jack

Nov. 25th, 2014 23:51
elydesia: " DOGS " (badou nails ; listless)
[personal profile] elydesia
all I do is wallow in my own filth.
this existence that is nothing but an imaginary pile of made up atoms, fake ideals and distorted views, clogged feelings that just won't go down the drain. rotting and moulding at the bottom of the tub into meaningless grudges, desires, and regrets. reeking flesh of both verbal and physical arguments, inflamed thoughts yet unsaid words.

I sit in a dark corner and see through rose colored glasses to make myself feel better about the shit I'm surrounded by. there are no saviors in this world but I pretend that pile of sludge by my left foot is the divine soul come to rescue me.

a fish out of water, gasping for oxygen and wiggling with a fatal desperateness, in a world opposed to one's own. a mass of land-walkers, air-breathers; no one can understand this single-minded fish, and the fish can not understand the wordly. it can only wear a costume of legs, chop off its gills, and pine for the same luxuries.

there is a good job of faking it, a splendid performance. but every once in a while I'm brought back to my senses as another large pile of shit has fallen on me and I suffocate, unable to breathe until I once again dig myself out and find the costume that is my fake self to put back on.

nothing is left for me. this world is not for me. I can not dig through concrete with my own two hands, to even attempt at finding a place for myself. I'll never make it out of this place alive, so I will die.

--- inner narrative from "JACK"

author's note
I had some triggers this evening and so I worked with Jack's childhood, dealing with his amnesia and inability to be with others due to an invisible social wall.
thought writing this would be better than cutting myself so here we go.
good night.

ps - no, I'm not going into detail about Jack's life, and neither will I write about him before he was introduced in STRIPE. All you need to know should be mentioned in the story, and the rest is for the readers to imagine.
elydesia: (eating ; stuffed ; food)
[personal profile] elydesia
It was just about time.

"Hey, Dad, I'm heading out now, I'll be back in a couple hours or something." I leaned over the banister outside his room and waited for his reply.

"Where you going?" I saw him sit up from his bed.

"To the park."

"Which one?"

"The one behind the house." I started down the stairs.

"What for!" he called from the top of the staircase.

"To watch the Perseids! Remember, I watched them a few years ago, too. I'll be back later." I told my grandparents in the living room I'd be back later and made a getaway through the front door. At the base of the stairs outside I heard the door unlock again but didn't look back and kept walking forward.

I gazed up to the moon, thinking back on that article I read some weeks ago on the supermoon, and how it would obstruct one's view of the Perseids. And just as the article said, even though it was the night after the supermoon's appearance, it was quite bright. Clouds were gathered in the sky around the moon and I could see the small moonbow around it.

The night was not chilly. I wore a pair of black cotton leggings, an oversized strawberry patterned tanktop, a rainbow striped longsleeve, and the winter jacket Gran had bought me two years before. Tucked under my arm was a throw blanket with a teddybear pattern on it.

I had walked a few blocks and entered the alley leading up to the park when my phone went off.

"Hello?"

"Where are you?" It was my dad.

"At Burrard view park."

"Where?"

I sighed. Please pay attention, Dad.

"Burrard view. The one behind our house. The one where, when I was little, we would visit and toss our shoes off from the swings?"

"Oh, that one?"

"Yeah, why? Are you coming?"

In the distance I heard a vehicle and saw him drive through the small alleyway on one side of the park. We both hung up and I watched him and his girlfriend make their way over to the blanket I had laid out. They each took a spot on the blanket and the three of us laid down on it with our eyes to the sky.

The night was bright with the waning supermoon still hover high above us. My fear of not seeing the Perseids was coming true. Dad brought out his iphone and started playing some music while playing a social game.

For a long time the three of us laid there looking at the sky. Dad looked up constellations with a special phone app. And then he suddenly jumped up and said, "Spider, spider! I just saw a giant one. Get up. We're leaving." I asked him about the spider but he gave only vague answers and couldn't even determine the size.

