And I wonder as I lay here, in this sleepless field of dreams..

*HELLO!

Somehow you've stumbled upon my blog, scraping the ends of the internet for something interesting.

Instead you found this.
I hope I don't put you to sleep.


Stories of fiction and fact lie dormant in this digital journal. Anything labelled with fiction junction is just that: fiction.

STORIES

» refraction.
» love's weight.


do you think of me when I think of you

» Rachel Waa.
» xkcd.
» questionable content.
» the awesomer.
» not always right.
» stumble upon.

as the nighttime slowly sings...?

» chih.
» kaylyn.
» kitty.
» j comeau of A Softer World.


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“oh please don't close the door my dreams are behind that”
February 2007 March 2007 April 2007 May 2007 June 2007 July 2007 August 2007 September 2007 October 2007 November 2007 December 2007 January 2008 February 2008 March 2008 April 2008 May 2008 June 2008 July 2008 August 2008 September 2008 October 2008 November 2008 December 2008 January 2009 February 2009 March 2009 April 2009 May 2009 June 2009 August 2009 September 2009 October 2009 November 2009 December 2009 January 2010 May 2010 June 2010 September 2010 October 2010 January 2011 March 2011 April 2011 May 2011 August 2011 August 2012 September 2012 October 2012 November 2012 August 2013 November 2013 December 2013 January 2014 June 2014 July 2014 August 2014 May 2015 May 2016 June 2016 July 2016 December 2016 June 2017 July 2017

refraction
Jul 12, 2017 || 8:13 AM || comment?

[originally written 02.03.07]
[minor edits have been made]


My fingers caressed the ivory keys. From above, the crystal chandelier caught billions of streams of light. And as the light waves bent in the many prisms, spots of multi-colored light were cast on the bare walls. This room was my room, a lonely little piece hidden away in the expanse of this house. The chandelier was the only friend of my grand piano.

There were no chairs save for the piano seat. There were no paintings hung on the wall, no exquisite vases to give the room a flavor. Often times, I came in here not to be alone, but to be loved.

Pressing all the right keys meant that the piano would sing for me a glorious tune. Pulling back the curtains meant I fed the chandelier and in turn, the chandelier told me a story full of color, full of life. As a child, I had no patience for such things. I never thought being alone could be satisfying. I always tried to get the attention of those around me, and sometimes it would work. When people wouldn't listen, I would go outside to tell the flowers about the adventures of my day. But too soon would the flowers die, and I would soon accept the concept of being alone.

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Love's weight
Jul 9, 2017 || 11:30 PM || comment?

Can I ask for my love to wait?

For a second to catch my breath.
For a moment to bide my time.
For a minute to gather my thoughts.
For an hour to write them down.
For a day to practice what I'll say.

Can I ask for you to wait?

For a second to hear me out?
For a moment to just sit down?
For a minute to listen to me say,
"For an hour together, I'll smile with you."
"For a day together, I'll feel love's weight."

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death of a feeling
Jul 6, 2017 || 10:35 PM || comment?

Walking down the hallway, she advanced slowly, like moving through a space filled with agarose gel. Her limbs felt heavy, reluctant to continue forward despite her efforts. The dim glow of the lights from above guided her forward on this path, no visible doorways except for one at the very end of the hall. She knew that if she could make it there, the payoff would be rewarding. The silver bar across the door seemed to shine particularly bright, and as she drew near it was almost blinding. Upon reaching this only exit, she placed her left hand carefully on the bar, and with relative ease, she pushed it open.

Stumbling forward, the world no longer felt like a thick suspension, but rather light, and airless. Where she found herself was not outside, as she originally hoped, but in a square room, with no windows or other doors. She stepped in cautiously and the door closed behind her. She turned quickly as the door clicked shut. As she reached for the handle, it disappeared beneath her grasp, as did the door itself. She felt the wall, seamless where a frame once was. She turned back to face the empty vastness of the room.

A couple of steps forward, and she noticed a small thimble on the ground. She bent down to observe it. Rather than a dimpled, rounded ended, she found a sharp point. Taking the thimble in her hand, she placed it over her right index finger. A light glimmered off its pointed tip, yet there was no visible source for said light. Drawn to its gleam, she firmly pressed the point into the palm of her left hand. Blood quickly rose to the surface, and began pooling in her palm. Tilting slightly, the blood began to drop off the side of her hand. As the drops disconnected from  the surface of her skin, they drifted slowly to the ground, transforming into petals in their descent.

