You are awake.
Your eyes squint involuntarily at the sudden white light coming through the [[window]].
You focus your sleepy eyes just enough to make out the windowsill. Your window faces the sunrise. You have a love/hate relationship with this fact.
It is a new day.The [[calendar]] posted next to you tells you it is summer. You're not quite real just yet, you're as concrete as the breeze that rustles the [[rosebush]] outside.
Your bones pop as you stretch out like a cat, rubbing your eyes and trying to solidify a litle.
The soft, hazy light floats in through the window and illuminates your [[room]]. Your room is small, but alive. Pops of color litter the [[walls]] and your [[desk]] is crammed.
In the corner near the window is a black [[wardrobe]], a mirror on the wall beside it.
There is a large [[bookshelf]] in the other corner, along with some [[drawers]] and a [[coat rack]].
On the floor is your fuzzy [[rug]].
The [[door]] leads to the living room.
The walls are painted your favorite color.
Over the years, however, you've covered them with so much crap that the color is hardly visible.
There are posters relating to your every interest, the movies and tv shows that shaped you, the muscisians you admire, and the artists you wish you could be.
In between are photos of everyone you love, all your friends and family who have in some way made you who you are.
Not to mention the random bits of paper you've found on the street with cool logos, or cut-outs of old magazines.
You have surrounded yourself with the things that make you happy.
[[{~}->room]]Your desk is where you spend most of your time when home.
A large monitor takes up space in the middle, hooked up to a game console and its [[controllers]]. Beside it is a small printer wih a [[record player]] stacked on top. Your [[laptop]] is perched precariously on the edge of the desk.
Your many [[notebooks]] and [[sketchbooks]] are crammed into the corner nook, and an old soup can functions as your pencil holder.
The rest of the space is completely taken up by paraphanelia related to your various nerdy interests and random knick-knacks.
Some might call it cluttered, but you call it cozy.
You think its the best part of the [[room]].
You get dressed.
It's hot out so you put on your favorite pair of shorts and a muscle tee.
The shorts are a little looser than you remember.
You should look in the [[mirror]] to make sure it looks fine. You look in the mirror.
You do not dislike what you see.
But you have always had a strange relationship with the person beyond the veil of painted glass, never quite sure who it really is or what they really want. The face is familiar, sure, but in the way same way a lost childhood friend you see in the market is. Though you know their face, it is almost hollow.
The features are there, you know the color of their eyes and the shape of their nose, but everything they once were to you, the contents of the page, have been lost.
You hope not forever.
[[You turn back to the room->room]]Every inch of space in this bookshelf is aboslutely crammed to the brim with books.
(and you have an entire storage container filled with more out in the garage)
You've read them all.
You've been an avid reader ever since you learned how. Escapism has always been your main vice, and fantastical worlds full of magic, love, justice, and self-determination have long been your favorite destination.
You pick a random book off the shelf and start flipping through the pages, instantly brought back to a simpler time.
By the time you snap out of it an hour has passed.
[[{~}->room]]A large stack of vintage records lay on top, sorted somewhat haphazardly.
It's full of random junk.
[[{~}->room]]
(click-append: "junk.")[ -Sewing needles and thread, art supplies, vitamin supplements, varying bits of jewelry, empty [[canisters]], perfume and cologne, [[a college acceptance letter]], tape, colorful dice, lighters, chapstick, a pocketknife, hair-ties, makeup, a half-empty cigarette pack, nail polish, guitar picks.]It's too hot for a coat.
[[{~}->room]]You like to nap here.
[[{~}->room]]A dark brown sliding panel, it's set into the wall so you don't see where it goes when you open it.
It locks with a simple latch-and-hook from the inside.
It is unlocked.
You do a mental check, you should be dressed and have checked your emails before you go anywhere.
(if: (history:) contains ("wardrobe","laptop"))[[*Enter living room*->living room]]
[[{~}->room]]You walk into the living room and are immediately hit by the smell of something tasty from the [[kitchen]], which you have to go through to reach the front door.
Your sister and brother are in the [[dining room]], each on their own laptop, seemingly playing a game together and squabbling.
The [[bathroom]] is down the hall. Large and imposing, the rosebush takes up your entire window, almost blocking the view of your street beyond. A rather prickly thing, its been there since you moved into this house, and caused more than a few injuries in your teen years when you would sneak out.
It's gorgeous though, blooming vivid crimson every spring and thriving through every summer. You used to make crowns with the flowers as a child, but were careful to always leave a few. You were too scared of hurting the plant to take any more.
That bush has been one of a small handful of reliable factors in your life in the last few years.
You clench your fist a little, unwilling to let go.
[[{~}->window]]For as long as you can remember, video games have been a huge part of your life. You spent a lot of childhood in front of a screen if not reading, as they have similar escapist appeal.
You believe they're the newest form of art that, that they allow for consumer immersion and beautiful experience in a way like no other art form before it.
You're passionate about games moreso than most things, maybe politics and your friends excluded. In fact, you hope to get a degree in video game design at college.
You pick up the controller, boot up your monitor and spend about an hour enveloped in the flashing screen before a bird outside your window catches your attention, bringing you back to the real world.
[[{~}->desk]]
Your music taste is varied, but your physical records tend to consist of your dad's taste in music. Mostly albums along the lines of Led Zeppelin, Pink Floyd, Aerosmith, etc.
You put on something upbeat and familiar, something you can sing and dance to.
You get a little carried away and by the time you realize, the record player has already reached the end of the thread, clicking as it loops.
[[{~}->desk]]Even your laptop is covered in stickers, you've always had your personality on your sleeve.
You boot it up and check your emails, you already finished most of your college business, but it's good to check. Theres nothing, as expected.
You load up social media and message your friends, confirming your plans for later.
You spend some time scrolling.
You spend a lot of time scrolling actually.
You're sucked into the data stream, consuming media at a speed that you doubt the world's greatest minds in history could have even imagined before the tech boom.
You snort softly at memes, you shed a tear for the world's heartache, and become infuriated with society all within minutes of each other, as is the way of the hypermedia stream today.
You dont normally stop at the pictures of models that litter the screen though, no time or energy to compare yourself to someone else. That sort of self-flagellation is something you would rather not indulge in.
A notification pops onto your screen, someone commented on a photo you posted the other day.
"Did you lose some weight? You look good!"
...
Huh.
Good question. You wouldnt know.
Your weight and body type have never been something you thought about often.
You have been working a lot more recently, less time to sit around. Less time to smoke weed and go ham on the munchies.
Maybe you have.
You try not to think on it too much.
You click to exit the window and close the laptop lid, pushing the comment to the back of your head.
[[{~}->desk]]You flip through your old notebooks.
Absentminded doodles dot the margins, they're filled with notes from your classes over the years as well as your messy blurbs of psuedo-poetry and prose that seem to flow out of your head uncontrollably at random intervals like brain vomit.
You always were a bit pretentious.
[[{~}->desk]]This sketchbook is filled mainly with portraits of pretty women in varying circumstances, but sometimes you get the urge to do some fanart as well.
You've spent your entire life teaching yourself how to be an artist. To the point where if someone calls you "talented", you feel somewhat offended as that feels dismissive of the hard work youve put in to get this far.
You started off with a chalkboard easel in elementary school, attempting to emulate classical paintings you had seen on Little Einsteins. Van Gogh was your favorite, the impressionistic lines he painted easy to imitate with chalk.
You sit down and sketch for a bit, an idea from last night's dream making its way onto paper.
You look up at the clock after some time and realize it's been an hour and a half, you put down your pencil and check the page you've been working on.
Good progress.
[[{~}->desk]]Today is the 18th of June.
You have nothing to do but meet with friends later for dinner.
you've really been craving a burger, you hope theyll wanna go to your favorite diner.
[[{~}->window]]You did it! You graduated high school at the top of your class and got into a university! And somehow all at the same time, you did sports, you made art, and you got to live the teenage hoodlum dream with friends, parties, and wild stories to tell around the campfire 30 years from now.
You are grateful for the time you had, but it is over and now its time to move onto the next phase of your life!
.
.
.
so why arent you excited?
[[{~}->drawers]]hmmmmm, smells sorta skunky.
...
I wonder why?
[[{~}->drawers]](text-style: "fade-in-out")[//beep......beep......beep......//]
A consistent, faint tone seeps into your consciousness.
You wish it would stop. It doesn't.
Your eyes are closed. You realize you've been sleeping.
[[Open them]]
You open your eyes.
