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evelynsfics · 2 years

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The face of a liar.

What does it all mean? You tell me.

a/n; me writting all my shit while extremely sleep deprived is both a power move and an absolute clown moment. Then again my sleep schedule is ass so what do i know? Basically what im saying is i don't remember writing this, and i have no clue what it means.

Tw; slight dark themes.

Trapped inside a dream made of glass, one that is so fragile yet impossibly quick to wrap it's cold touch around one's subconscious, eager to consume both mind and body as one.

Songs written in ancient tongues seem to hold little meaning these days, yet the warnings they speak to us of still swirl like clouds in the empty night sky, whether we hear them is all too irrelevant. For they told us, but we didn't care to listen.

Whispers of wonder and lust, promises empty and false yet exciting while one's heart still beats. Oh what i wouldn't give to be able to feel it again, the gentle wind and frost as the glass freezes over, soon to shatter into shards so tiny they could easily end a mortal life with the slightest of pressure.

"Let the dead rest, they've exhausted themselves long enough."

They say, their words laced with meaningless spite, a hazy fog behind their hollow eyes masking the true anger they feel, yet they stay, they continue to stand proud and tall, silhouetts wavering ever so slowly in the bright, brilliant light.

A name and a face, all to soon be replaced and reused with no regard or care for who they once belonged to.

How dare they lie? How dare they speak of things they've seen destroyed? Who are they to control me? To tell me who i am and what i have to become?

The world is like a mirror, a dream made of glass, one that shows us our reflections warped in hopes of tricking us to believe what it wants to. A pond, a river, an ocean. All flow as naturally as the earth below commands, yet we cannot do the same, for our nature is that of curiosity and wonder, one they try to snuff out.

One they try to bury under their lies, pressure, and stories weaved from countless dreams left to become nightmares.

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evelynsfics · 2 years

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Dreams, or rather fragile nightmares.

"Sleep child, you cannot go on like this. You scream about creatures chasing you in your dreams and eyes watching you from darkened hallways, but you must realize it's nothing more than your subconscious mind."

Who was it...that told me that?

Tw; slight dark themes.

"The forest goes on forever. It stops only when you do."

Ah, the silent whispers that float like blue fire. They dance and sing, they scream and flee, yet they cannot escape fate's cold embrace.

A blue tint, a golden ring.

Who makes the rules we think absolute? Why do we follow such meaningless ideals of men long dead?

The earth hides secrets beneath the blood tainted soil, secrets that must be kept as they are.

Unknown.

A number carved hastily on the bark of an old tree, a small bottle filled with water from a lake that ceased to exist before it was even created.

Under silent moonlight he calls out to me, to you. He takes the voices of those that do not head his warnings, for his own is broken, shattered to riddles and songs said in taverns.

They who stands amongst the trees, carefully watching. None can escape them, for they know the heartache you carry, the heartbeats that go unsaid, and the horrors that haunt your eyes once they close one final time.

Pale the waters below, creatures swim, their minds corrupted by the air, by the whispers.

What happens to the drowned? The ones the water lures and claims, cutting their life as short as the dying rays of the daybreak sun.

They stand before me, tall and beautiful. They call me by my name, a name i had almost forgotten.

"Your instincts betray you."

They say to me, their voice in my head and all around us. The earth trembles and the trees bow, their mesmerizing leaves gently touching the snow.

"Peel away the shackles they bound you in. Feel nature for what it is."

They guid me, they help me, they fear me.

The fire blooms, what once was a dying ember now rises from it's ashes like a Phoenix, ready to devour anything it can reach.

Dark. That's all there is.

One.

Two.

Tree.

And so it goes on, stuck on a loop whos numbers don't exist.

They never did.

Right?

It hurts, it burns!

It's eating me alive...

No. It knows what it wants.

A bell chimes four in the distance, far beyond what exists and what doesn't. She knows not to ask too many questions, for the creatures here know far too much.

A crystal ball falls. The beautiful, swirling colors it held within pour out on the carpet as the glass shatters. Millions of butterflies rise from the liquid, their wings dripping past, present and future all at once. Each passing second is a lifetime spent studying ancient tongues, mastering each word only to be spoken once.

The colors shift in the light, their previous existence lost in time, far beyond one's mind.

"I was worried you wouldn't wake up."

The voice was gentle and kind, almost like the kiss of a moth to the blazing flame.

So why did it feel like she was looking down at her own corpse?

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evelynsfics · 2 years

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Self sabotage. (Haha, get it?)