The three of us climbed into the two front seats of Dad's van and went for a cruise to a Tim Hortons in Burnaby. I got a French vanilla coffee and strawberry muffin while dad's girlfriend got a blueberry muffin.

A police car had pulled up and we loitered around the van until the cops went inside Timmies. We crammed inside the van again and headed for a 7-11 near our house for late night snacks.

Being almost 3am, Dad bargained the leftover food for a cheap price and we also got a deal on some chips and a coffee. By the time we made it home it was 3 30AM.



Author's Note
no proofing.
written in a few hours after described event, but finished just now.
the supermoon it describes was the "morning" of August 13th.
what happened here is true, though briefly described.
I just wanted to finish it and get it out here zzz

wordcount: 589
elydesia: " pokemon " (chu !)
[personal profile] elydesia
(originally written two years ago)
wordcount: 774

Everything around me seemed to melt away, like rain on a watercolor painting, all the colors slowly running down the drain. Objects, once so clear as to what they were, suddenly became blurs of color as they cascaded downward like there was no floor. My hand gripped the suitcase tighter to make sure it wasn’t melting, and neither was I. Uncle sure made great improvements on the machine during the past week, I thought it was amazing. He was so capable, and at that moment I wondered what else he could do. With me.

When the old world dropped around me from the sky’s blank face, with its familiar and comforting arms I’ve been yearning for the past week, I half expected everyone to be there when I arrived. But when I opened the door to only Uncle and Nicholas’ meager and somewhat unkempt faces I suddenly became enraged. Why wasn’t Edgar here? Did he really find someone new in only the week we’ve been apart? But, I was no better. I’d known him for only three weeks.

"Where’s Edgar?" I asked but I could barely hear my own words, I wondered if they could. I repeated myself, louder, but Uncle shrugged, Nicholas looked unsettled. The question was directed more to Uncle, but Nicholas answered:

"He’s in his room." His words were sad, like he was ashamed. Why would Nicholas be ashamed? Why would Edgar be in his room? Edgar should be here to welcome me back. He heard about my coming back and living here, right? "He’s been depressed this past week. Hardly goes to class; hasn’t eaten much for three days, already; doesn’t talk more than he needs to. It’s as if he’s gone deaf to the world. Alone with his textbooks."

All of a sudden a whole swath of emotions fell into me. I was worried if he was all right, angry he wasn’t there. I was frustrated with his, what seemed like, lack of a driving will. As if he didn’t care about anything anymore and it pissed me off.

Before either of the men in front of me could stop me I dropped my suitcase and ran. My feet, fueled by anger and disappointment, flew me to the third floor and stopped right in front of Edgar’s room. I took a few seconds of breath to calm myself before I opened the door and barged in.

He was sitting on the edge of his bed. He was reading a book and looked incredibly depressed. What had happened to him? What could have possibly made him into this mess? Even the floor was filthy with clothes and books and stationary. I was only gone for a week and this is what happened? Or was his room always like this?

He looked up from his book to my face. It didn’t feel like he was actually looking at me. His eyes had huge bags under them and the room’s lighting was poor.

I took long, angry strides to him as he dropped his book onto the hardwood floor and stood. I looked up at him with an angry face, our bodies only a foot apart. His face was unshaven and his hair was a mess, a shaggy and wild greasy blonde.

The corner of his mouth twitched, like he was about to say something. I panicked and covered his mouth with my hand. I don’t want him to say anything. I don’t want anything to be said. Words just turn to stone.

I look into his eyes and he stares into mine. I want to know why he’s been like this, why he’s been so depressed and lone-looking. I stare into his eyes almost desperately, looking for the answers in them, hoping he could hear my silent but humble questions. It’s so strange, so out of character for him.