Blinding florescent lights.
Eggshell white. Putrid sterility. The taste of metal on your tongue.
You feel heavy, so heavy you should be sinking through the floor.
Since when have even your lungs felt too heavy to lift?
You manage to focus your eyes a little.
Limited and scattered mental processes return to you from the void of sleep.
oh yes. this is your hospital room.
a prison cell and the bars are your own fragile bones
Theres someone in the doorway, they come closer and you see it is your doctor. You dont know their name. You never saw a point.
"I thought it appropriate to tell you your application has been approved. They agree that there's just really not much more we could do for you. "
They pause, seemingly to give you a moment to process. You don't need one. You knew this was how it was going to end.
"Your family is just discussing when would be best now, I wanted to know if you had a preference."
[["Does it matter?"]]
[[*Stare out the window*]]You try to sound detached, you fail.
They look at you, something in their eyes that you would normally hate to call pity but,
there are few in more piteous circumstances.
"Only if you think it matters. I thought i would offer you a last chance at autonomy, at a choice.
You let out a small laugh sharp enough to cut, and the sudden, jarring movement hurts as much.
"I've never had much of a choice in these matters."
They sigh.
"Are you so sure about that?"
They don't wait for an answer
"I'm sorry we couldnt do more for you."
[["its fine."]]You dont care enough to answer.
The decision was made long ago, it doesn't matter when the outcome arrives.
They wait expectantly for an answer for a few seconds, realizes they arent getting anything, and then sighs loudly.
"Ill tell them tomorrow then."
"I... Im sorry we couldnt do more for you."
[["its fine."]]"Its a shame is what it is."
They turn and leave the room without another word.
You look around you.
machines that tell you numbers and data that you dont understand, hooked up to you through tubes and wires that you dont remember getting hooked up to. trays of metal instruments that would have scared you a lot more a year ago, before they became your best friends. Your [[nightstand]] is the only thing that has a trace of humanity anymore.
You look at the room that you will die in.
You try not to think too much on it, as much as you've convinced yourself you're not scared of death there is a twinge of uncertainty that you refuse to spend your last hours enveloped in.
[[*Put your head to the pillow*->You put your head back to your pillow.]]
The sterile plastic surface is full of notes and [[letters]] from loved ones, a large number of assorted [[bouquets]], and a couple old [[photos]].
You stare blankly at them for a bit.
[[You put your head back to your pillow.]]
Both of your parents are in the kitchen, your mom sits at the island completely absorbed in her phone.
Your dad is grilling away at...
various.. meats? and only meats.
You assume this is some new diet kick they're on and that carnivores are In.
They hit 35 a few years back and have been pretty big health nuts since, excercising often and extensively.
It's not your kind of thing, but they have lost a good amount of weight and they do look good. They seem fulfilled by the effort and process, and they've been getting along noticeably better since they starting having some shared goals.
You just wish they would stop telling you that you should go on a run sometime, again, just not your thing.
You decide to leave before they try and get you to stay for dinner with them, you have much better things to be eating than their weird diet food.
You don't think they even notice you as you [[slip out the door.->Leave]]You approach the dining room and hear your siblings more clearly.
They're obviously in a heated match of... whatever game it is that the kids are playing these days that you can't remember the name of.
"Oh my god youve got to be kidding me you just got me kILLED YOU IDIOT!"
"HA! You got yourself killed, you should have left the arena when it was obvious shit was getting real. sorry not sorry"
"This is why i dont play video games with you anymore, listen, i didnt KNOW things were about to get bad!"
"You literally are, right now. And I guess you must be blindfolded or something then because im pretty sure a blind person would be better at this than you! Can you not SEE whats right there you..."
You back away slowly, knowing better than to get involved in this sort of thing, and back into the [[kitchen]].you quickly go to the bathroom, wash your hands, and [[leave->living room]], avoiding the mirrors gaze the entire time. You meet up with your friends.
You decide to eat a salad for dinner. It just looked the most appetizing.
That night in bed, you convince yourself it was satisfying despite the low rumble in your stomach.
[[Dream->"real"2]]You wake up.
The first thing you notice is the incessant buzzing of the flourescent lights above you.
Somebody turned them on.
You continuously ask them not to, it hurts your eyes and ears, but some people just dont listen.
The next thing you notice are the likely perpetrators.
Your parents.
They stand tense and upright about three feet to the left of your bed.
You think it's funny, how in your most vulnerable, broken down, and frail state people seem more scared of you than ever.
You see the discomfort, the disgust, in the eyes of those who gaze upon your failing and decripit body.
Maybe now they all understand how you've felt about yourself the whole time.
You dont know if you can handle seeing that in their eyes, so you dont look, you gaze at linoleum instead when you nod to acknowledge them.
The universe lets out her held breath and your mother unfreezes and steps forward, grasping your head with simultaneous desperation and feather-light delicacy and pulls you to her in a suffocating embrace.
Her heartbeat is loud its loud its so loud
You can feel her shudder, you hate it, you hate this so much but you love your mother regardless and you almost instictively claw at her shirt with feeble nails as you start to shake in tandem.
Your father is a step behind her, so painfully out of his element that he doesn't even realize his arm is still extended as if holding your mothers hand, absorbed in the tragedy unfolding.
You dont know how long you stay like that, but at some point your father steps close enough to enclose one of the fists you have anchored in your mothers blouse with his own calloused digits.
Eventually, you unlatch a little bit, and she pulls away a little bit and finally speaks, words sticking to excess saliva and voice crackling.
"We are, so so sorry sweetheart."
[[You silently grasp her harder. ]]
[["You don't need to be sorry."]]You don't think there's anything to say to that. Not anymore.
You don't think any of what has been broken was ever actually right in the first place.
Your mother cradles your feeble body as you both sob, bodies wracking more and more violently until yours start to relax, breath and heart rate slowing as you deplete any amount of energy you had, slipping into unconsciousness.
[[Dream->dream2]]"It's not like it's your fault. It's not anybody's fault."
Your father has his eyes trained on an empty corner of the room. Your mother's grasp twitches a bit as she chokes out her next words.
"Thats too easy. That makes this all seem so pointless doesnt it?"
You dont want to tell them that it probably is.
"Sometimes tragedy just strikes and theres nothing any of us can do about it, ma."
It's strange, how many times upon your deathbed you become the caretaker of others. You become the bearer of their grief and must somehow make them feel better about your own unfortunate fate.
You suppose that's fair in a way, they are the ones stuck here after all.
She fully pulls back and looks you in the eye, clutching at your shoulders now, boring red-hot holes into your skull.
"So that's it? This was an unstoppable, immovable object in time? There was absolutely nothing to be done to prevent this?"
You shut your eyes hard. That's not a question you want to think on right now.
"I don't know. But I know theres not much to be done now."
"I love you both, dearly, but do you think you could let me go back to sleep? I am so tired."
You refuse to open your eyes again as they withdraw from the room until you feel their presence entirely wane.
You don't actually open your eyes again.
[[Dream->dream2]]You wake up.
Warm light filters through the blinds on your dorm window.
It feels as though you just closed your eyes and you are so heavy.
Sleep has not found you kindly the last few months, but last night was worse than usual.
How do you sleep when the lump that keeps you awake lies not under your mattress but within your flesh?
You roll over sleepily and check your [[phone]].
You need to get up.
Your roommates have both already moved out, youre the last one left in the room, one of the few left in the building.
You got a late flight out compared to everyone else, though the quarter doesnt technically end until tomorrow.
You need to pack, you fly out early in the morning and you know this will probably be an all day process.
[[You get out of bed.->dorm]]
You're awake.
You don't really remember waking up this time, the glaring white ceiling just suddenly came into focus and...
you're here.
Your eyes feel dry, how long were you staring at nothing?
You blink a few times and shake your head slightly.
Some movement in the doorway catches your eye, and you realize there are two figures hovering there.
You really hope it's not your parents again, you'll see them in the morning (until you wont) and you would like some peace.
Your eyes strain, they've been pretty fuzzy lately.
When they finally focus, you realize it's actually your siblings.
They're slowly approaching your bed and appear visibly agitated.
Well there goes the idea of peace. You sink back into the mountain of pillows you've been provided and look to that repulsive ceiling.
You suppose they notice the recognition and lucidity and decide to light the fuse, getting straight to the point.
"Hey."
You don't know which one is speaking. It could be both. You don't really care.
You nod in response, croaking out a hoarse, "Hey."