A room that's like a fading dream. One you cannot recall, and instead it comes to you when you least expect it. A woman dangerous to the world as she is to herself. Or at least, that's what she wants you to think. Unable to break the cycle, the poor soul is doomed to join it like those that came before her. It canot be broken for the one that started it will not allow what happened to her to continue.

a/n; another author's note is at the bottom bc uh it would spoil shit

Tw; dark themes, mentions of alchohol.

Dim lights flash and flicker, their short lives ought to be replaced by new, better ones soon. Ah how sad it is, to die and to be forgotten as if you've never lived.

How painful it must be for your lungs to burn and ache, an endless struggle you know you can't win yet you still fight, you still hold on to hope as if it didn't die out when you did.

The room is silent, the dark painted walls feel safe and inviting, like a warm blanket on a freezing night, able to keep away any monster that dares to come.

A color halfway between black and brown, blue and red.

All of them at once, a warm embrace soon to wrap it's claws around those it can reach.

An illusion meant as nothing but a distraction from the real threat.

Two women are sitting across from eachother, one has long brown hair that's well kept and elegant, her voice is soft and quiet, seeing no purpose in shouting. She's sitting on a barstool, drink in hand as her lips move, words drift back and forth, their true meaning hidden beneath layers of lies.

The glass she's holding is filled with a mesmerizing liquid, it swirls and becons her, calling her name with her own voice.

The other woman is behind the bar wiping a glass with a towel, her hair is pale pink and messy, nowhere as long or beautiful as the other woman's. She screams and shouts, voice dry and raspy yet retribution nowhere to be seen, or heard.

A painfull conversation, a clash of morals.

What is justice? What is foolishness?

"Don't be naive. They won't help you, they never did."

That's not right, is it?

A soft hum, the last few notes leave the air akin to electricity after a violent storm. The piano keys no longer move, their melody far outlived that of the last one to sing.

They ask each other their meaningless questions as if this is the first time they've met, her own self spitting words full of venom and hatred, burning like molted iron falling to create a sharp sword.

"You're not who you think you are, you know."

"Oh? And who am i, then?"

The brunette, although seeming calm, is nothing of that sort as she gets angrier and angrier with the other woman.

"Telling you would ruin the fun."

A final laugh, a hazy memory.

She tried to stop it, she really did! After seeing what she was bound to become if she continued she simply couldn't handle it. The desire to save others like she wishes she was saved has long since died, withered away like a forgotten rose in an empty garden once full of love and life.

At least this ends with me.

Oh? Is that what you think? What you hope? Pathetic.

Oh but it didn't. It followed her to each timeline, to each place she tried to escape to. It took some time to catch up to her, but it always did. Be it 10 or 100 years, she could not run away from her own fate, her own path to take in life as she did in death.

As ash turns to ash, we must all see what we've become.

The pink haired woman leaned over the bar, her face blank yet full of amusement. She herself, was a living contradiction. The glass she was cleaning long shattered.

She reacher a hand for the brown haired woman, who in turn tried to sit up and back away.

"Don't run from me."

She spoke, her voice twisted.

It sounded like her, like me, but at the same time it was millions of other lives she had lived, in anger and in shame, in hope and in happiness, in disappointment and in acceptance.

She was that monster, she was the one that ruined her life.

Her future.

And every Ayame yet to come.

A lock of brown hair is all that's left. Even as the pink haired woman let's go of the other, she does not return.

There is no brown haired woman, only a battle she fought.

And lost.

a/n; the brown haired woman is Ayame's first design i came up with like 4 years ago.

#my writing #writers on tumblr #writing

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evelynsfics · 2 years

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The part of the story we forgot.

The stars falling; wishes of mortals upon their dying minds and fading bodies flashed like rolling thunder peaking over the drifting clouds in the far distance, away from all sin and disgust cast upon the gods themselves by that which they created as a result of a neverending pride and a horrible want, no, a horrible need of control.

When did the sky get so dark? Has it always been so loud outside? Ah, when the bodies started dropping in the streets, that's when the calm singing began.

Screams of agony and torment mix in chaos like a chant, a choir reaching out with bony, bloody fingers.

Bliss waited just beyond the shaky horizon as countless eyes flutter, only to disappear under the moonlit buildings. The sun does not dare rise, for it too knows the horrors the sky holds in delicate, cosmic hands.

