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Consistency: 08/14/2022
In Discord Challenges
Dayllyn Night
Aug 14, 2022
Exactly 250 words. TW: depression, suicide PLEASE DO NOT READ IF IT'S TRIGGERING. TW: Depression, suicide Moments turn into seconds. Seconds turn into minutes. Minutes turn into hours. Time that keeps tick, tick, ticking away, and yet, you are still. You do not move. You do not speak. You let the tendrils of fear gradually engulf your senses. Tick, tick, tick, goes the clock. And slowly, slow enough that one walking by would not know you moved at all, you blink. And you blink again. And again. And again. And again. You blink until your eyelashes are fluttering in time with the clock, synchronised with the rising and falling of your chest. Tick, tick, tick. Blink, blink, blink. Inside, you wonder if you can blink yourself out of existence. If you can blink away your hopes and dreams and fear and nightmares and terror and pain and hurt and agony and it is crippling you and you cannot stop. So. You choose to stop it all instead. Stop blinking. Stop… breathing. You raise your hands to your throat, inhale that last, clear breath and begin to squeeze. And as your eyes begin to close and you fight to stop yourself from inhaling that one, sweet, beautiful breath, you realise that you could stop this. Restart. But it is too late. Your eyes have closed, and your chest no longer moves. You fade into the bliss of dark shadows, lost in unconsciousness. And through it all, the only sound in the ringing silence of the room is the fading tick of a broken clock. Tick, tick, tick.
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Consistency: 08/09/2022
In Discord Challenges
Dayllyn Night
Aug 09, 2022
WC: 275 He lay there in the silent dark, a bearer of twin souls. One withered, frail; the other bursting with vibrance and youth. His hands clenched the sheets below him. No movements stirred the air around him, save for the steady, slow rising and falling of his chest. Was this how he would live? On a night spent alone, exhaled breath causing misty tendrils to curl up into the air? Nothing he had hoped for, longed for, dreamed for ever came close to this. On the outside, his lips were slightly parted, eyes open, staring at nothing. He looked as if he were already dead. Inside, a battle waged. The decrepit soul residing within him begged him to give up, to finally close his eyes and succumb to death. The soul who had barely lived—who, despite his past experiences, was still young yet—urged him to stay awake, to stand and rejoice in the beauty of life. Neither soul conceded. As the faintest shimmer of dawn approached, he sighed. He no longer wished to remain in this constant state of denial. As the first ray of light struck his body, he exhaled and gave in. Slowly, he unclenched his fists. Slowly, he let the soul who still desired to live take over his body, animating his movements in a way that reminded him of a young pageboy. And yet, as his body began to move, his mind began to fade. The old soul in him smiled, withered—died. As he faded into unconsciousness for the very last time, he thought that if he could not live on as a boy, he would continue to exist as a dream.
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Consistency: 08/03/2022
In Discord Challenges
Dayllyn Night
Aug 04, 2022
WC: 336 The villagers look forward to the Winter Ball. Few of them can afford more than a new ribbon to tie in their hair or wrist, but no one cares. As autumn fades and the air turns crisp, they swarm together in the square, bustling to-and-fro to set up decorations. On the 24th of December, at exactly midnight, the ball starts. Young men and women twirl through the falling snow, plain dresses and coats whirling around their feet as they twist and turn in time with the melody. No one notices the shadow that blinks before slinking behind the trees in the square. Every year, the villagers have a Winter Ball. And every year, one of them goes missing. This time, the shadow spots a young child sitting by the edge of the square, partially hidden by a copse of trees. His name is Henry. The shadow doesn't care. It creeps behind the unsuspecting child, lightly treading on the forest floor. "Shhhh," it whispers. Henry twists around, eyes panicked, but it's too late. The shadow pounced and dragged him away before he could even make a sound. —------------------------------- Hours later, as the ball draws to an end, the tired villagers return to their homes. A scream erupts from a woman's throat as she sees a dark pool of blood where her son once sat. "Where is he?" she yells. The other villagers look at each other and shake their heads. The boy will not return to them. And so, the village mourns for Henry. They have a funeral for him and promise his family that he will be blessed in the afterlife. Yet. As winter passes into spring and spring changes into summer and summer cools into autumn until it is finally winter once more, the villagers begin to prepare for their annual Winter Ball. They will never stop. The shadow—the beast—will never stop. So, as they dance and sing with merriment, the beast creeps up and watches them once more. It knows who it'll target this time. The mayor.
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Dayllyn Night

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