Eat each other like a twisted Ouroboros
Neutralize into nothingness, but fear not
It’s so simple, the theory arose
the sum of all our parts will equal zero
- visibility179
posted 11 months ago, edited 11 months ago
originally written in July 2024
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Princess ApartmentKhrushchevka royalty, apartment-bred The stump in the courtyard houses a fairy There’s a hollowed out brick with a spider scary Shadowed by a hollow box, of princess apartment Concrete Rumanov, will you rot in the forest or in a Cementery? a house elf left a print in the cement, now the path has the hole of a coin sized hoof Leave a leaf under your pillow, four more if you’re behind on payment, Gnomes tend to be forgiving debtors Spriggans shouldn’t be landlords They burst the bubble in ‘08 Blamed it on that NFT monkeygifSimilar ArtworksSee Morearrow_outward
9/25/24The patter of pawsteps and the crisp crunch of leaves.The patter of two racing hearts as wind whips through fur.The iron tang of red staining the fresh snow.Delicate snowflakes drift dusting eternal stillnessThe Last RideHis fragile frame hoistsItself up into the saddle.Tired hands grab the reins.All but used up legs shiftTo the size of the saddle. "I'll make it." Was all he said to reassureAnyone that he could do it.His hands grip the reins,Causing the horse to look up. With the slightest shiftIn his weight, the horse moves.A wide smile on his face asHe pulls to the right. The horse rears up,His fragile frame twisting.A scream as he shifted to one side,In an instant the horse,Was without a rider. His fragile frame lay,Unmoving on the ground.A sad smile on his face,Pulling himself to stand. "I'll make it." He started to walk, thoughIn an instant the ground cameTo meet his body head on. Strong arms picked him up asA worried face met his. "Don't worry Dad, I'll get it." The fragile framed boy pushedHimself to stand on his own.A determined look on his face,His hands tightened as he walked. The horse whinnied as it pawedThe cracked ground.The boy nodded to the animal,Before he shifted his frame.He wasn't going to give in,Without a fight. "I told you, I'll make it." The horse reared up before comingAt the boy in a dead run.A scream was heard as the boy,Jumped and grabbed the saddle.He was going to make it this time. His fragile frame moved with easyThis time to sit in the saddle.The reins flying in the wind asHe grabbed at them.Soon holding them as he pulled back. The horse held no choice but to obey.In a dead run, soon to a dead stop.The fragile framed boy gave a cryIn surprise as a wide smile wasOnce more on his face. With the control once moreIn his hands, he looked backAnd waved wildly. "Come on! One more time!" Several figures kicked their horses.With whinnies the horses followedThe fragile framed boy and horse.The figures on the horses heldSad, soft smiles on their faces.They knew this was trulyThe last time. The fragile framed boyLooked back as a smileThat held no fear was there.The figures smiled with joy,But they knew better. "This will be the last time." The doctors had told them.The boy's fatherDropped to his knees asThe boy's friend couldOnly shake her head with dread. They knew it was going to beThe last time they ever sawThat smile again,That crazy wave, andThe last time they everHeard all thoseRoger Miller songs. The boy looked back to themAs he kicked his horse in the sides.The horse kicked to a gallop,Causing the figures to follow. "I'll get there!" That night as they laid outUnder the stars, he looked to her.A soft smile on his face asHe reached out and placed a strong hand,On her shoulder, soon gripping there. Her eyes cast to his with a sad look.He only shook his head as he smiled,Not wanting to see her or him upset.Soon he squeezed her shoulder,Rolling over then to sleep. "Don't worry, I'll be here when you wake." She nodded as she rolled overAnd dreamed a dreamless dream.All she was worried about wasThe fragile framed boy. Morning broke as she looked to him.He was still rolled over whereHe'd been the night before.She shook him only to findThat in the night,He'd passed away. Tears streamed down her faceAs she pulled him close.His father soon coming,And finding the despair there.Tears crawled from his eyes,As the boy was handed to him. "I told you not to worry." They had heard those words,So many times, and believed them.Now they had only wished,They had told him their own. "This was the last ride."trophyFairy ClubI can’t recall how the argument started, but I remember why: Sabrina wanted to be the leader of Fairy Club. Fairy club took place during recess and consisted of me, my twin sister, and a mutual friend named Sabrina. We would pretend to be elemental fairies with winged horses that would carry us around. We had never had an official vote to decide who was leader, but I ended up naturally stepping into the role, since I had decided our meeting place and led our activities. Our meeting place was a large tree in the middle of the playground, and at the beginning of recess we would all group up and go make potions or groom our horses. It was my favorite part of the day, and I always eagerly waited for it so I could see my friends and we could go off and have magical adventures. Until the fight. My sister was present for the fight but didn’t participate. Instead, she plucked grass from the ground, watching as me and Sabrina fought without a mediator. “But I’m the leader of Fairy Club.” I told Sabrina, trying to reason with her “I made it.” “No, you didn’t!” she yelled back “I made it! I just let you be leader!” "I did!” I began to yell at her back “You’re just lying!” “Am not!” she stamped her feet at the ground, pointing at me accusingly “tell me when you made Fairy Club then! When did you make it!?” I stammered, unable to come up with a response. For some reason, I was certain she wanted the specific day I had made Fairy Club, which slipped my mind. Despite my attempts to throw the question back at her, she rebuffed it, insisting that I tell her when I made it first. We were both growing increasingly frustrated, yelling and throwing the worst insults we could think of. I reached my breaking point when my sister joined in. “Um, I think Sabrina should be leader. You’ve been leader for a really long time.” My sister piped up, getting up from the grass. She stood behind Sabrina, making her position visually known. In my eyes, the ultimate betrayal had occurred. My