sunflowersnows-blog - Tumblr blog

sunflowersnows-blog · 5 years ago

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Plot Twist

In the early morning, the cavern got its first taste of light. The pinkish glow of the sun bounced off the pillars holding up the head of the cave and the stones that peaked from the water.

Vivie woke up to seagulls screaming overhead and the lapse of soft waves, kissing the shallows hello before retreating to the vastness of the sea. A day like any other, then. No storms marred the clear sky, not fat drops of water to plip and plop against the sea that roared with a vengeance, the anger of its mother. No, just a gentle, low tide morning where the winds blew soft, the birds flew low, and the fish swam in their schools, safe in their formation and content. She envied them. Their tummies filled impossibly full with algae or other small fish, she bet. Her own stomach was groaning in protest, phantom hands tearing through her organs to press into her skin in protest.

She groaned, sitting up from her seabed among the corals and rocks, softened with thick fuzzy algae that tickled her sides. She stretched her arms high above her head, humming at the pops her bones made in protest after sleeping most of the night away. What could she say, she was lazy.

Doing a quick survey of the other rock formations deeper into the cavern, she noted most of her party was still asleep, only one or two spots were vacant of their occupants, who were probably out fishing or something similar.

As sluggish as she may be, going to bed in the mid-evening had it perks. She was given the opportunity to admire her pale pink, almost translucent scales that reflected gorgeously off the glow of the gentle sun, causing a spectacle of colours to flash across the cavern walls and roof. With an irritated hum, she picked off any bits of algae that had stuck in between her scales with sharp fingernails, annoyed with how they clung to her stubbornly and ruined her otherwise flawless tail. Perhaps she was being a bit vain, but she thought she was entitled to as much-- how could she not be when she looked this good?

“If you keep picking at your scales like that, you’re not going to have any left.” A voice startled Vivie, dragging her out of her reverie. She furrowed her eyebrows and hummed, displeased, turning to stare at Phi who had poked her head out of the water just to the right of her at some point. She was always good at being sneaky. She should have noticed she was one of the early risers, Phi always preferred an early hunt. And perhaps, she sadistically liked spooking her too.

“I wasn’t picking at my scales, I was picking at the algae in them.” She huffed, pouting. Her girlfriend hummed, unconvincing while Vivie whined in protest.

“Oh, please stop being so loud. I’m begging you-- You’re going to wake everyone up, dear.” Phi sighed, swimming up slightly to rest her elbows on Vivie algae rock and cradling her face in her hands, large honey eyes batting her lashes at her. Although she was supposed to be upset at the other for the insult, she instead felt a flush settle over her shoulders and cheeks as Phi used her free hand to run her fingertips teasingly over her hip and down her tail.

“Isn’t everyone supposed to wake up anyway?” She pouted, slightly more quiet this time. “I’m hungry and the sun is up-- It’s wakey time!”

Her Phi chuckled at that pushing herself off her elbows to lean over Vivie hand still resting on her tail.

“Yes, it’s wakey time. But no one wants to wake up to you being a brat.” Her breathe danced across her skin as she smirked at Vivie, revealing sharp pearly canines. It would, in any other situation, be pretty hot. And don’t get her wrong, it still was hot and she would love nothing more than to lean all of her wait onto her Phi, throwing her arms around her shoulders and kissing the stupid smirk off her face. But. But. She was not a brat (really, she kinda was, but that was mean and not nice and how dare she call her a brat) so she whined back, “I am not a brat!”

This definitely woke a few people up. She and Phi watched as a few merfolk lifted the heads in alarm, eyes bleary but wide as they looked where the outburst came from. They were greeted with the two of them, at which they sighed in exasperation and smacked their heads back upon their plush algae pillows. Phi laughed loudly and Vivie found herself giggling right along with her, tenderly craning her head up to press a sweet kiss to her mouth. She returned the kiss in kind, tilting her head and running her tongue over her lips. She was still smirking, dammit.

