[open] send me back to where i roam, any - Printable Version +- Beqanna (https://beqanna.com/forum) +-- Forum: Explore (https://beqanna.com/forum/forumdisplay.php?fid=1) +--- Forum: The Common Lands (https://beqanna.com/forum/forumdisplay.php?fid=72) +---- Forum: Meadow (https://beqanna.com/forum/forumdisplay.php?fid=3) +---- Thread: [open] send me back to where i roam, any (/showthread.php?tid=28480) |
send me back to where i roam, any - spectra - 12-17-2020 all i want is beaches full of dead birds. a flood of limbs washed up onshore. seascapes sparkling bright with bone
It is a wasteland. S P E C T R A
RE: send me back to where i roam, any - Sintra - 12-17-2020
It is not incorrect to say that she is just bones. In fact, it is almost certainly the first thing to notice about her, the way her translucent flesh wraps around her bones, like glass or like a jellyfish drifting through the dark sea. Sintra thinks she would know if she was dead because she thinks that her sight would be restored, but more than that, the red splash of her heart clenching and twisting in on itself between the blades of her shoulders is a constant reminder that this is not the Afterlife, it is the meadow, instead. In the autumn meadow, the girl stands apart from the others, wary, nervous. She does not trust any of them now, keeps well away from the twisted and the normal alike that mingle and graze and that sometimes copulate shamelessly now that the year wanes. She watches, though her head must turn left, then right, to see them, sweeping the meadow with one violet eye while her animated ears twist and pivot. The ragged, empty, socket with its pink scar leaves half her world plastered with darkness and the meadow feels full of that shade, full of the crooning of monsters. Everything else is stained the sallow color of fear. The world is full of horror. It is full of trickery and nightmares that make the familiar into the strange. It is full of predators who will not wait until you are dead to steal your eyes. It is full of the wicked who twist all the rest until they can tell you that the day is darker than night and you nod in agreement because you can't remember anymore. This is what Sintra knows of the world. When the star-cloaked filly shivers out of nothing - a ghost come to life - she only freezes, as if by not moving she might become fully invisible. It has never worked before. She has no other defense. This is a world designed for monsters, not stupid girls. RE: send me back to where i roam, any - spectra - 12-21-2020 all i want is beaches full of dead birds. a flood of limbs washed up onshore. seascapes sparkling bright with bone
Spectra might have been intrigued if she knew. If there were anything at all to indicate that the girl looking back at her is any different than the rest of them. S P E C T R A @[Sintra] RE: send me back to where i roam, any - Sintra - 12-27-2020 Are you dead? Am I? Questions fill the uncertain space between them, and they give Sintra pause because the voice that asks them wears nothing that sounds dangerous, only tired - and the soap-bubble girl knows too well the way the exhaustion feels when it creeps in between your bones and makes your skin crawl. "We aren't dead," the frown on her dark lips matches the sullen rainbows that play across her skin, but there's a note of uncertainy in her voice. Her memory skips, trying to touch the recent past, to remember what it was like to be dead, if only for a moment, if only in a dream, but the memory is blunted and slippery and the effort of remembering creases her forehead, making the still-sensitive scar over her eye twinge. The pain only serves to distract her, she gets confused so easily. Was death before or after the boy covered in little mouths? She finds that she isn't sure, now. Maybe they are dead, and maybe that is why she can't remember. But her heart still beats, even if the other girl doesn't seem to notice; that pulse of red just visible to her own eyes between the flat blades of her shoulders. Sintra shakes her head and the unruly locks of her young mane fall across her face. They are not quite long enough to hide the ruin of it Even one-eyed, she still can see shadows that mark the gaunt filly's sides. "I did die, once. I think," Her head tips and half the star-mantled girl disappears into darkness. The memory's slid away again, "Maybe it was a dream? I... I can't remember now, but I wasn't any happier there." Too much of Time stretches before her. The idea of suffering an entire lifetime just to face it in Eternity, too, makes her feel ill. @[spectra] RE: send me back to where i roam, any - spectra - 12-30-2020 all i want is beaches full of dead birds. a flood of limbs washed up onshore. seascapes sparkling bright with bone
We aren’t dead. S P E C T R A @[Sintra] RE: send me back to where i roam, any - Sintra - 01-06-2021
How did she die? It had been such a simple thing, to die. She hadn't had to do anything. "I made a choice." What is a trick? Foolish child, and not a great deal wiser, now, but more fearful, more tentative, not nearly so free with her choices. It shows in the way she pauses between thoughts, agonizing over the right words until she feels as if she is floating far away from the meadow and the ghostly viper child at her side, and then the words come like disjointed memories. "I was asked a question I didn't understand, then I woke up in the Afterlife. Someone's idea of a joke. My Mama was there, but she isn't," (wasn't,) "dead either, and she peeled off all my skin, and when I found the Gatekeeper again, I looked like this," Her dark nose swings back to nip bitterly at her sea-glass flesh and the shifting bones beneath. "Just bones." Such a simple thing. It's easy to die, all you need to do run afoul of someone stronger than you, and everyone is stronger than Sintra is. She shivers, pushing the horrorscape away again and reaching out to the too-close filly with her velvet nose. "How--- how do you turn invisible? I would like to be invisible." @[spectra] RE: send me back to where i roam, any - spectra - 01-10-2021 all i want is beaches full of dead birds. a flood of limbs washed up onshore. seascapes sparkling bright with bone
The viper does not understand, but she listens. She listens because she thinks she would very much like to die but the hunger won’t take her and she is too young to know any other way. She simply dissolves each time she approaches danger, shifting seamlessly between something alive and something that is just vapor. She does not want to be this real thing anymore, she does not want to be the viper. S P E C T R A @[Sintra] |