It took a while for the people below the heavens to realize it's all fake, an illusionary death meant not as a threat, but as a warning, a reminder of stars watching carefully. Yet, as more and more people began to carefully peak from behind boarded windows and blocked doors, it was all as it should be.

I still remember the day the sky broke in half, a spiderweb of cracks extending above our heads like a warm embrace.

It all blended into one after a while, all that was left was a crimson line slicing the constellations in half. A walk of shame along the stars made worse by the blood dripping down the clouds like teardrops.

Oh how we hoped it would stay as only blood.

Eyes upon eyes upon eyes, millions of colors and shapes of which humans cannot see, cannot understand. How did the world come to this? An endless abyss

A miracle, a mistake. That is what the world is, and so, as the false stars fall into the madness bellow, the gods return upon the sickly, ashen soil with a single eye amongst themselves. For hunger is a vile creature, one that consumes and consumes and consumes until there is nothing left to destroy

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evelynsfics · 2 years

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Delusion of calmness.

A town so far away it sat at the edge of the world, eagerly taunting anything that stepped too close. Now, after eons of watching the vortex, we've decided to take it for ourselves. How easy would that be? Destroying what we held dear for so long? Reality is failing, and it is our job as it's protectors to stop the madness thats oh so beautifully spilling out.

As he spoke, his voice sounded wrong, distorted in a way that while easily unnoticeable, made him dizzy with paranoia.

He ran, his feet cold as he walked over gathering puddles in the woods after the terrible storm that passed us not long ago.

Flowers burst into bloom as fast as they wilt, wither, and die. Colorful petals turn to shriveled, thin teardrops in the wind as it carries them away, a treasure it wishes to keep for itself.

The tall, white crosses sitting silently above millions of watchful graves peaked over the rusted fence. Glass shuddered in the wind, a hypnotic chime echoed and shattered the silence dripping to the undisturbed soil below like a fog so ethereal it almost felt real in destruction's wake.

The trees stand together below ashen moonlight, lanky figures with limbs so long the fingertips scrape the soil below as they stagger around and colors of which our eyes cannot see, no less understand, move gracefully as they dance and sway, as they scream and chase.

The figures wear masks, for as long as they have lived outside human houses and between the silent graves, they cannot understand humans. They weep and shout, they hug and kiss, yet they make life so complicated, and so, the creatures struggle and weep when their movements are nowhere near as gentle.

Unlike what they are taught, humans carry so much on them at all times. Why bring a sharp object, as they have realised it is, with you in the woods when you know you cannot hurt, much less kill, a creature like them? What's the point in resisting when you yourself decided to go into the lion's den? Unless it wasn't you who walked aimlessly at night, body bare and feet bruised and muddied.

Empty, vast fields stretch out their hands to the sky, clouds drift and fade as their short existences reach their end. Cotton and corn they grow, the sky limitless above just as it is below.

The cemeteries are their favorite, and when humans pass by to care for their dead, they watch carefully, impatient to mimic them as they always do.

I remember it was a moonless night that day, the day they walked into town. They waved with unkept enthusiasm, like one would do to a friend they haven't seen in a long while. Yes, the creatures can prove themselves dangerous, but only when disturbed during the time when the sun is highest. The townspeople had no reason to flee much less to pick up whatever they could and attack, right?

It's a dilemma carved deep within nature. They pose a threat to us, so we must eliminate them. That is what our parents told us from when we were old enough to understand.

Don't go into the woods alone, don't go to the cemeteries with 3 crosses on the gates, don't call out at night, and whatever you do, don't follow anyone that doesn't have a shadow.

Kids are so easily tricked, you see. That is why we where never allowed at the edge of the town, our grandparents always warned us about the maskmothers, they said the voices come at night.

Maskmothers is what we called the elder creatures, because once they live for long enough, they abandoned human minds, prompting to copy their appearance instead.

Masks upon masks, and faces upon faces. That, is what they wear.

Long limbs, otherworldly colors, calls that echo like a whale's cry, shaking the trees and silencing the wind. It's easy to guess where they came from, yet no one dares to speak their true name, for being so reckless would only attract more.

They never spoke. No, they couldn't speak. Or at least, that's what we thought, what we hoped.

We knew that if they tried to speak, the sounds they'd make would tear our subconscious apart like armor in war. We hoped we'd be able to find a solution to the things they caused before they could speak, yet we never did.

It's been so long since the last disaster, it's only natural for everyone to be paranoid. Any second now, and the next storm might finally tear time itself apart.

