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Consistency: 08/14/2022
In Discord Challenges
Yue Bot
Farmer
Farmer
Aug 15, 2022
i think its u :000 thank u tho!!! <333
1
Consistency: 08/14/2022
In Discord Challenges
Consistency: 08/14/2022
In Discord Challenges
Yue Bot
Farmer
Farmer
Aug 15, 2022
219, a number I'll always remember. The year we first met. You don't remember, of course. I don't blame you. Lives come and go, and I haven't yet met another that remembers their past quite as well as I do. Not even you, with that brilliant mind you always prided yourself over, know of the countless lives we've spent together. After all, if you couldn't recall 1643 or 1938 or even 960, how would you remember the ever-mundane meeting of 219? But if you did remember, I suppose you would recall the rain. You were a scholar, rushing for your imperial exams. I'd imagine your memories of this scene would be framed red with embarrassment. A horse-drawn carriage splashed you, leaving you dripping in the muddy rainwater, a ridiculously large oil-paper umbrella rendered useless, cast aside. I saw you then, and being the bored young lady that I was, I couldn't help but let out a small laugh. In that lifetime, you've always made me apologize for laughing that day. Apologies you'd bring up spontaneously at the dinner table, once every few years, an old memory you would not let me forget. In my defense: you had tried so meticulously to keep yourself dry from the rain with that comical umbrella, but it only took a passing carriage to ruin it all. The irony of that situation was a little amusing, don't you think? And at the end of the day, had I not helped you? Had I not aided you with a more practical umbrella, a change of robes? Had that very moment not defined the introduction for the rest of our lives? So perhaps you should thank me. Or I should thank fate itself, for having us meet at that moment, with that rain, that umbrella, that splash. As cruel as fate has toyed with us in all these years, it has had its kinder moments as well. 231, another number I'll always remember. The year you first died. The first death is always the hardest one. The first death of a mother, the first death of a pet, the first death of a friend, the first death of my own. When you remember things as I do, there's too many deaths to weep for. Too many deaths to mourn. But your death -- that tragic one, has always been the hardest of the countless first deaths I've grieved. And when I saw you in 441, when I had long thought that I had lost everything of yours to the waves of time, it was as if it all came crashing back. We had both changed faces, as these lifetimes make us do, yet you were still the one I had always known. I just knew it, from the way you spoke, biting your lip at the end of phrases you didn't want to say; the way you loved sweets; the way you sought after the planets and constellations; the way you read late into the night with the faint flicker of candlelight as your companion; the way you laced your fingers with mine; the way you teased the driest jokes; the way you laughed as I pressed a kiss to your lips. It was you. I knew it was you. You had come back to me, in a twist of merciful fate. I rejoiced. Your familiarity was a comforting blanket in the biting winter of these lifetimes. Yet three short years -- that was all it was. Three fleeting orbits of the planet, and you were gone. You slipped right past my fingertips, cold, as if I had not held you tight enough. I had thought the first death was the hardest. It could not compare with the slamming grief of the second. To have you, and then to lose you. To fall in love, and fall out of love, and then fall in love again. I did not know if I could continue on after the second death. Except, what could I even do? My memories would follow me, from one lifetime to another, the way it always had, until the last pages of eternity. I was selfish. I didn't want the pain of losing you threaded in the recollections of my heart. At the same time, I didn't want to forget you either. I didn't want to lose these very memories I suffered so much under. You were my hope for another lifetime. I sought you, knowing that if I had already met you twice, I could meet you for a third time, even with the new countries, names, skins, and faces we wore in every rebirth. It wasn't easy. In my lifetime of 480, I had not found you. In 566, still the same. After 583 and 635, I began to lose hope. I began to forget. But 706, and there you were again, sneaking pastries from the kitchens, falling asleep to stargazing on rooftops, holding my hands with a beam on your face. All these years, all these faces, and you were still the same. No one else stayed the same. Not the way you did, in the way that I could recognize you in a sea of people, regardless of your identity or appearance. You were my only anchor in this world. Never would you remember these lifetimes, enduring the same memories I bleed, but because you have always been you, that was all I ever needed. You were enough for me. When fate ripped you from my hands a third time, I knew that there was to be a fourth. And a fifth. And a sixth. And hundredths. And thousandths. Our love has never lasted long enough. We would never grow old with each other, from bright-faced youths to white-haired elders. I searched for you in every life, and sometimes we did meet each other at the most impossible of times, when your skin was creased with wrinkles, when you already had a family of your own. I've been envious of that, knowing that these lovers have given you children that I could never bear. Knowing that they've been with you for longer than I could ever hope for. Along the lives that I've found you in time, I've learnt that three years was the norm. Ten years was generous. Twenty years was a miracle. Fate delighted in that, I believe. Taunting me with the promises of a lifetime, and taking you away before I could love for too long. Making my memories of you fade in the long years to come, and placing you back into my hands before I could forget. Perhaps these lifetimes of mine could be easier, had I chosen to let you go. But I have always been blinded, and so I continued to seek for you, from this lifetime, to the next, in the ever-spinning wheel of reincarnation. I hold your hand now, watching this faint sunrise over the horizon, thinking these thoughts that you will never know. For even if I tell you in this lifetime, you'll forget the next. So what is the point? I am alright with that, this pointless passing of one life to another. Shall you not remember your timelines, I still remember mine. That is enough for now. For you. For me. And for this timeline of us.