“If you really woke me up just so you two could suck face, I am going to end you both.” Came a groggy voice off to the left of them somewhere, a pissed off mermaid who rolled her eyes at the two of them. With a sigh, Phi hesitantly pulled away, pressing one more chaste kiss to her lips before patting her hip affectionately. Vivie whined again.

“Ah, stop with the whining! We’ll have time later, yeah? Plus, didn’t you say you were hungry? I’m sure we all are, so it's better to go eat now.” Phi rationalized. Vivie was still upset, weighing the pros and cons of starving so she and Phi lounge around longer, but the grumbling of her stomach was becoming hard to ignore. Plus, it was still early morning. The day was full of potential! Temporarily, pleased, Vivie nodded in compliance which earned her another soft grin.

She hopped off her rock to clasp hands with Phi, swimming over to where the rest of the group had gathered in a circle. The group was chatting idly, probably still waiting for the one last member to return from her excursions-- she’d be back soon no doubt. In the meanwhile, Vivie joined in on the light banter, swinging Phi’s arm back and forth, cutting the water in tandem with the swish of her tail.

The conversation (which had been jumping between topics like the best kind of squid to the worst ship decorations) carried out for a bit before being abruptly interrupted by a large splash, water droplets flying up as an eager head popped up beneath the waves.

Vivie smiled, pleased to see that their friend had finally made it back to them (a little later than she would’ve liked, but no matter) and was going to greet them, but before she could, they excitedly exclaimed, “IsawashipwhileIwasoutanditscomingthisway--”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, relax!” Phi interrupted, batting her hand at the mermaid to get her to relax. “You gotta slow down, what’s going on?” The other mermaid, who was rapidly combing her fingers through long emerald hair took large deep breathes, unable to keep a wide grin off her face.

“I saw! A ship! While I was out! And it’s heading! This way!” The green haired mermaid clapped her hands together, punctuating certain words.

“A ship?” Someone cried, “Why didn’t you say so!” A clamour of noises broke out among the group, each merfolk squealing in excitement, while simultaneously combing through their hair or checking their reflections in the water.

Vivie was doing just that, running her fingers through long pink hair, trying to rid herself on any knots while maintaining a slightly messy curl. She scooped up some water and splashed it on her cheeks, admiring her reflection in the water while she adjusted her hair. A moment later, Phi popped out from underneath the water beside her (she didn’t even realize she had left... She really ought to be more attentive) and handed her some bright red strands of seaweed.

“Here you are, dear. Pretty seaweed for a pretty girl. Plus, the red will contrast your hair nicely, a dark red against a soft pink!” She gave her one of those toothy smiles again and Vivie giggled bumping their noses together.

“Thank you! You’re the best! I love you!” She beamed, returning back to her reflection and strategically weaving the seaweed in her hair, knowing Phi was doing something similar beside her.

Satisfied with her appearance after a few more tugs on her curls, she glanced over at Phi to admire as she still teased up her hair, pushing tightly bound curls into place and off her face. She watched silently until Phi seemed to be done with her adjustments, turning her attention back to Vivie with a grin.

“Would you care to sit separately this time? Or together?” Phi questioned, gesturing to the many rock formations, green heads poking out from rolling waves. Vivie pondered for a moment, eyes switching between a large, mostly flat rock that would easily fit the two of them near the mouth of the cave and a small jut of stone that could barely fit a person, just a little further out in open water.

“Hmmm... I think I’ll fly, er, swim solo this time. Is that okay with you?” Phi nodded enthusiastically, clasping both of Vivie's hands within her own. Brown eyes skirted to the jut of stone she had been glancing at, nodding approvingly.

“Of course it’s fine! Of course! That’s a good spot. A bit tricky to maneuver on gracefully, but I know you’ll make it work. You always do. You should grab it now before someone gets the same idea.” Vivie turned her attention to the several other stones that were quickly filling up with merfolk, assuming their own positions. She let out a silent gasp, squeezing Phi’s hands and leaning in to press a kiss to her upturned lips.