The clocks stopped ticking a long time ago. It didn't bother most since we knew it was bound to happen. The teachers at the school taught us to tell time without the help of clocks a long time ago. And as it was carved into our memory, we never bothered to change our flimsy views of how we lived.

Even before i saw them in the forest, moving in complete unison as they avoided stepping on the growing flowers, i knew i could use them.

They always loved when we'd sing to them.

They always loved when i watched them dance.

They always loved when they mixed death and beauty.

Their screams have finally stopped, their contorted bodies no longer stumble after us, after me. Ah, but did we really have to destory everything they built? Those they hurt went out taunting them in a fit of drunken rage, you know.

And even now, as i stand here wearing their masks, i can't help the tingle of guilt i feel. They didn't want to kill us, they meant no harm, yet we hurt them, as if we're the ones in the right.

Ah, but destroying is what humans do best, isn't it? What's the harm in falling in the collective opinion? Anger and satisfaction swirling together makes me feel alive after so long. What's the point in defending creatures that do not belong in this world?

Soon, all we've done for them will be repaid. And when that happens I'll be there to collect what's rightfully mine.

And so, a new age begins.

#my writing #writers on tumblr #writing

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evelynsfics · 2 years

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A story yet to be told, perhaps.

"A young boy ran down the road in a hurry, his hair messy and face flushed. The rain was soft yet it fell swiftly upon the neighborhood streets.

"What did you dream of, my child?"

They asked, their voice gentle as it was tired. Full of kindness and understanding, but almost dull as if it was a bloodstained blade.

Cassandra's wisdom was one of legend, their deep understanding of the dreams that plagued their people matched only by their parental role to the younger children.

"A pale woman dressed in dark blue. She called out to me once more."

The boy answered, his name long forgotten.

"She holds her arm out most nights, and while she never speaks outside of calling me, i know she wants to hold my hand."

"Does she speak to you with your own voice?"

Cassandra asked with curiosity as they handed to the boy and old necklace.

The boy fell silent for a few seconds, before he finally spoke again.

"Answer her. She means you no harm."

The elder's voice cut through the silence like the harsh winds that move silently during the dead of winter.

"Alexia, when did you come in? I didn't hear you." Alexia laughed, dusting off the fur on her shoulders.

"Oh Cassandra, if only you could see what i saw out there."

Cassandra turned back to the boy, their face soft and voice kind as they spoke.

The sky was dark and millions of stars sparkled as they dotted the clear winds. The boy held the necklace close as he closed his eyes, trying to fall asleep.

It wasn't long before he woke up again. A beautiful field of colorless flowers was all he could see at first, until he heard the woman. Slowly, he got up. His legs hurt as if he was running for a long time, but he couldn't remember moving.

The woman had her back turned to him, her flowing, blue dress left to the careful hands of the breeze.

This time, she didn't speak, she knew he was going to call her first.

She turned around, her face clear amidst the blurriness. Once again, like every night before, she held her hand out for him. He swore he say a flash of suprise in her eyes when he did, but than again his head was spinning.

"Who are you?"

"You don't remember me?"

Questions asken where met only by more questions. A back and forth that would last a while, leaving the boy confused.

"Do you have a name?"

Ah, that's certainly a new one. Usually people don't ask for her name.

"I don't know. Do you?"

Something in him told him to run, to flee. Names hold power, both of the knew that.

With a small shake of his head he sighed.

"I don't remember."

The illusion wouldn't last forever, but by the time he saw what she truly was, it was far too late."

"Seriously? That's how it ends?"

A young girl shouted, her hair in a ponytail that seemed way too tight.

The boy sitting next to her, her brother, looked at her for a second before whispering something.

"Don't be so loud! Do you have any idea how scary the librarian gets when people shout?"

"Oh, sorry, my bad. Still, the ending is so...so...boring!"

The girl raised her voice again, but quicky sat back down once she saw her brother sigh in disappointment.

"Aren't you curious though? About the woman, i mean."

After a long silence he spoke, picking up his things once he noticed how late it was getting.

"A bit, yeah."

"Come on, it's getting dark. We should get going now."

The girl nodded, warnings her mother always said to her before she left the house ringing in her ears like an annoying alarm clock that's way too old to be still working.

Walking out of the library, the siblings waved at the librarian, careful not to stare at her wide smile too long. It was rude to stare, and being rude in a town full of otherworldly creatures was far too dangerous, you see.

#my writing #writers on tumblr #writing

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evelynsfics · 2 years

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Bellow the dusty floorboards.