She inhaled deeply, and lightly blew at the small pile of petals that gathered by her feet. They scattered about, flipping and twisting in wind of her breath. She reached for an errant petal, and as she made contact, the petal dissolved into a red fluid on her fingers. She brought the red stained digits to her lips, and licked at them cautiously. Strangely cold, yet the familiar taste of copper soothed her. She moved to gather the remaining petals, each turning back into blood at her touch. Soon her hands were covered with more red than she recalled losing, and the room started to grow dark. The floor beneath her feet became unstable, and she recalled the feeling of being in an earthquake. Unable to regain her bearings, she closed her eyes. Upon feeling a sharp tightness in her chest, she reopened her eyes, and was met with a darkness. As she laid in her bedroom, covers drawn close to her face, the ceiling fan hummed softly above.

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Open letter to the friend I didn't quite make
Jun 19, 2017 || 10:21 PM || comment?

I've been having these thoughts weigh on my mind and I wasn't too certain how I should get them out... Everytime I dwell on them, I feel an emptiness, one unlike any I've experienced.

Pardon me while I speak a little overdramatically, but it feels like something akin to someone dying. Slowly fading out of existence, never hearing their voice or seeing them again. You could talk to them but there's no response. And without saying goodbye, there's this thin layer of dirt covering a deep wound left in the ground.

A void, if you will.

Without this closure I'm starting to doubt the validity of the experience. I can't say all of this because I hardly knew you. So let me indulge myself as I write these words.

It's my secret pity party, because let's be real: no one's reading this, except for maybe one person.

/////

In less than two months one of my best friends will be moving a few states over. I'm fairly terrified because she's one of the first new friends I made whenever I moved out here. It only took three years. And she's been such an integral part of my life for the last six years. I'm so incredibly happy for her, she discounts herself all the time, so sometimes I wish she'd look in the mirror and recognize that everything she has accomplished is so amazing and wonderful and 100% her own doing. Without her, my life seriously be entirely different right now. I wouldn't have an associate's degree, I wouldn't be working on my Bachelor's degree, I simply would not be the person I am today had she not become a part of my life. I'm going to cry when she leaves. I know this goodbye will not be forever--- our friendship is such an incredibly strong bond.

Sorry for rambling so much.

I've been working on some new material for some old material. I can't get Viktor's Girls out of my head, so I've been working on some artwork in order to spark some new life into the project and I intend on writing more for it. Their stories are not finished-- and I'm looking forward to the journey they take me on (and yes, I'm speaking as if the girls are real)!


I'm so...
Jun 11, 2017 || 10:24 PM || comment?

Writing this is a little bit harder than usually because some of the fingers on my right hand are bruised, my index, middle, and ring. And also the tips are cold to the touch, I am wearing a long sleeved shirt. And in the cold of the room, the night wrapped around us, the ceiling fan humming, and no blankets to keep us warm, except for your hand. Through a strained voice I told you...all the things I kept locked away, except for when I sifted through them, finding happier times, but now they are all laced with the bad thoughts from the now. And then you shared with me. Our stories were...almost the same. I think that's what made you sad and happy the most, because you found that you were not alone after all.

[Welcome to The Vault. I'll occasionally tag posts with this label to denote drafts that were originally written some time ago but never published. I won't be editing these posts beyond minor proofreading because I'd like to maintain the integrity of the original content. It's likely I won't recall exactly why I wrote something. I know of the date however I can't simply push forward the post from draft to published because it will place it at the date it was originally written, and no one would know I've published "new" content. I hope you enjoy.]

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English assignment
Dec 8, 2016 || 3:00 PM || comment?

Hello all!

Please pay no mind to this post, it's for an English assignment!

Thanks and have a great day!


Relics from the past
Jul 1, 2016 || 11:20 PM || comment?

Somehow these managed to go unposted....

...and by somehow, I mean I never finished them (big surprise). I wish I could find the source material.

Forever lost in the depths of etsy.