“Okay! I’m going! Thank you! I love you, stay safe!” She heard Phi laughing in the background as she turned away and began to hastily swim over to the rock. No one seemed interested in it now, but she had her eyes set on this one. She trusted Phi would find her own, equally as good rock in no time. Once she swam over to the stone, she was pleased that it was slightly bigger than it came across at a distance. The added space would make it easier for her. She perched half of her tail on it, hoisting up her upper body until she was just barely sitting on the rock, most of her lower body being emerged in water. With a lack of room to put them, she rested her hands in her lap, hoping she looked okay. Giving herself a one over in the water, she turned back slightly to look behind her.

Sure enough, Phi was perched some way away, on a rock of her own. She was sitting differently, almost as if she was sun tanning. She raised a thumbs up in silent validation. Vivie smiled and gave her own thumbs up back, turning around and resettling herself. Now, they waited.

It was when she first saw the brown (or maybe black? it was hard to tell) haul of the ship, did she sit straight with attention and opened her mouth to sing. Ther merfolk behind her began to vocalize in harmony with her song, creating a melody that felt soft and light to the ear, rolling over the waves.

A few seagulls that were flying overhead stopped their flight to perch on rock tops or on the water, letting the music of the sea lull them to and fro. The ship too, swayed to and fro, straight towards them. Vivie fought back a smile, straining her vocal cords to sing as loud as possible, projecting her voice on the tops of whitecaps and send them rolling to the ears of the fishermen (or adventurers, or merchants, or pirates) on the ship.

The ship only got ever closer. And closer. And closer until Vivie could confirm the wood of the ship was black with colouring and at its mass was a statue she likened to herself. A maiden with spiralling long hair that covered copper skin, a symbol of protection. A sentimentality that went in vain, clearly.

With the ship so close, she could relax with the vocals, turning her song into more of a soft hum of noise. She was more focused on leaning into the haul of the ship as it skimmed the edge of the rock she perched on. Vivie was pleased to discover the boat wasn’t so big as she originally thought, yet it was a decently sized ship, suited to traverse unpredictable water. She still felt small, side by side with such a powerful ship, no doubt old based on the barnacles that had sucked their way onto the bottom of it and the chips in the wood. Vivie prayed she wouldn't get a splinter.

Although no anchor was cast over the side, the boat stopped its course. Now, it only swayed in tandem with the waves, like a cradle rocking the poor babies within. She saw the first head pop over the side a second later. Her purple eyes were met with unruly black curls, that appeared to be tied in a messy ponytail, olive eyes and sun-kissed skin. She mussed what he could be, a pirate perhaps? No, he seemed to clean to be a pirate, yet too shabby to be royalty. Maybe a merchant? In any case, the young man grinned down at her, resting her elbows over the side of the ship and starring as she hummed out her tune. From the corner of her eye, she could see other men leaning over the sides, each enraptured by another merfolk. Faintly, she could hear splashing, her kin making their moves.

Taking weight off her rock to lean further into the side of the boat, craning her head up as much as possible to hold the eyes of the man. Discreetly, she pushed her arm under her chest, pushing her breasts upwards, and squishing them together. He didn’t notice the movement of her arm, but he did notice the perkiness of her breasts. He leaned further over the railing and she grinned as his hand moved from supporting his chin to grab a length of rope that hung off the side of the ship.

She half expected to maybe see a fellow crew member reach out and haul his ass backwards, screeching and panicking about him going overboard. She should’ve known based on the eerie stillness of the water and silence coming from the ship, that that wouldn’t be happening this time. Down he came, using the rope as a guide that he wrapped around his hand. He was a bit clumsy, losing his footing while he traversed down the knots that had been tied into the rope as footholds, but Vivie was patient. She attempted to make her voice as calm and light as possible, watching carefully that he didn’t fall. If he fell abruptly, that would make a rather loud noise and the coldness of sea water would no doubt draw him back to his senses and that just wouldn’t be any fun.

