Smudged Charcoal and Hazy Outlines

//The lines that made up the contours of your face had long smudged, blurring until your features were effectively rendered unrecognizable. The charcoal I used back then had fallen to the ground, cast away in pieces.// (click: "pieces") [(live: 2s)[(t8n: "dissolve") [//Beneath my feet they crumbled, and I could only wonder how we got to this point.// [[...]] ](stop:)]]

I slump at my desk, letting out a sigh as my cheek meets with its cool surface. A few rays of sunshine stream through my half-open blinds, dyeing my [[bedroom]] in a warm glow. The window cracked open offers a small glimpse into the [[world]] beyond my room, along with a breeze that has a few of the colorful posters adorning my wall flapping. In front of me my laptop emits a low, gentle [[hum]]. Numerous homework files are open on my browser, awaiting attention I lack energy to spare. In my desk lay untouched textbooks along with an ungodly amount of stationery I've amassed over the course of my elementary, middle, high school, and now even college career. A [[drafting board]] I've repurposed looms behind me. Under it are multiple boxes collecting dust--some are filled with miscellaneous bottles and Christmas wrapping supplied I kept with the intention of making crafts from random online videos, and others are filled with paints, markers, and untouched canvases. Placed on top are a few of my traditional art pieces, though I never particularly feel the urge to look back and scruitinize my brilliant lack of technique. I stare into empty [[space]].

I can't help but think about the disgustingly pathetic amount of time I spend in here. The days past by in a blur, monotonous. I can hardly keep track of which day it is, what I ate last, or if I ate at all. I hardly care. (link:"Go back")[(goto:"...")]

I think to myself about how it matches the frequency of static playing in my mind. I don't want to hear anything, but simultaneously, the silence is deafening. So this is fine, at least for now. (link:"Go back")[(goto:"...")]

Outside, the wind blows. Leaves rustle, and I hear the bounding steps and resounding giggles of my neighbors. They're small children who know nothing of the world. They haven't been hurt or stained yet. (click: "yet") [(live: 0.5s)[(t8n: "dissolve") [I both envy and pity them. (link:"Go back")[(goto:"...")] ](stop:)]]

My mind drifts as always, vaccant. (click: "drifts") [(live: 5s)[(t8n: "dissolve") [. . . Just like that, time [[passes]].](stop:)]]

I'm bored. Lifting my head up, I stare at my laptop screen. Work could wait. There was a plethora of things to distract me right here. My [[art program]] in the corner looks pretty tempting, maybe I could doodle something. A little notification icon pops up by my [[messaging app]]. I could pass by time watching some videos on [[MyTube]]. My mouse scrolls over my bookmark for [[Tweeter]].

I check who the message is from, and it's from one of my close friends. He sent ":))" with a picture, but for some reason the image is censored. Knowing him, it's bound to be something cursed. I debate for a while whether to [[click]] on it or not. (click:"not")[(live:1s)[(t8n: "dissolve")[...Yeah no, I don't trust like that. My instincts tell me looking will only end in regret. I'll do [[something else|the message]].](stop:)]]

I scroll through my recommendations and quickly find an interesting-looking video about how paint pigments are made. Next thing you know I'm watching a cooking ASMR video, then a preview for a lo-fi hip hop album. What about some horror conspiracy theories? Or psychology hacks... I lose myself in the stories and entertainment, and autoplay does little to hold me back. (link:"Time passes.")[(goto: "passes")]

This was a mistake, I hate this image with my entire being. (link: '<img src="https://cdn.discordapp.com/attachments/489920176456728620/707131854448230400/xpulbo0ghtv21.png">')[(goto:"click")] (link:"I need to bleach this from my mind.")[(goto:"the message")]