//The cannon fires.//
"I just...
I dont understand, I never have understood and this may be my last chance to ever understand so, please, make it make sense to me. To us.
Did it just never cross your mind? What this outcome might do to the people who love you?!"
It's somewhat refreshing, the mess, the destructive hands.
You've been handled so lightly for so long that you dont think you've really been touched.
[["I wish it were that simple."]]
[["I'm just sorry things turned out this way."]]You wake up.
The warm light hitting your eyelids reminds you to open them.
For just a moment you're entirely confused, you've never woken up here before.
But then you remember, this is your new apartment, your first apartment.
And not just your new, first apartment, one that you're going to share with the woman you love.
Your heart swells as you remember the last night.
You both arrived to move in, got about a quarter through the process, and then decided you had done enough work.
You popped the cork on a bottle of wine and the rest is blurred, joyful, sloppy celebration.
You turn over, ready to take in the glow of her beauty in a new morning light.
Except, you dont.
Her side of the bed, though obviously slept in, is curiously empty.
You sit up, a little confused, though not overly worried just yet.
You notice something on the [[nightstand->aptns]] on the other side of the bed.
You wake up.
You dont really register the transition.
Everything is on fire.
Your organs, fighting imminent shutdown for so long, are tearing themselves apart.
You feel as if the poison in your veins has finally spread to the rest of you.
This is not a new experience.
Through gritted teeth you extend a frail arm and hit the CALL NURSE button, knowing almost instinctively where it is.
You don't really know how long it takes for someone to come and help you, you're too focused on the white spots in your vision and on your own breath, trying to inflate lungs within an ever-enclosing ribcage.
When you have the brain to think again, morphine drip refreshed, you notice your nurse changing your bedpan.
It's ironic, you think, how a disease so rooted in the desire for control will so quickly and gleefully strip you of any dignity or autonomy.
The nurse turns to leave, and as he enters the hall, you see him nod to the left, somewhere just out of your sight.
He disappears and a familar figure steps into his place.
Somehow, the appearance of your best friend has just uplifted you more than the morphine ever could.
She sends a soft, warm smile your way, one that seems genuinely happy to see you despite the sadness you can sense behind her eyes.
[[She approaches your bed.]]
You are awake.
Your neck hurts.
As your brain slams back into your head, you sit up with a start.
you pry your glued eyelids open enough to realize you are sitting at your desk at the office.
You nudge the mouse on the desk next to you and your monitor blinks to life, blinding you with blazing LED.
You quickly look away, disoriented, to the clock at your side while your eyes adjust. It's 3 in the morning.
What were you even doing?
You just start to untangle your brain when your [[phone->cell]] lights up next to you. Shit.
You wake up.
Theres someone here, you feel it.
Your eyes open and immediately fall upon a blurry silohuette in the doorway.
your eyes focus and
of course.
Its her. The Lover. The sun in your sky.
The final goodbye.
You weren't exactly expecting this but if you really think about it, it seems almost too obvious that this was how things would play out. Melodrama seems to follow you even to the grave.
You look at the clock. It's 11:30 pm, you think this will probably mark the curtain close of your last night on earth.
You turn back to her, watching her closely as she silently glides across linoleum and settles next to you, weightlessly, onto the scritchy, unbearably clean linen.
She turns to you and looks you in the eye for the first time since entering the room. You look away quickly, glossy eyes too reflective to bear. Sublime.
The air feels sharp, like the first inhale on a winter morning. No words are easy here.
She knows this, she makes her incisions delicately but no less fatal.
"Did... I just... I need to know. "
You nod. It's okay.
She grasps your hand ever so delicately, you're glad, you think you would shatter if her scorching warmth touched your frostbitten bones any more directly.
She practically whispers this time, but silencers dont make bullets tear through organs any more tenderly.
"Was it really only ever going to end this way? Is the universe really so cruel?"
[["I have to believe that."]]
[["The alternative terrifies me far more."]]You wake up.
Everything hurts.
You dont want to open your eyes.
You open them a sliver despite them feeling just about crusted shut.
gross.
You feel as though your brain is about 5 feet to the left of you.
You dont know what time it is and you dont care, but you'd guess early afternoon.
Your bones grind and groan as you shift a little and start to visually process anything.
You fell asleep on the couch.
right. fuck.
You slowly sit up and take in the mess on the [[coffee table]] in front of you.
You peel a bottle cap from your cheek where you apparently fell asleep on it, rubbing at the indent left behind.
You feel greasy.
Nasty.
The reality of last nights events come crashing over you again and you suddenly feel nauseous as you look around the [[living room->aptliv]].
You wake up.
You are on your bathroom floor.
You notice sun filtering in from the bedroom.
Somehow it feels as if you're seeing sunlight for the first time.
You slowly raise your body up.
You ache, but you are alive.
The ache tells you that much.
You look to the mirror.
The black paper is gone.
It's you.
You're skin and bones and grotesque veins that pop from your temple,
but at least you know it's you.
You're going to fix this.
You have to somehow.
You slowly bring your hand up to your cheek, so careful and delicate because you still are afraid you'll pass straight through,
You don't.
You feel more real, more grounded in your own flesh than you have since fucking high school
And before you know it there are tears flooding your cheeks.
You haven't known yourself in so fucking long
And you know it's not going to be easy but you at least know the path is accessible now
You at least know you can try.
You turn around and head for your kitchen.
That morning,
[[ You allow yourself to taste love for the first time. ]]It's the next morning, the final morning.
You wake up painfully alone.
You suppose she didn't want to stick around for this.
That's understandable.
It's a blur of teary eyes and the trembling limbs of your loved ones as they filter in and out for their very last goodbyes.
It seems you've all comitted to an unwritten pact to not discuss any of yesterday,
or to discuss anything important really.
It's sickly sweet this time.
You hate it.
At around noon the guests stop.
[[Its time.]]
Its 8:30am.
There is a text from your mother.
(link-replace: "You open it.")[ //Can't wait to have you back for the summer sweetie!!//]
[[You put the phone down and climb out of bed.->dorm]]
You climb down your [[ladder->bed]] that rests against the wooden loft [[bedframe]], cautious to not miss a step as your knees creak.
Under the bed is your [[desk->dormdesk]], your [[wardrobe->dwardrobe]] and [[drawers->Drawers]] next to it.
On the other end is your shared "kitchen" area, consisting of a shitty microwave and [[minifridge]] that takes up one of the short ends of the room.
You and both of your roommate's setups each take up almost exactly a third of the room, [[one->roomatedesk1]] in the corner opposite you, and [[one->roommatedesk2]] against the middle of the otherwise unoccupied fourth wall.
The full length [[mirror->dmirror]] you all share is right next to the door.
You should get dressed and check your emails before grabbing some cardboard boxes fom the hallway to pack.
(if: (history:) contains ("dwardrobe","laptopd"))[[*Leave room*->hallway]]The desk is a graveyard of academia, a memorial dedicated to the last 10 months of your life.
Discarded [[papers]] and drafts, assignments youve recieved back, a wide array of notebooks on various topics, and the textbooks that cost you a month's wage at least.
There are [[pictures and sticky notes]] posted everywhere.
There are also some random [[art supplies->dart]] and stuffed animals lying around the area. Your [[laptop->laptopd]] takes up the most space right in the middle.
You spent the most time here trying to keep yourself busy, and it shows, it's the most lived in space in your part of the [[dorm]].
You need to organize this area before you start packing to make it easier.
You open up your wardrobe, prepared to catch the disorganized mess contained within that inevitably spills out.
You have way too many clothes for a college dorm wardrobe, yet you dont wear most of them. Many of them just don't fit you anymore, but thats not really the issue.
You have a lot of ideas and potential outfits, but every time it comes to getting dressed in the morning, the idea of putting on any clothes that aren't the ten comfortable articles of clothing that you cycle through like a cartoon character on a daily basis makes you feel... exposed.
You feel like the world may as well be laying its eyes upon your naked body, it's judging gaze sending painful shudders down your spine.
You put on the same pair of black jeans you wore yesterday and a white tank top.
[[{~}->dorm]]
The mirrors gaze feels akin to that of the sun, you cannot look for long without real damage.
To amend that, you have strategically hung a coat on the wall next to it, so that when you look at the mirror, it automatically obscures your face and shows only your body. When your roommates need to use it, they can push the coat to the side with no effort, and you don't think they've caught on yet.
You look for a bit.
Only a bit, but long enough to make your skin itch.
[[{~}->dorm]]She left first.