My hand slowly moved away from his mouth and to his jawline, under his ears. My movements were tiny and gentle as if I were petting a newborn kitten. My mind paid no attention to my heart until now, when I found it beating madly for this distraught and lonesome man. What was going on? What do I want? After a week of missing this man, wanting to hold me so carefully in his arms, do I finally know what I want?

I slowly lean up to his face, closer toward his lips. A flicker of understanding went through his eyes and like a spark to a fire he quickly came to life. His face didn’t show it but his eyes did and he wrapped his arms around me and kissed me.
elydesia: " vocaloid " (happy kaito)
[personal profile] elydesia

He wrote in the journal, "The town was eaten. I am all alone."



Early in the afternoon, the boy came to the town shouting, "Wolf! I saw a wolf! Come, come, this way." Armed with all manner of weapons, villagers followed him to the outskirting fields. But when they had all gathered, there was no wolf. The child was beaten and the villagers left.

Alone except for his sheep, he wept. When evening arrived, he picked himself up and guided the sheep home.

Greeting him home, his childhood friend enveloped him in a tight embrace.

He winced. "Ow!" She backed up a little to get a good look at him but he shook her off. "I'm fine. Go home, Lucy. You shouldn't even be here."

She puffed out her cheeks and crinkled her nose and shook her head. He didn't pay attention to her and left her outside, slamming the door to his small shack in her face. With a deep sigh he rested his back on the door and slowly slid to the floor, pulling in his knees and wrapping his arms around them. "You shouldn't be here," he repeated in a low voice and rested his head in his arms.



The next day, the boy went out with his sheep once more. He watched them with a careful eye, and just like the yesterday he saw the tell-tale signs of a wolf, the tips of its ears and sway of its tail peeking out from the nearby bushes. At once he sprinted to the village crying, "The wolf has come, again! I see him! He will eat the sheep, and consume the village!"

And again the wolf seemed to have just vanished. The child was fiercely beaten before the villagers calmly walked back to their homes and market stalls.

Bruised and bloody, the boy shivered as he coughed and spat out blood. He looked up from his crouched position to watch the shrinking backs of the disinterested villagers only to see his childhood friend watching him. Her brows were knitted together and her arms were wrapped around her figure, her eyes slightly widened and her body still.

"Lucy--"

"Lucy! Come home!" Her father called for her, and with a shudder she turned around and ran home.

The boy bit down hard on his bottom lip and slammed his fist on the ground. He touched his forehead to the dirt below him and screamed.

Despair ground the heel of its boot into the back of his head and laughed at his sadness.



At dusk the following day, the boy saw multiple wolves approaching the field where his sheep grazed. At once he worked against the pain in his body to sprint to the village, but no one would listen to him. The butcher smacked him in the head and said, "Don't come crying here again, boy. We do not like liars."

The boy returned to the grazing field alone only to find nearly all the sheep eaten, their ripped open and exposed bodies splayed out to the clear skies to peer into.

Filled with panic, the boy ran to his childhood friend's house and banged on their front door. Without any time to lose he screamed, "Lucy! Lucy, the wolves are here, we have to go!" But the door did not even open. From within came the dominating voice of her father:

"Turn away, boy. We do not like liars. There are no wolves. Lucy's time is wasted on you."

Not wasting a breath, he ran to the side of the house and broke open the crawlspace door. He climbed inside and closed it. Here, he waited as the sky continued to grow darker and darker.

Not one hour had passed when someone saw the wolves approach. The villagers screamed and cried as they ran in fear for their lives.

Above him, the boy heard the doors broken down and the gurgling sounds of Lucy's father as his throat was bitten into. He imagined blood splattering everywhere as he choked on his own blood.

The boy covered his eyes and kept as silent as he could, shutting everything out with regret and fear.



By the time the sun rose the following morning, silence had long since fallen. The boy emerged from the tiny crawlspace he had hid in only to be greeted with carnage in the streets.


author's note
not proofread.
wrote this for k.
enjoy.

wordcount:728

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