where I should be. Letting the breeze ruffle my hair without trying to fix it so I don't look silly. Soaking in nature without all the trouble of gathering supplies to go on a camping trip. Quietly walking by the other people who came here for the same reason and appreciating all the kindred souls gathered silently on the ground.

Even though a plane may occasionally burst by with a blast of noise and marring my view of the brilliantly blue sky, it's enough to break the hold that modern life has on us. At least for me.

[artemis,]

username: artemis,
name: chike ( 'power of god' )
gender: male
thought process: (322/1000)

perhaps the setting of my impromptu moment of self-reflection wasn't exactly conventional.
but in those fleeting moments i minded little.
the sky had since dimmed to a suffused blue-grey, fading about the edges and falling over the cliffs
of the horizon. the cold concrete of the building's roof scraped my forearms, biting at the skin gently
as my head laid back to rest against the stone. the clouds were dulled from their typical chipper white
to a soft grey that was a looming reminder to me that even the clouds were worn from a day of smiling
against the sun's rays. the sun, that had since disappeared with the oncoming evening's veil, was no
longer present to wrap me in its warmth. but, strangely, i welcomed the dark that would soon swallow
the racing city in its cloak.
a droplet of icy water splashed against my forearm.
i shivered.
while many may value defeaning silence in their moments of solitude, it seemed there was simply no
escape from the sounds of the bustling city below me. resistance was simply futile, i thought. letting
the sounds of whirring cars, motorcycles, and the chatter of people melt into my ears, i relaxed against
the rock floor. i hadn't expected to be gazing up at the grey sky from the roof of my apartment that
late afternoon, but, here i was.
i let go of what's been on my mind, at first, maybe for a few minutes. my breathing has since steadied,
and as i lay there, i find that my concentration is only so much more acute. i could almost laugh, soon
realizing this may not be what many have in mind for relaxing sky-gazing.
it's enough for me, though, i think.
another droplet falls, this time on my right cheek.
i no longer flinch.
my eyes fluttered shut, deciding i'd rather imagine the world behind my eyelids rather than against
the darkening skyline.

[Yuroshi]

username: yuroshi
name: Alina
gender: female
thought process:

You’ve asked for our thought process during moments of peace, and I will do my best to answer that. But in order for that to be shown, you must first understand my thoughts of peace, for they are as close as I can get to the truth you’re looking for.
In this busy world, there are precious few moments where I can find a true sense of peace. Perhaps it’s because I have trouble finding it in the hustle and bustle of cities. I am not used to them, but I am sure others may find peace there, the lull of constant conversation and cars a pleasant background noise that can soothe them to sleep.
But for me, it’s the farthest thing from it. I can’t find that special moment of connectedness within the confines of a wide-open city. To me, peace is found in nature.
Peace, for me, varies by season.
In summer, it is the feeling of the grass tickling your bare skin as you lie there on the ground, the wind dancing gently through the trees around you. It’s the feeling of the sun soaking into your skin, keeping you perfectly warm. It’s the knowledge of the blue sky above you as you close your eyes and let your worries melt await.
In autumn, peace is the sound of the wind whistling through the trees, stronger than ever before. It is the fading and vibrant colors of the life around you as it prepares for change, and the awe-inspiring twirl of the leaves as they journey, free from their makers, wherever fate may take them. It is the slight chill of the playful wind as it blows away your problems, any cold offset by the fading sun.
In winter, peace is the silence brought forth as life goes into a deep slumber. It is the pure, pristine brilliance of the clean white snow, the blank slate promising new beginnings. It is the soft dance of the falling cold, drifting gently away with your thoughts.
In spring... in spring, peace is the gentle calls of new life as a fawn takes its first stumbling steps. It’s the brilliant colors of the blooming flowers striving for freedom. In spring, peace is the light pattering of raindrops on your skin, through the air, into the earth- it’s the gentle rain which washes away all of your nightmares.
I’ve done my best to show you what I think during moments of peace... how well that is read remains to be seen.
For me, true peace, when found, carries forth no thoughts at all. Peace arises in the absence of worry, problems, nightmares, and thought. And in those few moments I’m lucky enough to fine it?
I think nothing at all... I feel, and I simply exist.

[WiltedLovers]

oh my mark

[lumilys]

teao. ☂ finley caliperre ☂ he/him

the clouds were white, right? maybe the color of slate? the sky was silver whenever i used to see it- i assumed the clouds were filled with grief whenever it was a color like grey; gloomy but somehow beautiful. down by the valley and right next to the swamp know only by me, there was a tiny hut- built by yours truly. my vision was only just starting to decay when i finished the hut. it looked decent to me, and it was in the middle of nowhere- perfect in my opinion. and thus, i visited my hut every night hoping to see another beautiful silver sky. it was my spot of bliss, and only mine. it was where i escaped when my best friend- my cat- died and my grandma fell ill. nobody knew about it except me- it was wonderful.

but slowly, my eyesight worsened after an accident where my optic nerve got severed. at first, i couldn't tell the colors blue and purple apart, and then later, i couldn't even tell if the sky was grey or blue or any color for that matter. knowing myself, i decided to record a tape of directions to get to the valley and the swamp- it was my place after all. i was blind in only a couple of months, and a month after becoming blind, i started giving up. i couldn't see the precious colors of the sky, or the color filled rainbows that rarely happened in my city despite all our rain showers. i had lost something important to me, my ability to define colors.