It's painfully empty.
Only traces of tape residue on wood and faint stains on the carpet remain to let you know that a person once lived there.
You think it's odd how much smaller the room feels when it should feel much bigger now, right?
[[{~}->dorm]]She left last night.
She didn't even leave any crumbs, a little bit too neat of a person for that you think.
Apparently, she was the only thing keeping the walls at bay because you found yourself crushed as you laid in bed later, struggling to fill your lungs with air.
You hope it will not be this hard in your childhood bedroom.
[[{~}->dorm]]A rickety, wooden, and yellowing loft bedframe.
Theres a few stickers that you probably should peel off before leaving if you don't want a fine.
[[{~}->dorm]]It's full of junk and random school supplies.
Pens, pencils, sewing needles and thread, at least three different bottles of vape juice, art supplies, vitamin supplements, varying bits of jewelry, an empty wax cartridge, perfume and cologne, [[a half-finished letter]], tape, erasers, colorful dice, lighters, [[medications]], chapstick, a pocketknife, hair-ties, makeup, a full cigarette pack, nail polish, guitar picks.
You're going to have a fun time trying to pack all this crap.
[[{~}->dorm]]You open the minifridge to make sure it's empty before you unplug it.
It is.
You weren't expecting much else but it's good to check.
You cant remember the last time you stored something in here other than a diet soda.
You dont trust yourself with leftovers, it feels like you'd just eat it all too quickly. You dont usually get meals big enough to create leftovers in the first place anyways.
You just feel a lot better since youve started eating healthier amounts and types of food, cutting down intake on sugars and oils, you feel clean.
Luckily, the campus dining halls are full of veggies and fruits and you can get away with monitoring what you're eating.
You unplug the minifridge.
[[{~}->dorm]]You enter the hallway and are greeted by the usual ugly carpet, strange piping, bulky water fountain, and buzzing flourescent lights.
There are three other residential [[doors]] here lining the hall to your left.
The [[bathroom->dormbath]] is across from you.
There is a [[pile of empty cardboard boxes]] haphazardly stacked next to the water fountain.
You need to grab some boxes from that pile before you can begin packing anything
(if: (history:) contains ("pile of empty cardboard boxes"))[[*Enter the dorm*->dormv2]]You enter the dorm, you take a deep breath and prepare yourself.
This is probably going to take you awhile.
Youre right. It does.
The entire process takes you well into the early hours of the morning, as your brain has never been the best about keeping focus and you get distracted. Many times.
After you finish, you burrow into your pile of bedding on the floor,the only thing left unpacked. You set an alarm for when you need to wake up two hours from now and turn your phone over.
And as you lay on the floor, permitting sleep to finally make his case, you realize somewhat joyously that you forgot to eat completely that day.
Why does that make you feel so powerful?
You fall asleep in an empty building, trying to find comfort in the steady groans and rumbles of metal pipes in tired walls.
They seem to know your body's pain.
[[Dream->"real"3]]You grab a couple of boxes.
[[{~}->hallway]]At first it was really odd to you having your normal bathroom consist of multiple stalls and tile walls, as if you were living in your high school gym.
You got used to it though. And you learned to appreciate the gigantic hot water tanks while showering.
You use the bathroom and wash your hands, never once looking up enough to see the mirror.
[[{~}->hallway]]You scamper back up your ladder.
You grab your bedding and fold it neatly into a pile on the floor, you probably wont be sleeping tonight anyways, why wait?
[[{~}->dorm]]
"Then break it down. Make it simple."
You dont know how to do that, the cacophony of voices and outsider eyes that take up your waking brain has never been something that you particularly understand either.
You're a little pissed now though, so you're going to try.
"Do,
Do you think any of this was out of some selfish need to self-destruct? to hurt other people?
I only //**EVER**// thought of how to best plate my guts served up on a platter for you, for //**everyone**//!
I needed to be the best at everything I did to make up for the basic fact that it was //**ME**// doing it,
to balance out the net negative value that my mere association brought to anything I ever touched.
//**I only ever wanted to take up so little space that I would never intrude, that I would never again step on anybody's toes with my own monstrous talons.**//"
You start breathing a little heavier, that outburst took a lot out of you.
You finally look down from the ceiling at them, to see the stoked fire in their eyes.
You're surprised to find sorrow instead, tears and maybe an inkling of understanding you'd have more easily recognized had you seen it before.
"You talk like you're dead already."
"Arent I though?"
They reach out and each squeeze one of your frail, freezing hands.
You can't look them in the eye.
You hope they got what they needed here.
[[They slowly turn and leave.->myfault?]]
They look at you, almost indignant.
"You're so fucking selfish. Is that really all you can say to us?"
"I don't know what else I could say."
They storm [[out->myfault?]] before you can attempt to stop them, you don't think you would have anyways.Youre left alone again.
You catch a glimpse of yourself in the reflection of stainless steel, you shove the offending tray, sending it across the room and loudly crashing against nauseatingly off-white stucco.
You wait to see if anybody comes to investigate. They dont.
You put your head to sterile linen.
[[Dream->dream3]]The room is a bit bare-bones currently, a little too clean.
You obviously haven't had much chance to decorate though, and you look forward to the opportunity to make this room not just yours, but //ours//.
You cant wait to see what beautiful things you create together.
Your king-sized bed takes up the middle of the room, pressed against the wall opposite the [[window->aptw]].
The [[nightstand->aptns2]] she left her note on is on the left of it, and your shared [[closet->aptwd]] is set into the wall on the other side, a simple sliding panel obscuring the contents.
On one end of the room is the entrance to your [[bathroom->aptbr]].
On the other end of the room is the [[door->aptdoor]] leading into the living room, left slightly ajar.
You look closer and see it's a piece of light pink folded paper, presumably a note.
You stretch out and pluck it from the nightstand.
You unfold it, it's jotted in glittering blue ink.
==========================
Good morning sweetheart
I've just gone out to get some supplies!!!
I hope i didn't scare you by just disappearing on you like that but you just looked so peaceful and lovely i didnt want to wake you.
If you feel up to it, starting to finish the unpacking in the living room might be a good idea? Wud earn u a kiss on the cheek for sure UwU
Love you!! Be home soon <3
===========================
The entire note puts a dopey smile on your face, but its her use of the word 'home' at the end that feels like a violently pleasant gut-punch.
God you love her.
You should get up, she did ask nicely after all.(and the kiss on the cheek has absolutely nothing to do with it, youre sure, no ulterior motives here)
[[You climb out of bed.->aptbedroom]]You slide open the panel to the reasonably sized closet.
You were both surprised with the amount of room, it was much larger than you expected it to be.
This was evidenced by the fact that you managed to fit your entire collective wardrobe into it, either hung up or into the set of drawers pushed into the corner, albeit quite a bit of stuffing and stress.
You had just expected to finally have a solid reason to donate all the t-shirts you've gotten for free over the years that you keep around for no other reason than, "But what if i //need// this someday?"
It seems the local Goodwill will not be stealing your "I DONATED BLOOD" shirts today.
You just throw on a pair of soft shorts to wear around the house and a giant hoodie, you don't think you're going anywhere today anyways.
[[{~}->aptbedroom]]The bedroom isn't a huge room, but then again the entire apartment is not very large.
You're both soon-to-be college graduates, its not like you could afford more than this anyways.
Besides, somehow, the room feels much larger than it is.
Maybe that has something to do with the light streaming in from this window, illuminating the room in a way that feels almost holy.
You move to it and look to the nearly idyllic scene on street below, people strolling about the pavement on a late Sunday morning, seemingly with not a care in the world.
You look up a bit and notice a neon-yellow [[billboard]] some ways down the road, disrupting the landscape.
[[{~}->aptbedroom]]
You enter the living room.
It's actually the living room //and// the kitchen.
The kitchen is just separated from the rest of the room by a border of tile on the floor, as well as a breakfast bar that you're going to have to buy stools for.
Dark kitchen cabinets line the of upper walls of this section, ending around the stainless steel fridge.
The counter is covered in pieces of cardboard, scraps of packing supplies, various kitchenware and appliances that havent been properly put away yet, and an open packet of [[paperwork]].
You assume she went out to get some sort of kitchen supplies, so you'll wait to start on that until she returns.
Plus, you dont quite trust yourself alone in a kitchen. It feels wrong.
It's the [[living area]] on the other side of the room that you should worry about, theres a few boxes you haven't even started on there.