I allow myself to fall into the social media sink hole. A few clicks and flicks of the finger have me scrolling through posts, giving some hearts of acknowledgement and others shares, if not skipping over them entirely. //Scroll.//(click:"Scroll.")[ //Like.//(click:"Like.")[ //Share.//(click: "Share.")[ I pause. (click:"pause.")[(live:2s)[(t8n:"dissolve")[ I suddenly remember that you have a private account for venting out private thoughts and frustrations.(click:"private")[(live:2s)[(t8n:"dissolve")[ //Since we were best friends, I was the one person permitted to follow you. That way, I'd always know if you needed help.//](stop:)]] Over time we had grown distant though, and now I'm no longer sure if you're okay or not.(click:"anymore.")[(live:2s)[(t8n:"dissolve")[ //Deep down, I know the answer is no.//](stop:)]] I could [[check]] it. Or I could just [[not]] bother, since it had been so long I doubt you've bothered touching the account. ](stop:)]]]]]

Honestly I wasn't sure if I could call you my best friend anymore, but in the several years we've known each other, we've been through a lot together. It was only once we separated ways for higher education that we began to speak less, if my memory serves (link:"correctly.")[(live:1s)[(t8n: "dissolve")[//- ... Ah wait, or was it earlier than that...? I can't really place a pin on the time, but it doesn't matter.//](stop:)]] (link:"Go back")[(goto:"the message")]

Out of the corner of my eye, I notice another message pop up, this time from you, my [[best friend]]. You're (link:"screaming")[screaming (in caps lock)] about how two of our other friends found each other on a dating app, and then a few other old classmates who either //really// changed, or hadn't at //all.// I can't tell if that's good or bad, but the situation itself sounds amusing, so naturally I fill in my duty as a jokingly mocking peer and indulge in the gossip. It feels [[nostalgic]].

I take out my drawing tablet and stylus, opening up a new canvas to work on. Selecting my usual brush, I make a few quick strokes to start a sketch. The pen glides free under my hand. (link: "I draw.")[I start out by drawing loose guidelines for a pose, trying to add gesture lines to make it more dynamic. I'm never satisfied with my anatomy and this time is no exception. The back of my mind tells me I should pull up a reference photo or two, but I'm lazy so I stubbornly (link: "persist.")[ ... This was a mistake. Nothing looks the way I want it to. No matter how much I erase and redraw, or flip the canvas, the results are unsatisfactory. I sigh once more and close the canvas without saving, shoving my tablet back in its drawer. Maybe my hand will cooperate next time.]] (link:"Time passes.")[(goto: "passes")]

Ah. Right. I recall roughly a year ago you had posted something about how you wished you had different friends. (click:"different")[//So why didn't you just leave and get them if we weren't sufficient?//] (link:"...")[(live:1s)[(t8n: "dissolve")[//Remembering that makes me hate myself just a little more, because I'm bitter even though I know it's my fault. I shouldn't be bitter when I brought it upon myself.//](stop:)]] I ignore that memory every time it resurfaces. This time, it's harder to do than usual. The day goes on, and night [[falls]].

It's been a while since we've last spoken. I missed this. Back then, we chatted both in person and online, day-in, day-out. We shared so many interests that we never ran out of topics to discuss. I could confidently call you an honorary sister. [[But time passed.]]

As the conversation topic dies down, I remember to ask about an art collaboration we planned. (click: "ask") [(live: 0.5s)[(t8n: "dissolve") [I need a schedule so I can somehow manage to do all my other work on time, even if just barely; I'm determined to make something with you after so long.](stop:)]] //Typing...// (click:"Typing...")[(live: 2s)[(t8n: "dissolve")[//"DW tbh from the time i suggested it i wasnt expecting it to be followed thru anyway"// My smile falters slightly at your reply, though of course you can't see it from the other side of the screen. (click:"falters")[(live: 3s)[(t8n:"dissolve")[... I'm not sure how to respond, so I default to //"oh lmao mnkay"//. You make a joke about how we've never gone through with any of our numerous ideas and plans anyway, and slowly I understand that you've come to expect nothing of me.] (link:"...")[(goto: "passes")](stop:)]]](stop:)]]

To my surprise, you actually //have// continued using this account; there are new posts. I scroll a few swipes d o w n to the last thing I remember reading. Then, I go to read what's [[new]], or at least new to me, even if the post is from weeks ago. Maybe I'm prying a bit, but you were the one who gave me permission to be here to begin with.