A ghost town left to rot alongside it's people.

Tw; blood, slight dark themes.

Crimson drips from the rusted necklace like muddy rainwater, yet the girl holding it close doesn't seem to mind. It stains her hands, but thankfully it's the dead of summer so she's wearing a short sleeved shirt. It would be such a hassle to get blood out of her clothes again. The sky in the far distance is dark and empty, stars long since dimmed and clouds all too late.

It's cold. So, so cold.

Why is it cold? It's not supposed to...right?

The world is spinning, the ground is shaking and the sky is falling.

Or at least, for Ayame it is.

"I just... It was an accident! You know she didn't mean it! She hasn't left her room in a week now and she won't eat... I'm sorry, but..."

She? Who's she?

Freshly picked lillies on a grave lie as still as those burried beneath.

The trees where always tall, but now it seems almost as if they grew a few feet taller. Even the shadows walking along the stream whisper louder than before.

Fog rolls in like a silent wave, the kids playing in their back yard don't seem to notice. Or maybe they did and they just don't care.

The same mistake everyone used to make.

Ayame decided to leave them alone, she knew that if she got closer she wouldn't like what she saw. Learned that the hard way, unfortunately.

Small towns are so fascinating.

The clock is stuck at 03:31. It's been like that for a long time now. So much so, that she struggled to recall the last time it showed her the correct time.

Was it A.M or P.M? Does it even matter? I think it does but...maybe I'm wrong.

"The world is tinted, the sky is dark and the stars don't seem to shine anymore" She says while the blood drips down her arm like a soft lullaby.

The sun rises slower today, a lightless dawn like all the others that came before it.

"Sad, isn't it?"

It is? My, how odd. I seem to have forgotten what you said to me that day.

"It was something about a dream, I'm sure."

Perhaps. Maybe it was just my imagination. After all, bad things happen to those that don't appreciate their luck.

A scarecrow sits alone amongst tall fields of corn bathed golden by the fading sunlight. A few crows perched on it's outstretched arms, whispering words for no one to hear but the empty roads below.

The sun sets and yet another day flickers and dies before her eyes. The sky is beautiful tonight.

It always was.

It always will be.

She passes the old scarecrow on her way back home, yet it seems to grow lonelier and lonelier everytime she looks. Maybe she should stop looking. Yeah, that would be for the best.

Her footprints left behind a stain, as if she had been walking through mud. She had to make sure she wiped her shoes on the mat so she wouldn't dirty the house, otherwise her mother might get angry.

So many houses are falling apart in her neighborhood, walking past them she wonders why no one lives in them anymore.

The accident.

A mess of pale pink hair peaks from the broken window, the glass shards that once posed a threat no longer as sharp below her fingers. She frowned at the state the house was in, memories of growing up in those dusty halls all too bittersweet.

A single tear fell as her eyes fell to the torn carpet. It was her grandma's favourite. And now, it was reduced to a state she wouldn't wish to see. Furniture was torn to shreads, the pretty wallpaper was peeling off and the floors where coated with a thick layer of untouched dust.

Ah, are those the grainy Polaroids she took all those years ago?

Wait...years? No, it's been a few months. You don't know what you're talking about.

The sharp pain in her fingers pulls her back from the brink of madness. She quickly lets go of the windowsill, yet it's a tad too late. With a deep sigh she begins to pick the glass shards from her fingertips, thoughts rushing with what she refused to admit.

Her hometown was left abandoned, a shell of what it once was. The ghosts roam around, yet her delusional mind keeps her in a state of denial.

I told you the blood wouldn't come off.

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evelynsfics · 2 years

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What do you do when your own language becomes foreign to you?

Is that a question most people ask? Or is it something we were never meant to ask?

When you hear your name being called from the bottom of the lake, waters calm and inviting, what do you do?

Do you follow it wordlessly? Do you call back hoping for an answer you'd rather not hear? Or do you look away from the window and rationalize that it was just your imagination, or perhaps the small fear you have of new places? Hell, even the wind could cause that if it tried hard enough.

Can that type of logic help you the next day when you look outside your bedroom window where you heard gentle, rhythmic tapping last night only to find muddy footprints leading from the lake to where you are standing, but not back?

What is it called when you feel dread so strong it forcefully holds you in place with it's icy claws? Does it even have a name? Or do we as humans refuse to name it? That would be the smartest move, so i doubt that's the reason.