You take one look at the mess of assorted screws and confusing diagrams and wooden parts that dont look like they fit together and decide that yeah,
you're definitely gonna wait until she comes home to finish that.
You started that project together, you're gonna end it together.
[[{~}->living area]]You wonder if she would be okay with putting this in storage.
You already have one in the bathroom.
It's not like you need two mirrors, right?
[[{~}->living area]](set: $art to true)
This one is full of your collection of art supplies.
There are countless tubes of watercolor, goache, oil, as well as boxes upon boxes of markers, pencils, pens and brushes.
It also contains your sketchbooks, some empty, some full, and your physical art portfolio.
The portfolio has almost every piece of traditional art you've ever done.
You can't look at them most of the time, nothing you've done has ever felt quite good enough and you cringe pretty hard at the older stuff.
You put the portfolio as well as your finished sketchbooks into the storage bin.
You take the supplies and situate them where you can, some on the bookshelf, some in your room, and some in the closet.
[[{~}->living area]](set: $electronics to true)
This is a box of all your electronic devices.
There are a lot of different game consoles, some new and some a decade or so old. For whatever reason, you can't bring yourself to throw the old ones away.
You suppose nostalgia has something to do with it.
You hook the new ones up to the TV monitor and organize them neatly within the cabinet part of the entertainment center, deciding to put all of the irrelevant consoles into storage.
At the bottom of the box you find your [[electronic scale.]]
(set: $books to true)
It's a box of all the books you've collected so far in your life.
Luckily, your partner does not read that much and the bookshelf you bought is massive, so you're easily able to fit them all neatly with no issue.
You also get a bit distracted and go find some of your nerdy little
trinkets to spice it up a bit with decoration.
It takes a little more time than is probably necessary, but it makes it feel more like home.
[[{~}->living area]]There is no door leading to the bathroom, just a doorway cut out of the wall.
It's a narrow, rectangular room.
Inside is a shower that takes up the back corner, just big enough to fit two people.
The toilet is next to it, in between the stall and the the sink.
Above the sink is pretty big mirror, and set into the wall on the other side of it is a medication cabinet that you've already organized all of your various pills inside of.
You lucked out with a fair amount of counter space as well, you think getting ready together in the mornings shouldn't be too much of a problem.
You go to the bathroom, wash your hands and face, and brush your teeth.
You don't look in the mirror once.
[[{~}->aptbedroom]]You look up at the clock on the wall, it's about 1:30 in the afternoon now.
That should be her!
You quickly rush to the door and open it, face lighting up when your eyes meet hers and a warm flush of affection sweeps over you at the sight.
God you love her.
"Hey! Good to see you too! Do you think you could maybe help out a little here?"
Only then do you look down and realize that her arms are absolutely full of shopping bags and she seems to be struggling.
"Oh shit sorry!"
You quickly swoop in, taking a few of the seemingly heavier bags from her arms and going to set them on the counter.
You watch as she does the same, chattering away.
You love listening to her.
"So! I managed to find extra hangers for the closet, dish soap, detergent, cleaning wipes, and toilet paper! They were unfortunately out of sponges, but I figure god gave us fingers for a reason unless she was playing some cruel joke."
You chuckle, you arent exactly sure what that means but you find shes got a //fascinating// thought process, you're about to ask her to elaborate but she carries on.
"//I also got some nOODLES//! Dinner tonight is gonna be my world-famous, excessively-garlicky and //extremely vampire-repellant// spaghetti! Oh my gosh im so excited for this I get to **cook** for you so often we're going to be so domestic..."
hm.
That does sound good.
But, you hadn't really considered the fact that living with someone else meant they were going to be a lot more privvy to your eating habits now.
Especially if they're the one cooking.
You look at the grocery bags and realize you have no clue what's in them.
Fuck.
That makes you feel more than a little uneasy if youre being honest but
**//[[SMOOCH]]//**
"If I was so strong then, anyways, how did I end up here? How would this be how I die?"
It doesn't make sense to you. If you were strong you would have beat this.
Her smile screws into one of pained sympathy, and she reaches out to tuck a a few strands of hair behind your ears, wiping away the dampness on your cheek that you hadn't even noticed as she does so.
She speaks softly, compassion dripping from every devestating word.
"None of this means you are weak, or broken, or bad, or ever were. You just have never been able to see your own strength.
I know that you think that admitting to this being preventable in any way is a guilty sentence, that it means you deserve this.
It doesnt. I need you to believe that bub.
You don't deserve this, you never have.
Even the worst parts of yourself dont deserve this, because they're still You.
Your body and being is built of love and compassion.
And by depriving yourself, any part of yourself, of that, even if in an attempt to starve just the parts of you that you hate, you were always killing yourself entirely.
You are not blamed, the universe has already long forgiven you, she understands.
You need to know you can forgive yourself too.
But in order to do that, I think it is important to acknowledge the parts of yourself that you are the most adverse to looking in the eyes.
You should look a little harder, you may find they might not even be so ugly as you assume."
[[She sits next to you.]]Theres a sort of resigned sadness behind her smile now, the kind your mother would give you during a debate when you were young and she knew there was no logic that could quell the pure passionfire in your heart.
She never once drops the smile though.
She strokes your hair, gently tucking a few strands behind your ear.
"I'm sorry that's what it came to then."
[[She sits next to you.]]You feel your throat begin to close and choke around a crescendo of sobs.
The love she is showing you hurts so much.
You have never deserved this.
You crumple into her lap, grasping at the warmth you so desperately deprive yourself of.
She cradles your crystalline, shuddering frame within her stable arms and begins to hum a familiar, sleepy tune as she rocks you ever so softly and sweetly.
You slip back into unconsciousness.
[["Sweet dreams."->dream4]]Shit. Shit.
You grab it quickly and unlock it, the notification was just an email, some weight loss program promotion.
You sigh out of relief.
You're unburdened only momentarily though, as you then realize you have 6 missed calls and 5 new texts from "BABE<333".
SHIT.
[[You fumble momentarily as you go to open the messages, hands shaking.]]
It's a small room.
In fact, you got the smallest office in the building following your recent promotion.
You still love it, and youre grateful to at least be out of the maze of cubicles.
To the left of the [[desk->officedesk]] in front of you is your cluttered [[bookshelf->officebook]], your one [[window->officewindow]] located on the other side and a [[filing cabinet]] underneath.
There is a lime green rug decorating the floor, your [[loveseat]] and [[minifridge->officemf]] atop it, lined against the wall opposite the desk.
On the wall to your right is the [[door->officedoor]] leading to the rest of the building.
(if: (history:) contains ("officemf","filing cabinet"))[[*Start Working*->officemonitor]]It's full of books on game design and art technique that come in handy while you work.
There are also some of your favorite books that you like to pick up in your spare time, not that you ever get much of that.
Surrounding the books, shoved in whatever free spaces and crannies you could find are an extensive collection of figurines, tiny stuffed animals, and knick-knacks that are all related to your interests.
It reminds you of the bookshelf you cultivated in your childhood home, you did that on purpose.
You dont really have the time to reminisce though.
[[{~}->office]]The window is covered in black paper.
A few months ago you started getting awful headaches, the best way you've found to deal with this is just by avoiding as much harsh light as possble.
It does make the room feel somewhat claustrophobic.
[[{~}->office]]You pull out the heavy metal drawer, the wheels squealing slightly as you go.
This is supposed to be where you organize your files and official paperwork and such, but you find that as a digital artist you dont really have much physical paper, nor were you ever very good at organizing it.
So, all the papers that you do have are shoved into a single, messy pile in the back of the drawer.
You use the rest of the space as a sort of junk drawer, so scattered randomly inside are various medication bottles, pens and pencils, sticky notes, business cards, etc.
You grab a bottle of ibuprofen and throw back a couple tablets in an attempt to combat the headache you feel coming on and your perpetually aching bones, swallowing them dry.
[[{~}->office]]It's one of those super slumpy pleather couches, the kind that always smells a little funky and is just a little too squishy to be really comfortable.
The kind that you only ever find in like, dentist's offices and your mom's work lounge.
It did come with the office, so it makes sense.
You've decorated it with a throw blanket and pillows, the pillows in the shape of various video game icons.
It may not be the most comfy, but you find you prefer to nap there than waking up at your desk like this.
[[{~}->office]]You open the minifridge.
The only things inside consist of 3 zero-calorie energy drinks and a protein bar thats been sitting there for a week.
You feel your stomach quiver a bit and notice your fuzzy head and think you should probably consume something.