i've grown, though.

i may not of been able to completely see colors, but i took it upon myself to always remember the names of them. red, orange, yellow. green, blue, purple, pink, white, grey, black, even fuchsia. they were all important to me; even if i wasn't able to see them. i told myself over and over again that i was not helpless, i was just like many others out there who had lost their sight at an early age- i got used to it.

i remember all the color names. i still visit the swamp i used to sit by and stare at the sky by. i use the recording i made for myself to find my spot of bliss, and i sit there just like the old, more colorful times. i'm still rather young, yes, but sometimes it doesn't feel that way.

i feel old, as if i've lived for twenty years longer than i actually have. it's hard having to rely on something else to make my way through the city- very few kalons have the empathy to care. i live in a greedy city, and you get nothing out of helping a blind kalon like me; except my gratitude of course. unfortunately, gratitude doesn't satisfy most.

still, i promised myself never to let myself to feel helpless again- no matter what happened. so, i will walk through life with a smile on my face, even if i can't see the smiles of others. i will not hesitate to be myself, even if it disappoints those around me. i will still visit my hideaway and lay down by the reeds and water right beside me.

my eyes may be useless, but i still have a vision for myself. i will remember the colors of the sky, and the beauty of everything that surrounds me- and i will appreciate that i can still listen to the owls that call out around me. and whenever i feel the cold and crispy nighttime air, i will smile in joy because the sky might just be grey.

[deleteduser]

username:starbliss
name: Nuadha, "cloud-maker": Celtic god name
gender: male
thought process:
i see grey clouds
flying over me
i hug my knees
but when i hear the birds sing
my heart lifts up
to hear the ring of rain drop
sun shine pours over me
i see little ringlets of feathers flying in the air
but beware
peace comes quickly
i find my peace in nature and these things
these things grasp my soul
and i feel passionately about the
song of the wind
and the hum of the trees swaying
and the cry of the river
crying out to me to feel peace
and i do
(96/1000 wow. i felt really good writing that makes me happy)
(please try to keep this under 1000 words, but you definitely DO NOT need to use all 1000.)

[Zailune]

Username:
Zailune

Name:
Vaubrus Sahn

Gender:
Male | he/him

Prompt:

I can’t remember when it started. Perhaps because I can’t remember a moment without it. The fiery rage of the beast pounded a pulsing tune into my mind, the flames engulfing the fragments of sanity which fought to keep me alive. The cursed tune, a rusty nail scraping the walls of my brain. Was it fighting to escape? What was the motive behind the destructive force? Did it bear a grudge against me, my family, my ancestors? I could never pinpoint any sort of base reasoning – it was as it was.

Despite the efforts of the beast to restrain me, despite its fight to cease the functioning of my vessel, I pushed forward day after day. The cracks forming along my skull were sloppily coated, slow to heal each with each additional emergence. The other beings inhabiting the world I’d known stood far and seemed disconnected from my eyes and heart. Maybe the chains dangling from my limbs and the torn cloths covering my head stood as a warning not to approach me. Part of me felt cheated, though another part felt thankful. I didn’t need anyone else, after all. I was never truly alone.

As years passed, a patch of flowers began to miraculously bloom in the depths of my soul. The bioluminescent glow lit up my eyes, the roots spread over my chains and it seemed that the world itself had begun accepting my presence and coaxing me to delve into the wonders it held.

The beast had quieted. The sounds of its claws were mere echoes. I began to feel something new – trust, love, belonging. Though, at the booming resonance of the beast’s laugh, it all started to disappear once more. The flowers wilted. My trust became fear. My love, a lie. Belonging, imitation.

Though, one feeling remained all this time.

Indifference.

The one feeling, or lack thereof, which had kept me from fading to the dust and falling to the searing embers. That which, on countless occasions, protected me from myself sinking to the beast’s will.

______________________

Throughout the course of a tortured life, there is not always peace to be found.

However, every life faces ups and downs, and reacts to varying circumstances in different ways. Our eyes do not see the light the same way, nor do we accept the darkness altogether. As the thick metal bindings clutching our bodies begin to melt in the heat of passion, our limbs suffer – falling apart, melting and taking a new shape with which we could never utilize the same way. Our hearts ache at the pain we’ve endured as servants to the greater beasts, and freedom comes with a cost. Yet, the reward of silence is something we strive to obtain regardless, for it is the greatest gift. It is a refuge and a potent spell which we can mold into a garden of serenity - and even hope.

With my fortunately granted gift, I built my own garden. At times, the dying embers burn the layers of my soul. At times, the gruesome howls of old echo through my mind, and tear apart strands of flesh holding this vessel together. At what cost did I obtain this, I wonder at times.
Who faced the pain I’d kept locked away?
Who else saw the eyes of the beast, the one I’d slowly let escape from me?

____________

When the echoes are too loud, the sensations too painful – I retreat to my garden.

It is there that I find peace, and the sounds faded to the chirping of songbirds.

________

My angel of clarity - return to me. Grace my presence with your aura of light, that I may return to my pen and write. I wish to capture this place if only one more time, that I may share it with those who face the beast. I yearn to capture your legacy, my angel – the one who flows with the gentle winds that caress my tense form, the entity that inspires a nation with the power dormant within an individual.

675 / 1000 words