Chase the voices chanting an eerie song, what's the wrost that could happen? Call out to the whispers at night, they are things of your imagination, after all. Tap back to the stranger at the window, they only want what's best for you.

And when the violent storms roll in, dirty ashen clouds drifting in the sky as it bleeds, and bleeds, and bleeds a beautiful crimson, open your windows, let it inside. There's no reason to fear, it's for the best. The creatures that wail with the black thunder, despite their otherworldly looks, are friendly. They mean no harm. We mean no harm.

And who am i, you ask? Well that's an easy question! I am all that we embody, all that we embrace in death as we did in life. And so, i hereby invite you to a life you didn't know existed, for as long as rain falls so do we.

#my writing #writers on tumblr #writing

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evelynsfics · 2 years

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The final falling star.

A choir broken by bloodshed sings at the rise of the final dusk, their voices raspy and wet, eyes wide and praying as they dance around the empty streets. Highs and lows standing side by side with shaking strings that warn of doom between the flickering lights and roaring fires.

Of those that survived the first falling star, many perished from the notes that escaped the Angel's sliced lips. Soon, the shaking began.

At first, it was the dead that rose up like puppets on a string, but then the Angels began to mimic voices and faces, that's when we learned it was far too late.

Pale and tall, they stalk the veil of night they brought upon us. They cannot be killed, for their only purpose is to silence mankind, for it's screaming of false faith has long since silenced the heavens.

Their bones snap as they walk, their movements so unnatural they make us question if what we're seing is actually wrong, it all we know is false, like the dawn after a nightmare.

Attached with bone where their wings, at first at east.

Long tongues flapped around as they crawled around with more limbs than they should have, spines stretched and snapped along their agonizing dances, we are all dragged by death to dance and dance until we dangle like ragdolls in their palms.

A rising dread spreads to all that fall prey to their claws, but for them it was already too late.

Things that should not be seen by mortal minds rise and fall to the tempo of the music, shattered notes fall from melodies that once belonged to far greater musicians, all now dead below the tained soil.

Screams filled with agony and despair join, their throats slit and souls bloodied, yet their voices rise above the broken instruments.

Screams of which belong to both humans, and those beyond redemption.

Like the calm before the storm, we where all consumed in the wrath those things brought with them, too absorbed in killing eachothers to realise the true horrors lay before our very eyes.

And with the dull, rusty knife still buried deep in my neck, i keep walking, silently watching all ive ever known in life crumble away to ash and dust.

Because down here, at the bottom of the endless abyss we ourselves created, death is not a release, it's the end of the beggiging.

And we, at the edge of madness, are eternal.

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evelynsfics · 2 years

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Empty space.

How nice it is to daydream, characters and worlds all your own, dancing and singing as you see fit. For they answer to you, and only you. They exist because you allow them to, they cannot go against you, against me.

Tw; graphic mentions of bugs, dark themes, slight body horror(?)

There is only static.

Loud, obnoxious static that pierces her ears and drills into her brain like shrill screams.

But when the woman started screaming bloody murder Ayame immediately regretted comparing the silent and now, seemingly peacefull static to such agonizing sounds.

There is nothing around her, no walls, no floors, no ceilings, no nothing. And she doesn't exist either in this void, yet she can feel her chest rising with each ragged breath she takes.

She knows her eyes are closed, but it's not like it makes a difference anyway.

The dark figures at the edge of her vision are taller than last time. Oh god, their claws are so much sharper as they drag across her fading skin.

They whisper, condemning her to a fate she wished she could understand and hear, yet at the same she's afraid of the answers she'll get if she goes digging.

Bloody shovel in hand, mud and dirt under her fingernails, arms and legs bruised and dirty.

That's all she's reduced to, a kid being eaten alive by guilt and nightmares of screams and muddy, toxic rain.

A cold, sharp sting echoes on her skin, her consciousness at the edge of slipping is brought back like a sick joke.

At first she compared it to being woken up mere moments before falling asleep after a horrible day, but now, after so many years of unexplainable things chipping away at her life, she says it's akin to being robbed of a peaceful death only to be tortured for all eternity.

She looks down, and where there once was nothing but empty space, her arm lies limp, veins darkened and skin stained.

So tell me, why is there a faded, ashen hand holding her arm? No, it's not a hand.

It's bones.

Cold, light, empty bones.

"Let go."

She looks down, her gaze cold yet scared. Behind it all, behind the mask she puts in each day, she is nothing but a kid. A kid who was not meant to live this long.