You pass over the protein bar and go for an energy drink, it'll work faster to give you a boost, and plus, you might just want that protein bar tomorrow.
It's better to conserve, you think.
[[{~}->office]]Right. Thats what you were doing.
The Crunch.
Tabs full of unfinished projects that are due far too soon for one person to reasonably accomplish glare at you from the monitor.
Youre going to do it anyways.
You have to. Theres no other option.
As soon as you dedicate your attention to that monitor you know theres no going back.
You should grab a snack and some ibuprofen before you start.
You look over at your [[sketchbook]] and [[portable game console]] and sigh.
[[{~}->office]]You go to the door and put your hand on the doorknob.
For a moment, only a moment, you consider just giving in and leaving and climbing into bed with the love of your life.
You inhale sharply.
You take your hand from the doorknob.
You can't. You have work here to do.
[[{~}->office]]You look at the onscreen clock and crack a little.
Youre so tired and your brain feels like its made of oil and water but
it doesnt matter.
You sit up straight and attempt to steel yourself, trying to will away the fog. you probably arent going home tonight.
the sounds of your fingers tapping tapping tapping at your keyboard reminds you of the sound of bare bones clacking against steel and cold cobblestone floor.
Your view zeros in on the screen, the blackness of the room creeping in the sides of your vision until it finds it cannot touch the pure light you are lost in.
Create, Adjust, Start Over.
Create, Adjust, Start Over.
Create, Adjust, Start Over.
You fall into cyclical motions, pattern taking over process.
Create Adjust Start Over
Create Adjust Start Over
Create Adjust Start Over
(text-style: "blur")[As unknowable amounts of time pass, as you dont even notice it, the text begins to blur.]
(text-style: "blur")[CreateAdjustStartOver]
(text-style: "blur")[CreateAdjustStartOver]
(text-style: "blur")[CreateAdjustStartOver]
(text-style: "blurrier")[The blackness begins to spill even into glaring white, not even mans most powerful machines are impermeable to mortal weakness. ]
(text-style: "blurrier")[C reateAd jsutStart Over]
(text-style: "blurrier")[C re ateAd j ust Startover]
(text-style: "blurrier")[C r e ate Ad j us]
You dont go home.
[[Dream->"real"5]]There's a fine layer of dust sitting on top of it.
You dont have time for this.
[[{~}->officedesk]]There's a fine layer of dust sitting on top of it.
You dont have time for this.
[[{~}->officedesk]]She looks at you, so full of bittersweet sorrow that you can taste it on your tongue.
She tenses.
Opens her mouth.
Closes it.
Exhales, heavy.
She seems to fold in on herself a little bit.
Muscles relax.
She lays down next to you then, not bothering to take off her boots as she presses a damp cheek to your chest.
A dark spot begins to spread slowly across the soft gown fabric, sticking to your skin.
You manuever your arms with a mess of wires and tubes stuck into them to the closest thing to an embrace you can manage.
You put your nose to the top of her head.
There's nothing more to say.
You fall asleep with wet cheeks and flowers clogging your lungs.
[[Dream->dream5]]Her eyes well up.
"Why?"
"Because that means that //I// did this to you. That I'm a //murderer//. "
Her face screws up as she leans over and pulls you to her chest, familiar detergent and perfume filling every inch of empty space in your lungs, she begins to softly stroke your hair.
You both begin to shudder a little bit, and her voices cracks as she speaks.
"No. Not a murderer, not guilty. a victim of the worst kind of manipulation, maybe, but you were not complicit here. I saw that much at least. Its unfortunate the illusion was built into a convincing enough mockery of yourself for you to believe it, that,"
She chokes on her words a little, you both tremble
"that it scared you so much with cruel words and visions that you could no longer look in the mirror for fear of what you might see, when when really seeing yourself may have been the difference. "
You unclench your fists, you didn't know you had been.
You cry, you sob, collapse almost entirely limp into her scalding grasp.
You heave and everything hurts and you are so,
so tired.
You fall asleep with wet cheeks and flowers clogging your airways.
[[Dream->dream5]]The surface is a mess of empty beer cans, cigarette butts, and liquor bottles.
Theres one ashtray in the the center, but you notice some burns in the wood where it seems you got too lazy to use it.
It doesnt matter. It's just a table.
Your [[phone->aptphone]] is laying face down on the corner, precariously close to falling. not that another crack would make the difference.She said she just couldn't do it anymore.
Watch you slowly decompose right in front of her eyes.
You had been sitting at the bar with her, picking at the lasagna she made.
You didnt look up.
She said she loved you too much to bear it.
That it would be masochism of the worst kind to put up with it any longer.
That if you couldn't even see the issue, couldn't even remove the black sheet long enough to consider it,
then she didnt see a way forward.
You called her selfish, you told her you didn't care.
She said that much is obvious.
She got up, she went to your room.
She already had her bag packed.
She left.
fuck her anyways.
fuck everything.
you're just sorry she ever thought you were worth her time in the first place.
you knew god had made a mistake when you were granted such a pure, divine thing.
you never deserved that.
Fuck.
You need to get drunk and fall into oblivion again.
Being awake hurts too much.
You go to the [[kitchen->kcnew]]You flip it over and press the home button.
its dead.
You flip it back over and shove it into an only slightly safer spot on the table.
You dont wanna go through the effort to plug it in and you doubt anybody would be trying to reach you anyways.
[[~->aptliv]]You open the fridge.
You do the same here, desperately and quickly disposing of almost everything.
You just cant fucking stand to see //anything// in here, much less the leftovers of the food she made.
//the food she made for you//
It feels like there are ants crawling under your flesh, theyre screaming at you to just
//get rid of it get rid of it get rid of it all//
//you dont deserve this//
//you dont deserve any of this//
The only things that remain after are a few cans of beer, a bottle of wine, a bag of broccoli, and a tub of blueberries.
You look at the garbage can.
You're somehow simultaneously incredibly proud of yourself and deeply ashamed.
You grab the whiskey bottle, take a swig, and head for the [[bedroom->bedroomv2]].You walk into the kitchen, glancing momentarily at the [[front door]] while you do.
You throw open the cabinets, looking for the bottle of whiskey you know you stashed here some time ago.
You find it, but not until after having to shift through boxes of mac and cheese, cans of soup, bags of chips, and boxes of cookies to finally strike gold in glass in the very back.
You pull it out, triumphant, before your focus zones in on the cabinet again.
There's a lot of food in there.
More than you deserve.
More than you'll ever need.
You screw open the bottle and take a nice, long, throat-scorching swig while staring at it.
Before you even know whats quite going through your mind, you're aggressively grabbing boxes and cans and bags and throwing them all in the trash.
It's almost like you're on autopilot, but it still feels //so good// to take control.
//You Will Not Be Eating Any Of This.//
You glance over and notice the [[fridge->fridgenew]].
You think about leaving.
Just going out and breathing in the fresh air and taking in the good things in the world and letting go.
No.
It's not for you.
You should be suffering.
You don't think you're going to leave this apartment, today at least.
[[{~}->kcnew]]It's your bedroom.
It's the same, nauseatingly so.
It's still the king-sized bed you shared.
It's still her infuriatingly fucking neat nightstand next to it.
It's still the same closet you shared.
It's still the same deceptively idyllic [[window->aptwup]] that seems to glare at you now from across the room.
Whatever.
You take another swig.
You're so tired.
You should probably go to the [[bathroom->aptbrup]] before you go to bed through.
//or not.//
//whatever. //
// at this point you dont really care if you piss yourself in your sleep or not.//
You go to [[bed->aptbednew]].You fall into bed with a bottle of whiskey.
You sleep.
[[You do not dream->"real"6]]The bathroom is dark.
You don't bother to turn on the lights, opting to let your eyes adjust instead.
The [[sink]] is in the same place, under the same damned [[medication cabinet]] and mirror covered in black paper.
The [[toilet]] is next to it, [[shower]] on the other side.
Once youre done here, you [[go to bed.->aptbednew]]You look out onto the street. It's just about sunset now.
You must have slept even longer than you thought.
You see happy couples **AND BILLBOARDS** and chirping birds **AND BILLBOARDS** and swaying trees in the sunset **AND BILLBOARDS**.
They all show people and dreams too beautiful for the wicked like you to even consider.
You close the blinds and pull the curtains, disgusted with yourself.
[[{~}->bedroomv2]]You turn the tap on and run your hands through a stream of ice-cold water.