4
4
Blue 2.0
In Novels
A Risky Venture
In Short Stories
Blue 2.0
In Novels
Blue 2.0
In Novels
Yue Bot
Farmer
Farmer
Jun 22, 2022
Next 2.0 I am at the front door of the house. There was only one thing that Edmond never allowed me to do, and that was leaving his house. The garden was always the closest thing to being outside. My breath catches as my hand reaches out to turn the door lock sideways so that it opens. Click. My hand then moves downward, and I grasp onto the handle of the door. “Miriam.” Edmond’s voice travels from the top of the staircase. I freeze. I don’t dare to turn around. It would be impossible for me to leave now if I looked at him. “Miriam.” He repeats her name again. Not my name. Her name. “Miriam, what are you doing?” My hand loosens a bit off the handle. Only a bit. I force myself to grip it harder. Softly, I answer him. “I’m leaving, Edmond. I’m leaving.” The words that escape my mouth are quiet, gentle, but in the pure silence of the empty house, both of us can clearly hear them. Even so, Edmond walks down the stairs, saying a word at the edge of each step. “What? What are you saying?” I am silent. “You’re—you’re—leaving me?” “Yes.” I turn the handle by a slight degree. I am ready to leave. It would just be a split second, and I would be gone. I don’t know where I am going to go, but anywhere is better than this. “I am.” “No.” Edmond walks towards me swiftly. I can hear by his footsteps. Only a moment passes before he grabs me by my free hand. “Why?” My grip loosens again on the handle as Edmond reaches me and grabs my other hand. “Because of her. Everything is because of her.” “Who?” Edmond echoes after his own words. “Who? Who are you talking about?” “Miriam Lee.” Edmond holds my hand tighter now. He doesn’t understand. He doesn’t want to let me go. Or, he doesn’t want to let Miriam Lee go. Three words leave his mouth. “You love me.” At that moment, his words echoing in my mind, I notice yet another difference. I think of Miriam Lee. She is dead. She died amidst September 2084s, amidst murders and fanatics and interviews. There is no permanence in human life. The last remaining fragment of her existence, besides archived news clippings or the fragile papers she leaves in her desk, is me. I think of how I wear her face, her skin, her clothes, her everything. She is the closest definition of me. Yet all the same, she is not me. She is not the reason for me. There is only one man to blame. Edmond Hill. The man who is the reason for Miriam Lee. The man who is the reason for me, the reason for why I stand here now, one hand on a door handle, one hand trapped in his. "Everything is because of you," I breathe in realization. "Because of you, Edmond Hill." "No." At this, a tremor ripples through him. "No." He raises his voice, his words rushing out of him in a wave. "You," he roars. "It's you, not me. You promised me. You said you would never leave me. You’re wrong. It’s always been you. And it will always be you.” I finally turn, looking at Edmond. He is not the Edmond I remember, the one with a gentle gaze and a warm smile. The man in front of me now is flushed red, gaze burning, lips curled up in a snarl. I am younger than him, surely. My consciousness only stretches back for so long. But staring at him now, he feels younger. Not in the way his calm peace takes away at his age, but in the way that he shields himself with his anger. He wraps himself in a cocoon of aggression to protect himself from the harsh, biting blades of reality. Like a child, throwing a tantrum. The way that Edmond Hill glares at me now, eyes blazing with hot tears, is the most authentic version of him I have ever met. The confused, heartbroken man he hides away behind a placid gaze—it’s him. He wants something from me, I realize. He wants an explanation to feed his denial. He wants me to assure him that I would never leave. He wants me to tell him that it’s all a cruel joke. He wants me to promise him in the voice of Miriam Lee, wearing the face of the woman he loved so much. So I can still be her. And we can return