i just spent some good hours deleting some old social media accounts (and other stuff) that i don't use anymore, but that i used a lot back in the day and like. idk i'm just thinking about how there are certain things that can mean so much to us at some point, that you can't imagine your life without – and then some time later, deleting/excluding those things from your life actually feels quite liberating.
i'm not really going anywhere with this, i'm very sleep deprived right now so i'm sorry if you're reading this 🥴 i just wanted to express my happiness especially for deleting my facebook after postponing it for so long. bc for a period in my life, it was where i would spend most of time, and i made some great memories back then. but it was also the place where some bad things happened to me and i just wish i could delete those memories from my mind. guess deleting the account is the next best thing lmao
anyways. feel like some things are changing inside of me lately and i'm pretty stoked about it. doing a physical thing to get rid of an abstract thing feels like another step into the right direction. going to sleep feeling a bit lighter today 🌟
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When the first thunk against the shell comes, Nerd almost screams, shrinking back against the other side of it—or as far as they can get, at least—and glancing around the shell because the next one could come from any direction. And it does, not a second later, come from just behind their back. Another strike against the shell, another thing to make Nerd’s stomach jump into their throat, another thing to make them curl up and make themselves as small as possible.
They’re pretty sure they know what’s happening, is the thing. It’s just that it wasn’t supposed to happen. Birds. Another crack, and another, and then—
Light. A thin golden stripe on the opposite wall of the shell, let in by a barely-visible crack.
And suddenly they’re more terrified than they thought they were capable of anymore, because sound is starting to filter in, and it’s so loud, and they can’t make out anything in particular other than the fans roaring and the crows shrieking and—well. There’s some irony in the fact that the second Nerd knows they’re getting out, they’d rather do anything else but that, isn’t there? They’re not so far gone that they can’t appreciate that, are they?
Another strike. Another. And then the shell is breaking apart above them, one solid crack running down the center, and the birds stop, like they’re expecting Nerd to rip the shell up and take it from there. The crowd gets louder.
They get to their feet, still crouching, and peer through the crack in the shell. Teal jerseys—are the Beams playing the Pies?—all at a safe distance still, no one approaching to help. Which is fair, Nerd supposes, even if it makes them want to sink into the field.
One. They get their hands in the big crack, trying to control their breathing.
Two. They push the two sides apart, squinting against the sudden light, and the shell crumbles like paper.
The fans are shouting as loud as they possibly can, but no one on the field says anything, doesn’t move or take a step toward them, like they’re not sure they’re allowed. Nerd turns, sees themself mirrored on the Jumbotron; they squint—they look so okay, from the outside—and turn back to the others.
“Can I—” Their voice breaks, raspy from literal years of silence, and just like that, the tension over the field breaks. Someone in a Pies jersey ambles over, offering a hand.
“C’mon, man,” it says, grinning easily. Nerd doesn’t know how genuine it is, but they appreciate it anyway. “Name’s Henry, but that makes me sound like a dick, so Hank’s good. Let’s get you cleaned up.”
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