I don't check because I don't expect you to use it anymore. Besides, we had grown so [[distant]] over time, wouldn't it be an invasion of privacy to see your psots, if they even existed?

I couldn't remember the last time we spoke without restraint. I couldn't remember the last time we had shared your dreams--back when you still had the lights in your eyes, and we both believed in our futures and each other. That time was far back in the past. //When had it all gone awry?// (click:"awry")[(live: 3s)[(t8n:"dissolve")[ Your words from earlier were still echoing in my mind, actually. Something about them felt [[familiar]].](stop:)]]

My eyes scan over the vent message and immediately, a few words stand out to me. //"Selfish." "Inconsiderate of others."// But unlike usual, you're not talking about how your parents cruelly aim those words at you. This time you have selected those adjectives to describe [[someone else.]]

The taste of regret blossoms on my tongue. (click:"blossoms")[(live: 2s)[(t8n:"dissolve")[I can't tell if I regret reading your messages, or if I regret how I've taken your silence for acceptance and let you down. Maybe it's a little bit of both, because I've always wondered if we were a little [[toxic]].](stop:)]]

So many times we compared ourselves to each other. It was good that our hobbies intersected, but with both of our insecurities, the comparison was inevitable. We were both fragmented, and the pieces we shared made it feel as if only one whole person could be constructed--you, or me, and the other would be an off-brand replica. It was like that for years.(click: "years.")[(live: 2s)[(t8n:"dissolve")[ And then I learned how to be myself. ... but it turned out you still hadn't.](click:"hadn't.")[(live: 1s)[(t8n:"dissolve")[ So when you told me such, I blamed myself for moving on without you, oblivious to your struggle. Then I //continued// to blame myself until my heart sank, and I felt like I was going to asphyxiate on my guilt. It threatened to consume me from the inside-out, but I couldn't tell you or you'd feel guilty for sharing your burden. In a way, I was trying to protect you; it was unhealthy, but being with you was worth it. (click:"worth")[(live: 1.5s)[(t8n:"dissolve")[ ... Now, [[I'm not so sure.]]](stop:)]](stop:)]]](stop:)]]

Night falls. (click:"falls.")[(live: 2s)[(t8n: "dissolve")[I need to [[have dinner]] and [[shower]]. In the first place, did you even want my eyes to meet those words? You had to know what risk you ran posting somewhere I had access to, but I, myself, have made similar bets in the past. Ultimately I suppose it doesn't matter, since I saw it anyway. I fall limp into my sheets and attempt to [[sleep]].](stop:)]]

I'm not sure what I've been doing for the past few hours, just that I was trying to distract myself. I didn't particularly want to think about how little faith you have in me, how distant we've grown, or how I little I've come to believe your words. Night eventually falls, and at some point I succumb to [[sleep.]]

Part of me feels a void in my heart, but another numbs the feeling altogether. I either wasn't attached to you, or I've tricked my self into thinking so. At some point I've even broken off from our high school friend group. As far as I'm aware you're still talking to the others, while I, on the other hand, slowly find a new circle to integrate into. I do make new friends, but I never click with anyone in the same way we did all those years back. We're close, but never //close,// because I tell them my secrets but say it means nothing. Deep down, I know I'm unconsciously keeping them at an arm's distance to avoid repeating our story. I also tell myself you weren't the only person that contributed to my intimacy issues, as if that made the wound gape any less. Drifting apart came naturally. //[[Years pass.]]//

I toss and turn until I give up and browse social media for dumb memes. When it's not enough, I read comics and watch videos to immerse myself in another world and forget about this one. Eventually my mind finally shuts [[off]] from exhaustion.