It's nice to feel something.
You splash your face, taking time to focus on the the sting.
You dry your face and hands with a handtowel.
[[{~}->aptbrup]]You look at the bottles and bottles of medication and briefly consider it.
Taking them all and ending it in a pile of twitching muscles and seizing agony on the tile floor of your disgusting bathroom.
its too easy. you need to suffer more than that if youre going to die.
You do grab a cocktail of sleep medicine though and throw it back, chasing it with liquor.
You just want peace for tonight.
You look over at the blacked out [[mirror->mirror covered in black paper]] as you swallow.You inspect the mirror.
It's covered in a large sheet of black butcher paper.
You haven't been able to willingly look into a mirror for a the better part of a year now.
You covered it in the throes of a mental breakdown, during a //really// awful episode.
That episode didn't end after a few days like usual.
She understood enough to keep the paper up.
//or so you thought//
You notice theres a corner peeling back from where you originally taped it.
In a moment that feels something like morbid curiosity, you consider what would happen if you took it down.
//no.//
//you dont want to <span class='secret'>[[look]]</span> at yourself.//
[[You dont.->aptbrup]]
You use the toilet.
[[{~}->aptbrup]]You don't remember the last time you showered.
It had been a few days even before the fight at least.
It's impossible to take a shower without accepting the fact that you have a body.
[[{~}->aptbrup]]
You almost turn away.
But something stops you.
You look closer at the paper.
You look at the void that exists where you should be standing.
You start to get //pissed//, feeling real fury.
Not like the apathetic cynicism of before.
You're angry at the world.
You're angry at her.
You're //infuriated// with yourself.
But you are the most fucking enraged by this [[black paper]] right now.
Before you can even think about it, that fury has grabbed your hand and you begin to peel at a corner of it off and
//The beast has been awoken//
//put down your hand//
//you dont want to see whats behind that paper.//
//you know theres a reason you haven't looked this long//
No.
No, you dont want to <span class='secret'>[[see]]</span>.
[[You put your hand down.->aptbrup]]####Fuck. That.
You've //never// let anybody tell you what to do your whole fucking life so why the **//FUCK//** are you letting anything tell you what to do now
Youre sick of it.
You've been captive to a maniac who stole your voice and your name and your body **//and you wont stand for it anymore//**.
**//You [[tear down the paper.]]//**//It's you.//
It's //really// you.
You dont know who that is, you haven't for years, but you need to find out.
You cant live like this anymore.
//[[You reach out and touch the glass]]//#(transition: "dissolve")[it shatters.]
##(transition: "dissolve")[the world shatters.]
###youre falling.
###for the first time you find comfort in the free fall
####uncertainty's hands find yours and you are safe in her gaze as long so you accept her blessing.
####glaring white light.
####[[darkness.->TRUEEND]]You dont even know the last time you made art for fun.
You're under a lot of pressure these days academically, and you find you dont have the energy even when you have the time.
When you do have the time, youre probably working out anyways, you've been exercising a lot recently.
Sometimes the feeling of stinging lungs and scorching muscles are the only things that make you feel really alive, paint on paper doesn't achieve that sort of catharsis you find.
[[{~}->dormdesk]]You boot your laptop up.
It's already open to your emails, you spend a lot of time checking your emails these days.
Luckily, as it's the end of the year and you've already put in all the necessary paperwork, the only thing that needs your immediate attention is a confirmation with the shuttle company that you're getting picked up the next morning.
You do favorite a diet pill promotion email though, and make a note to check back on that.
After you finish that, you decide to check on social media really quickly, opening another tab.
You message a few friends, your roommates (former roommates? the idea of this being over is still new to you) being among them, you just want to make sure they got home safely.
You start scrolling through the stream as you wait for a response.
You feel like you never used to see too many tiny models and tiny bodies, but now it feels like the internet is some grotesque collage of bony limbs and pale flesh.
You don't like that very much, but at least all your normal content is still there, just in the in-between spaces.
Your friends respond and you shut the laptop lid before you get too carried away, you have things to do anyways.
[[{~}->dormdesk]]Theres a bunch of random reminders, low cal recipes, and game ideas posted on sticky notes everywhere. You find it's more efficient than a calendar.
There are also a lot of photos, many of which were from before but now there are many new additions.
You already had a lot of photos of you and your friends back home, but now you've made so many new friends out here that that you had to start taking pictures of them too.
You pull one at random from where it's been bluetacked, a group photo with you and all these new friends beaming, arms locked and faces shining with the rain of a winters night and the orange reflection of streetlights.
It may have only been a matter of months that you spent with them, but those have been among the happiest you've ever known, and you are so ridiculously grateful for that.
You smile like at idiot while looking at the warm faces of your friends.
You can feel your heart swell.
You're going to miss them so much.
You already do.
[[{~}->dormdesk]]A number of heartfelt letters and get well cards from loved ones.
Some of them are ripped up beyond recognition, confetti to be thrown over your coffin.
[[{~}->nightstand]]Theres a lot of different flowers here you dont know the name of, most of which have long since rotted.
Nobody comes to try to take them anymore.
You hate the flowers, but you also wouldn't let anybody throw them away.
[[{~}->nightstand]]First photo
Second photo
(click-replace:"First photo")+(transition: "dissolve")[The first photo is one of you and your friends from your teenage years.
You all stand on the beach, arms entwined and bodies meshed so close you were one being, all sharing the same tender, bleeding heart.
But you suppose even tendons snap and flesh tears given enough time and tension, and you all separated some years ago with no idea of how to begin treating the open wounds left behind.
You hope they are doing better than you are.]
(click-replace:"Second photo")+(transition: "dissolve")[The second photo is of her.
You're in it too, but all that has ever mattered is her.
You think you would gladly sit in this sterile prison forever if it meant there was a chance to see her again.
If the angels told you that you had already held heaven in your hands and let divinity slip through your shaky fingers, you would have no doubt they tell the truth.
Holy things are but passing dreams for the wretched like you...]
[[{~}->nightstand]]They've all got decent grades. You've always been able to hammer out a paper when needed, even if the proccess is one where you drive the mallet into your own flesh repeatedly.
The marred skin has alwasy been a secondary concern to the mortal terror you experience when you consider the idea of Failing.
You sometimes wish you had never tasted the saccharine lie of success, never stepped a foot upon an ever-rising platform consructed of gold-plated brass and rope medallions that you're sure will serve as your gallows.
But you don't see another way it could have gone.
[[{~}->dormdesk]]It's been crumpled and erased and rewritten so many times that it's hard to read.
=====================================
Dearest,
<==>
I have seldom felt my heart beat more visciously,
or with more dogged purpose
than the way it does when I think of you.
And it shatters every time you spare my wretched being
your undeserving gaze.
And now my words twist like cherry stems,
after a long night of bitter drink
I hope its an appealing shape
one that draws you in, transfixed.
Your cheeks glow like spring blossoms,
not anything I havent before noticed.
For how could i not dutifully note
every radiant slope of your face,
as holy light floats in the window
and drapes you in a satin glow?
As if heaven gave you a lead's spotlight,
you were always meant to be star of the show.
But its best for my health to stay behind,
as good girls like you deal bad blows.
Glass hearts taken and tossed aside,
shattered and swept beneath your desk.
Better things to do and little time,
to worry about romanticist nonsense.
But i know what it is that you hide:
the secrets clutched close to your chest,
the craved attention you want to despise.
And, theres something about your innocence,
that soft, sleepy look in sunrise eyes
Its almost irresistable, beloved princess,
the instictive urge to ruin you,
to drag you tenderly into hades' spare bed,
foolishly sharing age-old lovers' deception.
<===
=================================================
You'll never let her see this.
[[{~}->Drawers]]These are supposed to be helping you.
You suppose they do, sometimes.
[[{~}->Drawers]]Soon, sleep consumes you again, it takes a lot of energy you dont have to stay awake for long anyways.
[[Dream]]
###CONTENT WARNING:
ASCOMYCOTA is a game dealing with dark themes and content such as: impending death, eating disorders, medical processes, drug mentions, alcohol, suicide, and general mental distress.
Make sure you're in the right headspace for this sort of thing, please, take care of yourself. <3
[[{~}->ASCOMYCOTA]]
=><=
#(transition: "dissolve")+(color: "#D689D6")+(text-style: "bold")+(text-style: "outline")[ASCOMYCOTA]
(transition: "dissolve")[“The black rock was sharp-edged, hot, and hard as corundum; it seemed not merely alien but impervious to life. Yet on the southern face of almost every rock the lichens grew, yellow, rusty-brown, yellow-green, like patches of dirty paint daubed on the stone.”