It was worth the wait, when the clumsy sailor boy found his bearings and was now hovering just above her, his waist at her eye-level. He was balancing on the lowest possible knot in the rope he could reach, one hand still tangled in the rope and the other limp at his side. Seeing him up close, Vivie came to the conclusion that he was one of the prettier boys she’d seen. Not handsome, but pretty. His hair was tousled in a rather boyish way and his build wasn't bad either. He was kind of slim, yet she could tell there was muscle in his arms and thighs. He was wearing some worn button up and simple slacks, with a scrap of red fabric tied around his waist and knee high boots. A look she’d come to associate with pirates, but this one was giving her big fishermen vibes. He wasn’t beefy enough to be a pirate-- that or he was just a very bad, weak pirate.

The fisher was still entranced, body still, sans the sway of the rope. She decided to remedy this, bringing her voice down to a passive hum and slowly, languidly pushing herself up to grasp onto the rope and swing her arms over his shoulders, clasping behind his neck.

He gave a quiet grunt at the new weight but instinctively went to wrap his free hand around her middle to keep her upright. It was so interesting that one's mind could be several seas away while the body remained, alert and present as ever. And his body was most certainly alert, if the budge pressing into her hip was anything to go by.

Tilting her head ever so slightly, she was practically breathing on his lips with the closeness of their faces. His eyes were at half mast, much like his dick, and was breathing unevenly. Were he in the right mindset, she would recon he’d stop wasting time and lean in to kiss her, but since he wasn't, she’d just do it herself. Closing the distance, she pressed her lips against his, ceasing her eternal song. The kiss lacked intimacy and was all passion, warm and wet. She could tell he was still rather young with how he failed to keep up. He gasped when she bit his lip, allowing her to further push into his mouth, shoving her tongue into his mouth and licking over his tongue, hopefully encouraging him to do the same.

He caught on eventually, gaining the momentum to push back into her mouth with fervour, clumsily licking over her mouth. He lacked tact and was painfully bad at it, but she supposed she’d chalk it down to being his first time and leave it at that. Distracting his mouth she ran a hand over his hair, freeing it from the tie that held it up to run her fingers through the strands, tugging into the ends. That earned her a muffled groan into her mouth, so she repeated the action a few more times, easing him into it and drawing out more muffled noises.

Once they had fallen into a pretty good rhythm, she decided she was tired of wasting time and wiggled her free hand in between the press of their bodies to grasp at the painfully hard, painfully obvious bulge that only pressed more insistently against her waist. That earned her another, louder noise. She could feel him attempting to draw back, desperate for air, and allowed him a second to catch his breath. He panted heavily for a moment, before she yanked his hair forward to connect their lips again. She hated to be kept waiting.

Vivie returned her attention back to her other hand, cupping the bugle and running her thumb over the tip of it in repetitive strokes. She combined that with pressing as much as her weight as possible up against the sailor, now squirming in her hold. She pressed her boobs up against his chest, letting the ship support their combined weight. Releasing his hair temporarily to tug at his arm wrapped around her encouragingly. She lead his hand up to the front of their chests, hoping he’d get the message. He took the invitation gladly, grasping onto a breast and squeezing it underneath calloused fingers while she once again, tangled a hand in his hair for support. Frankly, him squeexing and rolling her nipple around in his fingers was rather uncomfortable, but she supposed it was fine, for now.

She took her hand off the front of his pants for a moment, reaching just above to grasp at his belt and fumble to try and get it off. In the process of doing that, she opened her eyes, just a pinch, to look off to her side. Vivie couldn't see much, but she saw all that she needed, watching the same emerald haired merfolk from earlier being straddled by a much beefier sailor (now she was just confused, fisherman? Pirate?) who had long since abandoned his belt and was pushing his hips greedily into a slit near the base of her tail. She had her hands around his back, nails digging into the skin but not dragging marks down his back. Their eyes met for a moment, a silent confirmation.

Finally figuring out the damn belt, she pushed it off to the side to slip her hand down the front of the sailor’s pants. In the midst of doing so, Vivie pulled her head back to finally break the kiss, the sailor panting and resting his head against the wood of the ship. He was wearing a rather content smirk, eyes closed blissfully. Vivie took the opportunity at being given a new expanse of exposed skin at his neck to lean down and bite into his jugular.