The next day, I wake up lethargic. My time is spent doing anything I can to forget the previous day, simply because I know if I let myself ponder, my mind will never stop looping. (click:"ponder")[(live: 3s)[(t8n:"dissolve")[But of course, inevitably I wind up thinking about your words. (click:"thinking")[(live: 2s)[(t8n:"dissolve")[I consult a few online friends--friends you may know //of,// but don't //know// because telling the ones we do share is too dangerous. They mostly listen to me rant, supporting me and saying that your words were unfair because to them, I'm a great friend, but I can only thank them and reply that your words were true. By the end of each conversation I figure out it all comes down to how much of a coward I want to be or not be, and if I value our friendship enough to confront you. I know that for every day I don't speak up, my resolve will grow [[weaker]].](stop:)]]](stop:)]]

Carefully, I open up my chat with you. Nervous energy pulses through my veins as I stare down your icon for what must be an eternity. It's at this point that I tell myself I need to either [[confront you]], or [[say nothing.]]

I tell myself that if I care about our friendship even one bit and want to clear up the misunderstanding, I //have// to say something since I know you won't. Maybe your posts on an account I had access to //were// you actually trying to say something. I take a deep breath... (click:"...")[(live: 3s)[(t8n: "dissolve")[and [[type.]]](stop:)]]

As it turns out, I'm a coward. Shaking my head, I decide //not// to talk to you about it because I know that conversation can only end up awkward and //painful// for both us--two individuals simultanously well-read and pathetically //far// from eloquent in the art of communication. I don't want to incite uneccessary drama. (link:"Go back")[(goto:"sleep.")]

//Me.// The descriptors pierce me, but I read onwards. (click:"onwards")[(live: 2s)[(t8n:"dissolve")[Immediately after, you back-track and say I'm a //"good friend, but `[you]` just can't trust `[me]` with some things anymore." As if it was some court hearing, you listed out past times I had wronged you. Times I had made you wait, and times I made you feel like a fool, pouring effort into projects that would bear no result because I lacked the time and motivation to reciprocate your efforts.// I wince in guilt. Nothing you said was technically wrong, but that was what hurt. I can't refute anything, and your words mean I failed as your friend--your best friend, of all things. Worst of all, in your eyes I'm no longer redeemable; I can't be helped, because disappointment is my nature--//that's// how you view me, after all these years. //I was wrong to think that of all people, you'd understand how hard I was trying to change.// I twitch, suddenly feeling uncomfortable in my own skin. I continue reading, but at some point my mind reels and my eyes glaze over. Then at last, I [[close]] the window.](stop:)]]

I contemplate the idea of showering, but in the end I don't really have the motivation to get up and do it. I haven't left the house at all today, nor have I done anything to end up unclean; my mind finds those to be perfectly justifiable excuses. At the very least I decide to brush my teeth, though no matter how hard I scrub, the bitter tinge of regret doesn't leave. The taste of mint and iron do little to mask it. As I stare at the pink bubbles washing down the drain, I realize it's a flavor I'll never really be able to untaste. (link:"Time passes.")[(goto: "I'm not so sure.")]

I don't have much of an appetite today. Rather, anything more than sipping water makes me feel slightly naseous. In the past I've read things about cortisol and digestion, so I wonder if my body is finally catching up with the state of my mind. (link:"Time passes.")[(goto: "I'm not so sure.")]

Without saying anything, I allow the trajectory of our friendship to go on, aimed for ruin. I make sure to stay away from topics like doing gift exchanges, or really, any sort of situation where I feel like I can let you down. Our conversations are lively and engaging still, but they feel somewhat shallow at times. (click:"shallow.")[(live: 2s)[(t8n:"dissolve")[//It never feels like you tell the truth. Every syllable that escapes your lips makes up some sort of lie to conceal your true feelings, which you bottle up without fail. I second guess everything you say nowadays, unsure of if you've tired of my presence yet. Perhaps you only speak with me because it's awkward when we share friends and used to be so close, or you're just too nice to tell me off when I won't take the cue and disappear. When we speak, I dance in circles because I know what your passive agressiveness looks like; the slight falsetto that betrays you when you're only trying to be polite for appearances, and the edge to your choice of lexicon. I'm afraid to provoke, see, or hear because it would confirm my insecurities.//](stop:)]] [[Months pass.]]