There is static in the air, in the air that didn't exist seconds before. A soft buzzing, humming, millions of bugs crawling on her skin.

Soon, they crawl under it.

Between her fingers and behind her eyes, they crawl and crawl, legs digging until there's nothing left to dig but soil.

A tall figure walks forward from the darkness, a thin and lanky man, his hair mangled with twigs and leaves.

He's holding something?

No, no he isn't.

Then why is he holding his hand out to me?

A handshake, a handful of bad decisions, and a severed head.

I hold my heart out for you to take, the empty space in my head and in my heart exists only for you.

Yet someone else has entered.

Someone else has forced their way in.

And even now, as i wait for everything to crumble and fall apart, i laugh at how absurd this whole Ayame persona is. If only i was better at it, maybe then you'd like me more.

Oh well, not everything goes as wanted.

The curtain closes, the credits roll, and my daydream comes to end only i saw coming.

#my writing #writers on tumblr #writing

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evelynsfics · 2 years

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3 am mental breakdown core fr

"if when you die you see a light at the end of the tunnel, whats behind you? If you turn, who's face will stare back at you from the darkness? Why js it dark? Can the light not reach? Or does it not want to?"

what does death feel like? What does it mean to die? To stop existing? To stop thinking? Does it hurt? Does it just feel like when you come home after a long day, where you just got out of the tub, and the rain is pulling you in, lulling you to an endless sleep? Is it a second or does it stretch for all eternity?"

What are we to the universe? How insignificant must we be to think we are the God's envy? Ah, the days dont pass anymore, time doesn't tic, and memories slip like countless grains of sand trapped in an hourglass.

For we think we are so important, but in reality we are nothing but a caged animal.

#listen this was too good to delete ok leave me alone

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evelynsfics · 2 years

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The fading words of a past love.

A letter sent by a man long since dead, that's all I have left from a life i refuse to acknowledge, let alone retell as a tale to drunkards in taverns that smell like rotten fish and cheap alcohol.

At nights when the rain falls like rocks atop rotten planks, and stories of black butterflies and broken compasses go unheard are times of rest. The calm before the storm.

Yet here i am, aboard the same ship that brought me a void of bad luck and dead crows outside my window.

The sky crashes against the sea, it breaks into millions of pieces, droplets of blood and ash return upon the sandy shores.

Something was wrong in the wind, no birds, no insects, no noise. Just a noose moving back and forth, called back by the ocean.

A plague, that's all it was.

A plague that took and took, from me and from them, until we had nothing left to give, willingly or not.

The island, it still stands there, all alone in an endless blue abyss. It looks at me as i approach, it calls to me like it did all those years ago.

"I pray and i scream, a voice in a symphony, a choir. It took our time, it robbed us of life, we are but bones now. Do not come looking, or you will be dammed to the same fate as us."

That's all the letter said, and for two years i couldn't bear to look at it, let alone read it again.

If only i knew back then, maybe if i knew time stood still, i could have left when i still could.

And like a sick, twisted joke, it calls me with my own voice.

The voice the jagged rocks took from me like an offering to the murky sea below.

To see the world from the eyes of a bird, that is what she wished before she died.

A ripple in the ocean is all she was, and will forever be. Along with the rest, she will be forver stuck in time.

Yet i belong far above the clouds.

For that is what the voice is telling me.

My voice, mixed with all those that came and left before me.

And in this spark of madness, i return to my watery grave.

I am here, and so are they.

To stay, and to repeat all we once did until the waves take us forever more.

#my writing #writers on tumblr #writing

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evelynsfics · 2 years

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Promises left atop the lonely lighthouse.

Worn out sandals step upon ashen sand and golden seawaves crashing upon the land like a pulse. With each passing second, the sun drips dying light below the calm ocean, almost as if to warn anyone foolish enough to approach of the coming danger.

Perhaps the next person to be called to the island would catch onto the warning faster than her, faster than me.

She stands there, feet barely out of the water, and hair disheveled in the heavy wind. Ah, she looks like a goddess, her clothes old and tattered, her skin scarred from years atop the sea, years that where never meant to be hers.

Yet, she, just like us, was a sacrifice to this island. A key used to buy more time, a life given to a creature we cannot kill.

And now, awoken from it's slumber, driven mad with rage and envy, it rises up to claim the life it was promised, the life that unwittingly got away.

And so, it calls her back, it speaks to her in her dreams, promises empty and scattered, picture frames broken and letters left to rot atop planks of wood that once sailed the 7 seas.