Hard.

The screaming was a second delayed, clearly too caught up in having a hand wrapped around his dick to notice the blood spurting in steady streams down his neck. His scream was the first to resound around the clearing, but was soon joined by a symphony of the shouts of men, squealing and gasping. The sailor boy was still squirming in her grip, but it was no longer out of pleasure. Now, his hands were clawing at her chest and, in his panic, he let go of the rope holding him upwards.

Vivie caught him as he slumped off the side of the ship, pulling them both backwards until they hit the water. He flailed for a bit, getting far enough to wrap a hand around his throat and thrust his head out of the water, hoarse voice getting out a garbled plea, before she grabbed him by the legs and dragged him back under.

She dug clawed hands into his hips before lunging for his neck, mouth agape and fangs poised. He flailed a moment more, making muffled noise that were smothered over by the suffocating nature of the sea, before going limp in her grasp.

She spent some time, sucking at the holes she made at his neck the best she could, desperate to not let anymore blood cloud the water, greedily lapping it up. She tried to multitask, pulling the deadweight upwards and towards the surface, making quick flicking motions with her tail to propel her up and back, up and back, until she bumped into something solid at her spine.

In one fluid motion, she mounted the flat rock she’d bumped into, pulling the sailor onto the surface and letting him lie on his back. His body swayed gently with the roll of the waves as they washed over the top of the rock and drew back, long brown hair fanning out and moving with the waves. His neck had 4 puncture marks made in them, one over his jugular and one just under that, closer to his shoulder. His eyes were open, glossy green blankly staring up at clouds that were passing through. His belt was missing.

Vivie was displeased with the mess she’d made of his neck, she was normally more precise than to have the need to bite down a second time. She accounted the fault to her growing hunger pains and left it at that-- there was no point dwelling about the past. She got started by tearing the front of his shirt open with sharp claws, and oh, look at that. He did have muscles and a tattoo, it seemed. Shitty pirate, then.

Wasting no further time, she bit into the juncture at his shoulder and began tearing strands of flesh from muscle and bone, that ripped off with little protest. Based on the sounds of tearing and squelching of raw meat, she could tell her fellow merfolk were doing the same.

While she was eating, she felt a gentle pressure at her lower back and whipped around, startled. Although a possessive growl was logged in her throat, she relaxed when she recognized the honey brown hair of her girlfriend. Vivie thought she always looked gorgeous, but there was something especially alluring about seeing her mouth smeared in blood. Thinking about it, she doubted she was finished eating, but accepted the company nevertheless as Phi propped herself up on the rock beside her and ran her webbed fingers through messy hair. Vivie gave her a sweet smile, patting her cheek before turning back to the decaying corpse, pushing at organs that began to spill over into the water.

Although she was still a whiny brat, she was glad she listened to Phi this morning. Per usual, she was right-- it was way more beneficial to eat sooner and makeout later.

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sunflowersnows-blog · 5 years ago

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Pink is…

The heat of your skin after a long winter day, The sweetness of cotton candy, or macarons on your tongue

The cranberry ginger ale that ends up in your kitchen every Christmas

And the starbursts you chew until it dissolves

It's the gentle breeze in the evening, right when the day is about to end

The blanket you burrow under in the cold of the night

The softness of the plushies you hold to your chest

The hugs of your loved ones, tight but not suffocating

And music, muffled from two rooms down.

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sunflowersnows-blog · 5 years ago

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I'm not good at being discreet and I don't want to be.

It’s become the norm to be vague and untruthful in todays society, and that notion is not unfound. It isn’t uncommon to find oneself in a situation where lying/sidestepping the issue is the best plan of action for a multitude of reasons such as for safety or for comfort. However, there’s this idea that when someone is bothered by something, their expected to remain silent about it lest they make a scene. It's become normalized to dismiss people's feelings for the sake of keeping up appearances or seeming professional and composed in a situation they wouldn't otherwise be comfortable in.