... (click:"...")[(live: 2s)[(t8n: "dissolve")[It happens one day when I'm sorting through my possessions, attempting to cleanse myself of even a smidge of materialistic desire in attempt to feel a bit closer to the functional adult I clearly am not. My eyes land on an old large sketchpad; it's a relic of a time back in high school when I took a proper art class for the first and only time, the studio having been your recommendation. Curious, I pull back the cover and begin to flip through the pages. (click:"flip")[(live: 3s)[(t8n: "dissolve")[About three in, I suddenly [[stop.]]](stop:)]] ](stop:)]]

//"Heyyy, I'm not rlly sure how to bring this up so I'll just say it rlly bluntly: I saw the vent messages on your Tweeter where u talked about me... and I don't rlly know how to respond tbh but I feel like I need to say smthn abt them bc I care abt u and wanna sort things out if we can. Yeah- ig I'm just sorry bc I didn't know u were this frustrated with me, and it's not like anything u said was wrong but it did kinda still hurt to read, bc I can tell that you're just kinda fed up and like... if you need an out in this friendship or anything, you know you can just tell me, right? I don't want u to feel like you have to force yourself to associate with me"// I read it over five--no, ten times before hitting //send// with great reluctance. Two hours pass before I get a [[reply]].

Around when my family first moved into this house, my older sister found a drafting board off Johnslist in the neighborhood and brought it back for me. At first I planned to use it as a gigantic easel for painting, but as academics consumed my being, it was repurposed into whiteboard. Countless colored streaks from dry erase markers concealed what was intended to be a pure white surface, remnant of compositional sketches, timelines, and hastily scribbled chemistry equations. Currently, I was using as an oversized To-Do List; that said, I desperately wanted to ignore what I scrawled on its surface. Threatening me constantly were due dates listed for assignments in each of my classes, about half of which were already overdue. Pride burst in my chest every time I erased one of those items off, but clearly it wasn't something that happened often. (link:"Go back")[(goto:"...")]

It's //you,// even if barely. I'm only able to tell this is that same charcoal portrait due to the reference photo I printed out slipping out and falling by my feet, bringing with it faint traces of charcoal dust. Over the years the picture has slipped from its place and smudged, dark lines smeared and blurred in face of friction and carelessness. I stare and the memory comes back. (click:"memory")[(live:3s)[(t8n:"dissolve")[ //When the instructor asked me to print out a black and white portrait with high contrast for a charcol drawing back then, the photo I chose was yours. Your smile was stretched thin because you were fooling around and trying to see how creepy you could make yourself look, and while snorting at your antics, I quickly whipped out my phone to capture the memory. Even though the proportions of your head to body were off, I remember later on recieving a compliment from the instructor for how I had captured the shadows on your jacket near-perfectly in the final product.// I'm not sure how to [[feel]] when I look at it now. ](stop:)]]

It brings back uninvited emotions, remnants of the distant past I never cared to allow myself to soak in. ... I wonder if anything would have turned out differently if I had spoken to you back then; if we wouldn't have drifted apart, or if our friendship would have come to a stop right then and there. Perhaps in another world, things would have changed. But in this one, what was done was done, and what wasn't said stayed locked in the depths of my mind. I breathe, then flip the notebook closed and tuck it back into its little nook in my room. //[[End.]]//

Hi!! I'm the creator, of this game, Angela Yim. Thanks for playing this little mess of a game. It was definitely //an experience// to make, which admittedly wasn't always pleasant, but I hope you guys enjoyed it regardless, even a bit. Indeed, this is a game based off a personal experience; only in my life, at the time I've made this, I'm frozen at the point of deciding whether to confront this friend or not. When given this assignment for CMPK80K, I thought I'd explore what I consider to be the two pathways. Admittedly I was greatly constrained by time, demotivation, and my lack of programming ability, but in the end what I have is a culmination of my efforts, and I hope somewhere out there, someone resonates with the story (or maybe I shouldn't be hoping your friendship is falling apart?? aha-) Anyways, like the game implies but doesn't explicitly state, I'm an artist; you can find my social media links > (link: "here" )[(open-url: "https://aurelia-rain.carrd.co/#contact")] < Thanks again for playing!