own sister didn’t even agree with me. “FINE!” I yelled at the top of my lungs, seething with rage “You can be leader of Fairy Club! But I’m LEAVING!” I ran away, pulling my imaginary horse with me to hide behind another large tree, far away from the playground. I wanted them to find me, and apologize to me, and ask me to come back. But they didn’t. Rapidly, anger and vindication seeped from my body, and sorrow took its place as I began to weep. After that, I never found another group to be with during recess. Sometimes I would play with other groups, but I never found one that I became a part of. I had become a loner. In third grade, I tried to rejoin Fairy Club, but quickly realized that Fairy Club bored me. Maybe I had been ignored by Sabrina, who was now leader. Maybe I just didn’t have it in me to forgive Sabrina. Maybe I just had grown out of it. I can’t remember. But soon after joining, I silently left. Looking back, I realize I never really recovered from leaving my only friend group. During 4th and 5th grade, I chose to hide in the doorframe that led to gym and read books instead of playing with my friends, because I had no friends. I’m sure me and Sabrina would have still grown apart over the years, as even in 5th grade, long after Fairy Club ended, I never reconnected with Sabrina. Elementary school was a lonely experience for me, and I can only wonder if it would have been different if I was willing to let go of my pride.(Yllithae AU) Market DayThe market is too loud and impossibly large to be contained in such a small alleyway. Matteo wonders, glancing over the crowd, how any of them manage to stay sane in the bustle of it all. He’s barely been on the street for an hour and already his head is spinning. Everything in the marketplace is squeezed between two long rows of buildings - vendors, customers, pickpockets and all. Many of the merchants have awnings dyed eye-catching colors, or woven with intricate designs. Those who can’t afford such niceties have blankets rolled out between stalls, down side-alleys, all they have to offer plainly set in front of them. Guards stand watch at intervals, talking amongst themselves or otherwise staring into space. Matteo’s eyes slide from one curiosity to the next as they slowly push through the crowd. He can see cages in one stall, small ones closer to the front and larger ones lining the back walls, and even still more outside, taking up a part of the walkway. Inside sit various creatures he’s not seen before; In some of them are little reptilian things, all tooth and claw and scale. In others strange feathered beasts wrap in on themselves, peeking out from behind delicate wings. In the largest of the cages stands a creature so close to a human that one could be mistaken for kin alike were it not for the unsettling silver shifting beneath their skin and the dead-eyed, vacant stare. The vendor barks the names of these creatures to passerby in a thrilling, captivating voice, but Matteo can’t seem to catch the words in his mind long enough to remember them. In another stall, pots and bowls large enough to fit a child inside stand at attention. Along the walls perch smaller, delicate little ceramic pieces. Finely sculpted scenes painstakingly carved into each surface, glazed in impossibly bright azures, creamy yellows, harsh reds. Matteo catches Ellis glancing at them, and then away, very quickly. The price for any of them is too great, certainly, and for all the world Matteo can’t understand why a vendor of such fine pieces would deem fit to sell them here. Moving on there are several stalls in a row full to excess with food - all of which smell wonderfully tantalizing. Matteo’s mouth waters as they pass by. Little fruits collected in bowls, overspilling with bounty, bunches and bundles of herbs and spices and dried meats hang from twine strung around the edges of the stalls. One in particular is the source of the most drool inducing scent of them all; A small stall with a fire pit set into the back of the house it’s attached to, with a fat bellied pig roasting atop. ‘They must own the house, ’ Matteo thinks as he passes by, neck craning to continue taking it in. ‘I can’t imagine living here… ’ Strangers shuffle past on either side, part of the ebb and flow of the market as a whole. The lifeblood of the city. Each person has an entire life, a whole world of their own, different in style and look and feel to the next. Watching them is entertaining on its own, he thinks. Strong bodied women, basket under arm, trundle past with coin purse in hand and more tenacity than any warrior. Children scatter through the crowd amongst the various skirts and robes, chasing the strays down alleys and up stairways. Couples and groups walking together, chattering away in hushed tones, only to exuberantly brighten with a laugh here and there. Each and every person has a purpose here. Matteo feels misplaced amongst them. ‘How am I supposed to blend in with this, when these people have more life in them than I’ve ever had? I can't pretend to know this. If this is humanity, I'm unsure I can count myself among the human. ’ The sense of othering leaves him uncomfortable and distracted. With no tether to the people and places around him, hopelessness rears. Out of his depth by miles and miles, the reality of his dire situation comes to focus once more. With a slow movement he reaches out before him and grasps Ellis’ hand. He needs a lifeline, a connection to the here and now. Anything to feel less like a stain on bright parchment. For what it’s worth, Ellis doesn’t balk. He doesn’t slip his hand away in disgust, he doesn’t swat at him for having the audacity to do it, no, the stoic man simply takes his hand and squeezes it, equally grateful to have a tether he can hold onto. Chimes ring as a breeze pushes into the market, flowing through the stream of people like a gasp of air after a long dive. The collective sigh of the crowd makes them feel as one, alive. Both Matteo and Ellis can feel the shift around them, and in that shift can feel their own disjointedness. Ellis tugs Matteo closer, exchanging hand for arm, and keeps him tucked close to his side. Matteo is glad for that - for the protective gesture of it. He can feel eyes on both of them from somewhere, perhaps everywhere, as if the city itself had shifted a judgmental gaze upon the outsiders. A preposterous notion, but one nevertheless entertained with a paranoid thought.