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Kaidan
Jun 25, 2022
In Short Stories
The cosmic told me a lie. The weight of my sins. The whispers of the demons. This chamber. All of it is a lie. The stars have littered my line of sight for all the time I have been here. But my body is getting tired. Worn out. Day and night have become entangled into a mess of knots. I still think of Big Brother, but his face has blurred into the years. Whenever I lie down, the ceilings far above would meet my eyes. They curve down into a sphere, from the apex to where I lie on. I imagine this place to be a Moon, a half Moon. I would lie down on its see-through floors, overlooking the skies below me. An endless canvas of white. I would watch the clouds shift through the winds, for hours, until everything turns into a dark indigo. But those are days I am awake. But I am hardly awake. Hardly ever present. Nothing awaits me in these cold walls. Only the overpowering vibrations of silence. And so I choose to be in slumber, swimming around the depths of what lies within me. I have tried to shatter this barrier. I would take a deep breath. Let the silence fill me with the pungent venom of anger. It’s stronger than me, that I know. That’s why I let them in, poisoning me with wrath. Then I'd leap, feel the flares burn the air around me, and strike. A thousand hits, blinding violet sparks bouncing off the floors. And then I would be above ground again, gathering a spiral of heat and destruction in between my hands. I would thunder down the floors. Let the sparks drain my essence until I’m dust. But every time I strike, the glass suffers no cracks. And so I would throw myself onto the ground, hoping the flares would burn me. But I would not burn. I would lie back on the floor, and let the silent lulls of slumber take over me. And I would no longer be present. These days, in the distant skies of the night, I’d see strobes of light. Flickers. One would think they are the stars, but the stars do not speak. The stars do not sing. These strobes, long and short, in intervals, they carry words from a distance unspeakable. I imagine it would be Big Brother speaking to me. I'd often reconstruct his face in my head, reaching my hands into the void of my mind. Completely blind. But I wouldn't grasp a form, an image of him, or the gentle words of his. The only time he speaks to me is when I’m floating in the sea of nightmares. His warm voice would speak in songs of silence. Then I'd awaken again. I took in the cold, suffocating air, and muttered prayers: for Big Brother. To Lucifer. To the demons that sealed me here. I leaped, plunging into the ground, gravity pulling me along. Bursts of violet burnt the air, hitting the floors. There it is. Through the blinding beams, flickers sang to me from a distance. As if cheering me on. The stars blinked multiple times before dwindling into nothingness. Big Brother is waiting for me, in the Pandemonium, thousands of miles below this surface. If I stayed here, I am not strong enough. I sent the last sheds of my strength to the ground. I watched as the burning sparks dimmed, fading into thin air. Flames of amethyst singed my skin at the surface. Wisps of smoke and mist hung above the floors. Cracks, even the smallest, the slightest; there are none. I clawed my hand on the floor, scratching through to find cracks. The barrier is solid. The floor is cold on my forehead. I watched the strobes flick, light up, and vanish into the darkness. I took a deep breath. Clouds of breath formed on the glass. The stars are singing again tonight. Another old flash fiction piece I polished! Mostly to practise prose. I hope you enjoyed
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Kaidan
Jun 25, 2022
In Poems
Sometimes I feel alone In these constellations of people But in every silent hill, And in places light cannot see, I see another human just like me It's so easy to forget that the sun shines, To remember how it casts a shadow of us It's so easy to forget All the little things It's so easy to forget the warmth of the shores When you're drowning in your head It's so easy to forget That the stars carry your dreams When everything is falling, And the stars in your eyes are dying, It's so hard to remember all your reasons The sun might not shine the same, Time might not bring warmth, And the stars might not come alive But it is enough to just be here To just lay in silence There is another human like you, There is another human like me, And that is why we are not any less whole I don't actively write poetry, but I tried and thought this turned out kinda nice
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Kaidan
Jun 24, 2022
In Short Stories
A relatively old flash fiction piece I polished. Warning for mentions of blood. What a lovely thing you are. I imagine those words escaping my mouth, rooting from the deepest crooks within me. Steeped in thick, burning fantasy. Those words, for him only. I'd lay down on my bed, on a summer day, with the sun falling onto my sheets. He would lay next to me, smiling, with the sun gentle on his cheeks. But when I look ahead, to the walls of my room, and to my bed sheets, the empty space on the other side of the bed looks back at me, gaping a hollowness instead of his warmth. He is a man of few words. His voice is faint. His presence sways with the wind, like that of a ghost. He comes and goes, and you would only realise after he was gone. Sometimes our eyes would meet when we run into each other. He would snap his gaze away, guarding his secrets behind his star-lined eyes. But it was too late. I was washed away by his stormy waves, sweeping me off the shores. He loves the garden. He loves watching the flowers and speaking to the cacti. He loves the geraniums, the monstera and the little ivies. He probably didn't know I was there, the first time he went to the campus garden. He's oblivious. Carefree and sparkling with cheer. He spoke to the plants, and I watched from the bench. And that was the first time I saw it: a peek under his shirt, used to wipe off his sweat. His stomach was littered with white gardenias, growing from under his skin. But he wasn't bleeding. We all have them. Flowers that bloom from our truths and wounds. I too have them, my small buds of apricot blossoms. They grow from my core, pulling at the skin of my chest and broad back, the buds dainty and in full colour. But it's strange. I am not in pain. The second time I caught a glimpse of his flowers, they were small bushes of gardenias in full bloom, with traces of red, pulling at his skin. He looked around the empty locker room, only to meet my eyes. And that was the start of a slow understanding that he is as human as I am. We both are, with the strange flowers that grow from the core of our bodies. The way he talks and laughs, all of it is so human and so real. How his eyes glimmer in my presence, and how his hair shimmers under the sun; all of it is so lovely. The third time: his back, chest and stomach were blanketed under clusters of camellias, with traces of blood. But even then, he is lovely. He is lovely, in the way the flowers blossom in the face of the sun; in the way gentle sea winds whisper; in the way the warm soil settles under our feet. The universe pulled us closer; I learned to cherish him, in parts and as a whole, with all his faults and imperfections and all his little cracks and flaws. But the universe also tore us apart and I learned that flowers bloom from our scars and they leave you dried out of your essence. Because the joy of his presence was the start of my hardest goodbye. Moments with him felt infinite. When his warmth was no longer the part of my present, the world turned darker. And so here I am, under my sheets on yet another summer day, with the other side of the bed empty. The ceiling stares back at me and my flowers, sweet briars blooming from within my skin. The edges of my universe grew smaller when he left. I would utter these words, if only he were here. What a lovely thing you are.
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Kaidan

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