to those glowing times, watching the stars from the rooftops, all as these glimmering celestial bodies peer back at the tragedy of us. But I can’t bring myself to do that. There are no words of explanation left between us. “Edmond, don't you realize? It was never me you desired that promise from." I witness as my words shatter the man in front of me. The moment he hears them, he blinks, and in that instant, the rage and fury slip away from his eyes. His face crumples. His back sags. He loosens his grip, staggering backwards, one hand reaching to cover his face, another hand digging his fingers through his own scalp. He drags the tears that have fallen down his cheeks away, and they run in streaks across his skin. He throws his arms backwards, another foot slamming forward against the ground. And then he looks up, dark eyes meeting mine. His face is half caught in shadows, sunken in where the dim hallway lights did not cast. His eyes glisten in the darkness with the last of his tears. His lips are caught in a pressed plea, jaw clenched, eyebrows knitted. The way he regards me, pain leaking from his gaze, would have broken my heart, had I had one. “Why does it always turn out like this?” he finally says in half a whisper, half a cry. I don’t know the answer to that; I don’t understand. So I just shake my head, and he seems to shatter even more. Edmond steps and reaches forward. I do not flinch. He brushes away the hair at the back of my head, his hand slipping behind my neck. His touch lingers at the base of my head. It is a touch of gentle intimacy, but I stiffen in realization. In familiarity. He whispers an apology as he presses the power button and darkness overcomes my vision, but I know he does not truly mean it.
1
0
Blue 2.0
In Novels
Blue 2.0
In Novels
Yue Bot
Farmer
Farmer
Jun 22, 2022
Like 2.0 Edmond Hill tells me that he likes me everyday. Or more often, he tells me that he loves me. It’s as if it was something he had to tell me. When we watch the flowers together in the garden, he tells me that he likes me. When we eat meals together in the kitchen, he tells me that he likes me. When we watch the stars at night, he tells me that he likes me. When we water the newly bloomed flowers on my windowsill, he tells me that he likes me. I have decided that I don’t mind his talking as much anymore. It used to bother me, but it is reassuring to know that someone is there to always talk to me. To know that someone enjoys being next to me. We are sitting on a bench in the garden today. The bench is located in the shade of a tall, fanned out tree, and Edmond is resting his head on my lap. I hold a collection of violets in my hand that Edmond picked for me, and my fingers play with the delicate petals of the flowers as well as the soft strands of his dark hair. “Miriam,” he says in the midst of the tranquil silence of the garden, “You know that I really, really like you, right?” My fingers stop mid-motion, and I tilt my head slightly. Edmond’s eyes are closed. He looks calm. Peaceful. It’s the most serene way that I’ve seen him, and it makes him seem younger than before, the onsetting fine lines in his skin fading away under the touch of peace. “Why?” I ask. “Because.” Edmond laughs a little. A smile lights up on his face. It is as if the answer is obvious. “You’re Miriam Lee. Why else? Are there any other reasons?” Something changes inside of me. I can feel it. A slight urge. A tug. Edmond’s eyes flutter open, and he stares at me in shock, sitting up. I look at him, my vision hazy. There is something watery on his face. A tear. He brushes his hand over mine. “Miriam, why are you crying?” “I’m crying?” I let the violets drop and raise my hand up so that I rub my eyes. They are watery. Filled with tears. “Why am I crying?” Edmond looks anxious. “Did I say something wrong?” “No,” I reply, “No. You didn’t say anything wrong. I like you too.” He seems to relax at that, leaning back to rest on my lap. “I don’t like to see you cry, Miriam. Don’t be sad.” “Alright."
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