**Smudged Charcoal and Hazy Outlines** A short text-based narrative game about the waning of a friendship. Warnings for: //Implied depression and a very, very cursed image of a duck.// [[start]]

//"ah so u// did //see those IG some part of me was hoping youd see those and then whether u said anything or not youd reflect on ur actions and change, but for the most part i was frustrated and just needed a place to vent dont get me wrong ily and ur a great friend, but sometimes u can be rlly frustrating bc we agree to do something together and i get my hopes up, but they just come crashing back down bc u put things off or take forever to get to them, and i kno u have school and youre stressed so i wanna be mindful of that but i just feel rlly brushed off and thats the part that just makes me wonder if u even care abt me or our friendship lmao"// My heart sinks again as my fingers idly tap on my keyboard to dispel nervous energy. After re-reading her message five or so times, I begin to type my reply on a desktop sticky note--that way you won't have to see that //typing...// popping up on and off for the next half or so as I struggle to write anything [[intelligible]].

The rest of our conversation is.. simultaneously what I expected, and not. Once again I'm hit with the realization that you too, have insecurities. In struggling with my own insecurities and guilt, I failed to see beyond my own perspective. I didn't realize until it was explicitly stated that you were moreso tired of feeling like a lesser-priority, than actually sick of my presence. It's almost laughable how self-centered I manage to be even while trying to think of your feelings. I always knew you struggled with feeling like an accessory to the older sibling in your own family, but I hadn't thought about how that might transfer over to your reaction to me failing to care more. You were frustrated even your best friend wouldn't bother to try a bit harder with you, and rightfully so. [[Again, I apologize.]]

And I'm glad I do so, because in the moments after that conversation of a mere, yet trying two hours, I feel as if we've managed to bridge at least half the gap we've created in the span of the year or two we were falling apart; a year or two of watching the threads binding us together slowly crumble away not to free us, but to cling to our sides and whisper what-ifs and you-should-haves from unspoken muses. We untangle them not so gracefully, but for once I can //see// you. This is probably the third or fourth time we've had such a serious conversation between us, and I've not once have regretted a single one-- Because you're always worth the work--the leaps of faith I have to make, even if blindly. And I [[know]] after each one you think similarly.

The next time our other friends comment on how we're closer that the rest of them, my smile is //not// one of a cackling facade made to gloss over uncertainty. I can actually look over to you with a grin--notably I don't have to second guess yours--and boast how we're endured through the trials of time, distance, and dissonance in thought. I missed this feeling. (link:"...")[(goto: "next")]

It's //you,// even if barely. I'm only able to tell this is that same charcoal portrait due to the reference photo I printed out slipping out and falling by my feet, bringing with it faint traces of charcoal dust. Over the years the picture has slipped from its place and smudged, dark lines smeared and blurred in face of friction and carelessness. I stare and the memory comes back. (click:"memory")[(live:3s)[(t8n:"dissolve")[//When the instructor asked me to print out a black and white portrait with high contrast for a charcol drawing back then, the photo I chose was yours. Your smile was stretched thin because you were fooling around and trying to see how creepy you could make yourself look, and while snorting at your antics, I quickly whipped out my phone to capture the memory. Even though the proportions of your head to body were off, I remember later on recieving a compliment from the instructor for how I had captured the shadows on your jacket near-perfectly in the final product.// I snort and open up my messaging app, ready to share what I consider to be a [[throw back]]. ](stop:)]]

//"DUDDEEEE I was looking through my stuff and I found this super old charcoal portrait I did of you back in like... high school, when I took that one art class from the studio you recc'ed me"// After snapping a quick photo, I flip the notebook closed and tuck it back into its little nook in my room. //typing...// //[[End.]]//