- Edward Abbey, The Brave Cowboy: An Old Tale in a New Time ]
(text-style: "fade-in-out")+(transition: "dissolve")[[WAKE UP->TheBeginning]]
##(transition: "dissolve")+(text-style: "bold")+(css: "font-size:10px")[by: //Newton Thorne//]
Your section of the building has only 4 rooms, 3 of which are entirely empty already.
The whiteboards posted to each have been wiped clean. You struggle to find any detail that someone may have ever existed here at all.
It's odd, you think, how noticeable the lack of human energy is. How empty the air feels around you.
The more you think on it, the bigger the pit in your stomach grows.
[[You stop thinking about it.->hallway]]She arrives at the side of your bed and gently grasps one of your hands.
"Hey babe! It's good to see you."
You laugh a little at that. You're surprised, you haven't felt the warmth of a genuine laugh in a very long time.
"Oh don't bullshit me bitch, I'm not exactly in my prime here."
She lets out a chuckle, ringing melody in your ears.
"Maybe not, that doesn't mean i'm any less glad to see you though. Your company is always a good thing, even in the shittiest circumstances."
She punctuates this with a quick squeeze of your hand.
You think you might really believe her. You want to at least.
"Unfortunately, it seems we've arrived at a point where the worst circumstances are our own."
The weight of the guilt you are feeling is enough to crush bones, and you are so fucking sorry that you've done this to her, murdered her best friend.
Your voice cracks.
"Im sorry i wasn't strong enough. For you, for everyone."
She looks at you, so full of kindess and compassion and love and understanding that you almost wish she would look away because it feels like too much.
She speaks with such conviction that it hurts.
"You were strong. You are."
[["I don't feel very strong"]]
[["I love you, but i think thats wishful thinking."]]There's a clock on the surface that tells you it's almost 11 in the morning.
Her reading glasses and the novel she was reading last night are placed neatly next to it.
You wonder when she left exactly.
There is only one drawer.
You open it, it's empty besides a pink stationary pad and a blue, glittery gel pen.
You make an educated guess that this is //probably// what she used to write you that note.
[[{~}->aptbedroom]]================================================
BABE<333: Hey what did u want for dinner?? 5:23pm
BABE<333: Hello??? r u just ignoring me or?? when r u coming home?? 6:58pm
BABE<333: Youre kind of starting to scare me why arent you answering?? are you still at the office? 11:48pm
BABE<333: your coworkers say your car is still in the parking lot and that you just seemed really tired today and thats the only thing keeping me from calling the cops. so im going to bed and praying to god youre okay and that you just got carried away in work 1:45am
BABE<333: i love you. we need to talk when you come back. dont not come back. 1:48am
================================================
You turn off the phone and place it on the desk, face-down.
You put your head in your hands for a moment, feeling guilty beyond belief.
You've been so caught up in work for the past few months, trying to meet deadlines, that you feel like you've barely seen her.
//You're sure it's just a coincidence that you only really began staying later at the office when she noticed you losing weight again and started cooking dinner regularly. //
//You haven't even lost that much anyways. You're fine, you think she just worries too much.//
You don't have the mind for this right now, it feels like somebody wrapped your brain in cotton.
You need to collect your thoughts.
You spin your office chair around to face the rest of the [[room->office]].
It depicts a thin woman in a bikini, holding a measuring tape cinched as tightly as possible around her waist in one hand, and a margarita in the other.
She peers at you over a pair of black sunglasses, she seems smug, like she's mocking you somehow.
It just reads, in giant, bolded, black letters:
"ARE YOU BEACH BODY READY?"
Your skin starts to crawl.
[[You turn around quickly.->aptbedroom]]
You feel pretty cold this morning, you should've put on some clothes and gone pee before you go to finish unpacking.
(if: (history:) contains ("aptwd","aptbr"))[[*Enter living room*->livkit]]
[[{~}->aptbedroom]]The living area consists of your couch pushed against the opposite wall from the kitchen, underneath a large arched window that brightens the whole room, a bookshelf pressed to the adjoining wall.
There's a large brown rug decorating the hardwood floor in front of the couch, a [[half-constructed ikea coffee table->half-constructed ikea table]] and an entertainment center holding a TV monitor atop it.
Near the breakfast bar is a large plastic bin, whatever you can't fit or you dont think is necessary to keep on hand will go here and into storage. There is a rectangular wall [[mirror->mirror covered in sheet]] propped against it, covered in a black sheet.
There are three boxes you need to unpack:
One marked [[electronics]] on top of the entertainment center
One marked [[art supplies]] near the front door
And one marked [[books->mybooks]] near the bookshelf
(if: $electronics is true)+(if: $art is true)+(if: $books is true)[You hear a [[knock on the door->knock on door]]]
You look at the stack of legal documentation and contracts and sigh, knowing you have to get that done at some point too.
God, you're grateful that you have a job lined up to start in a few months, you were one of the luckier ones. Your work during your time at college impressed them enough to extend you an offer you guess.
You're especially grateful considering it's a job at your dream company, the one you've been wanting to work at since you were 13.
You're genuinely ecstatic, over the moon the about it!
You just aren't that fond of paperwork.
[[{~}->livkit]]Hm.
You pull it out and stare at it for a bit.
You haven't actually used it in about a year.
A few months before that, you ended up in the hospital for the first time for your eating disorder.
It still feels weird, calling it that, like that sort of diagnoses shouldn't apply to you.
And yet,
you //did// pass out on the school track while running your 6th mile for the day, and you //did// end up needing an ambulance called, and you **//did//** end up being dangerously underweight and on the brink of death according to the doctor.
So maybe there is something to it.
You stopped weighing yourself in an attempt to get out of the constant weight-loss cycle. And it worked.
(//You think//)
You don't obsessively journal your intake anymore. (//you just keep pretty close track of it in your head//)
You're at a healthy weight according to your doctor (//nevermind that was never a normal weight for you before this shitshow and that you refuse to gain any more//)
And you dont run yourself into the ground when you exercise anymore! (//you do still have that gym membership, though you only use it 2-3 times a week//)
Yeah, you think youre alright.
You look to the storage bin.
You decide to slip the scale under your side of the bed.
[[~->living area]]You're snapped out of your trance by a big, wet kiss on the cheek.
Oh shit she's been talking this whole time what was she-
"Thanks for doing some of the unpacking like I asked by the way!! You're a fucking blessing, and I think I //may just have// owed you a kiss on the cheek or something like that.
She looks at you through batted eyelashes.
Oh yeah!
How'd you forget about the kiss on the cheek?
You push the uneasy feeling to the back of your head, you're sure everything will be fine.
You're just fine after all.
The rest of the night is another lovely buzz of saccharine affection, delicious spaghetti, and unpacking the rest of your belongings together.
You feel like youre making a home.
[[Dream->"real"4]]Your doctor comes into the room and hands you a cup.
They grab your hand and squeeze it a bit, sending you a solemn, but understanding nod.
They turn to leave.
You look at the cup, there are but two small tablets contained within.
You somehow thought it would be more dramatic than this.
That there would be some comically large syringe and some caricature of a sadistic executioner looming above you.
That you would have someone to hold your hand.
And you could call one of them back in here, you're sure at least one would be willing.
No.
You could never ask someone to watch that.
You suppose you were your own executioner all along.
This will end with you alone.
[[You take the pills.]]
You don't know how long it takes for any effect to start taking place, you just stare blankly at the ceiling.
You start to feel tired at some point.
The air begins to feel like it bends around you.
You close your eyes.
You begin to fade
It feels eerily simililar to the arms of sleep.
You know in your heart this was how it was always going to be.
This is how it had to be.
A terrifying dredge of doubt still nags at you, if but for a moment, and you push it away.
This is how it had to be, you made it so.
The void embraces you.
[[You have decomposed.]]=><=
#(transition: "dissolve")+(color: "#D689D6")+(text-style: "bold")+(text-style: "outline")[END.]
//"Weary traveller, you have reached your long and treacherous journey's end at last.
I wonder, was this the only path you might have taken?"//=><=
#(transition: "dissolve")+(color: "#D689D6")+(text-style: "bold")+(text-style: "outline")[END.]
"This may be the end of this stretch of your journey, weary traveller,
but keep on, keep on,
you have permitted yourself the strength for many more miles."