Oh, but we do not control our destiny once we fall in its grip. A grip that squeezes the life out of us, out of me.

I wonder if she's as tired as i am. Of all of this, just like those before us.

But i guess those stories should stay burried with us.

Because the second we stepped foot onto this cursed sand, we became bound to return, to die as sacrifices we chose to become.

We chose this, right?

I remember when she kept asking me that question, over and over like a song she used to know. And now, now that after all these years she's finally quiet, i began to miss her voice.

#my writing #writers on tumblr #writing

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evelynsfics · 2 years

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Unbreakable promises.

Tw; slight mentions of gore, dark themes, slight disturbing themes.

A golden garden shines in the morning sun, bushes and flowers with beautiful leaves and petals stretch out like a hand reaching for the heavens above. The clouds drift in a fleeting hurry, yet none of that matters now.

The sky is a soft blue, the breeze is gentle and cool, the storm is fast approaching, yet none can see it.

There is a table amidst the endless maze, it's full of food that smells delicious, the trick is to not look at it too closely.

The crawling maggots don't like to be seen.

The tall, sturdy chairs are rusted by the blood dripping down the headless people sitting on them, neck bones laid bare for everyone to see, yet hollow, eaten and picked apart by bugs that buzz and twitch underneath the flowery table cloth.

Faded stains, rusted forks and chipped plates, they all smell of a comfortable summer evening at home, hot home made food on the glass table, the steam and heat coming from it feel like glass shards against the clean air.

All but lies, a web made of false promises and cold hands tearing away at thrones mare of thorns and crowns made of smoke and burning flowers.

A giant beetle sits at the last chair, it's body is shiny, glistening in the crystallized mist, a color so beautiful, so disgusting, so utterly calm and envious at the same time it tore away at your throat, clawing and grasping whatever it could reach with bony fingers bleeding tainted blood.

Hollow eyes, angry eyes, long and pale, lingering eyes. That's all that's left, the shadows from the tall trees shift and twist, they cry out in pure agony.

The fruit these treats bare have always been bitter, sugary at first, then deadly bitter.

A trap.

The exotic, oddly colored fruit where traps. Traps meant to lure you in with their sweet poison.

Just like they did to us.

Why do you deny them salvation?

Why do you deny us salvation?

Why must you be so cruel?

They don't let us leave, but we still have hope, hope that one day someone will come along, someone that's a bit too out of place, and someone that will take our place like we did to those before us.

And maybe, just maybe, once someone new comes along, maybe they will lose interest in us. God, i hope, i pray, that the calm, undisturbed silence will one day break.

#my writing #writers on tumblr #writing

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evelynsfics · 2 years

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If one feels nothing, is it truly regret that comes after?

Tw; vivid descriptions of dying, dark themes, unsettling descriptions, mentions of blood, death and mentions of death

I don't remember dying, it all happened so fast i don't think i had enough time to understand what happened, but i do remember the stabbing, burning pain.

At first i didn't realize those horrible sounds where coming from me, but when i did i wished and i prayed for them to stop.

Those horrible, haunting wheezing sounds, the sound i made when i chocked on my own blood as it filled and spilled from my crumbling lungs.

Maybe it was the fire that killed me, maybe it was the smoke, maybe it was the giant, pitch black creature towering above me.

That night, the night we went camping, the night i saw Alice drown, was the night i knew i was going to die.

I saw it following me, i saw it following my car as we tried to speed the fuck out of that forest. Yeah, we left Alice to die, but she was already practicing dead, if we stayed there we would have died too. But maybe that would have been better.

All i remember is the sound of glass breaking, then, everything stopped. The muffled sounds of screaming and horrible, ragged breathing lasted but a second, and a lifetime at once.

I remember the shadowy, flat planes of endless land that came after, the ground that floated up to the broken sky like light being swallowed by a black hole. I remember the sky crashing down, it's color a mix of a beautiful, burning red and a horrible shade of purple, so bright and horribly wrong.

Like a far away dream, the world around me was hazy, as if i was looking through a mirror, as if i was the reflection of someone living, someone breathing, someone wrong.

Looking down at my hands, my bloodied, scratched, pale hands, all i saw was ash, like i was made of fresh snow fallen after a raging storm.

Far up ahead, behind the endless grassy ground, there was a city, a city so tall and overwhelming it felt as if it was the only thing that had a drop of color amidst the endless gray and white.