I’ve watched this vicious cycle of silence repeat itself multiple times, over and over, always following the same routine. I saw it when my friend was sexually assaulted. When the places and people that were supposed to keep her safe turned against her, when her assailant shoved his phone up her skirt to take pictures. I saw it in the way she always cried in her bathroom at home whenever she recalled the feeling of his hand rubbing her thigh, but when it happened it class she was deathly silent and ramrod stiff, not moving an inch. Saw it in the way when she finally decided to tell an adult what was happening, her assaulter got away with a slap on the wrist and the whole incident was quick to be shoved under the rug because god forbid the reputation of such an outstanding institution be ruined by a girl being assaulted by a predator. I saw it in the faces of girls who came forward with their own allegations of the same man, each scared, each silent before someone else spoke up for them-- how I thought about how long this had been happening and how long they had forced their hands over their mouths because they didn’t know what else to do (it’s not like anyone helped them anyway.) I saw it in the mocking, cruel voices of men who beat their insensitivity into the stories of victims simply trying to share their experiences because their voices are so much louder and more important than anyone else's. I saw it in the downcast eyes of the kids who were too afraid to speak up in class, mumble and fidget while being teased. Teased about their ethnicities, teased about their accents, trying to squirm away in their seats before realizing they had no where else to go so they just sat there and took it, silently, but it was fine because it was just “a joke.” I saw it when I’d cry into my lap, head down and shoulders shaking whenever my father yelled at me. Too afraid that if I spoke all that would come out were sobs and he’d yell even louder, so I shut up and cried. I saw it in the tears my best friend cried when, at every lunch time at school, she was bullied for her “ethnic food.” She resented eating because she knew with each spoonful she’d get another snide remark forced her way but she’d sit there and eat and cry, silently, because what else could she do? And I, I sat there and watched. I watched as she cried and ate her food and I watched her get bullied and I did not do a single damn thing about it. That was the first and last time I ever watched.

When my best friend was sexually assaulted the first offer I made was to walk her to class, the second was to talk to her teacher about changing the seating arrangement, the third was to find the boy who did it and break every finger on his hands so that he’d never touch a girl again, suspension be damned. I may not have been able to hold the other victims, but I held her and promised to protect her, no matter the cost. When I saw him get slapped on the wrist and saw the incident get shoved under the rug, I went around telling every girl I knew to look out for a man by this name, this height, this hair colour, because he’s assaulted a girl once and I don’t trust him not to do it again-- just thought you should know. When I saw the quiet kid in class squirming out of his seat under scruitization of a classmate, I spent 5 minutes yelling at a kid from across a class because how dare you mock him, how stupid do you have to be to not see when someone is uncomfotable. My friend kept a death grip on my shoulder because she thought I’d vault the desks separating us in my anger. He kept his racist thoughts to himself for the rest of the semester. Whenever my friends tell me that someone made them uncomfortable, I always make a note to keep an extra eye out for them to ensure their safety, I don’t care if it means confrontation.

I know my behaviour comes across as aggressive and I know, someday, I’m probably going to get in trouble for being so outspoken (more than I already have.) However, I loathe the idea of victims staying silent because they're too afraid to say they need help, too afraid to say ‘no’. It pains me to see people who would rather tape their mouths shut than admit someone is hurting them in fear of the consequences. For years I was docile, for years I let people walk all over me, watch injustices and not do a single thing about them because I was too afraid of being yelled at, too afraid of being bullied, too afraid so I keep my mouth shut.

I’m tired of being afraid.

I can’t take back all the things I didn’t do when I was younger, the only thing I can do is make up for them now. I’d much rather get in trouble than sit idly by as people suffer under the weight of others' words. I wanna show people it’s okay to get mad, it’s okay to defend yourself, it’s okay to say no! You don’t have to tolerate people who mistreat you. I don’t know the extent of how impactful I'm being, but I think if I can make even just one person feel more safe, feel less afraid, then it'll all be worth any potential consequences that arise as a result of my actions.

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sunflowersnows-blog · 5 years ago

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Appropriate Dating Age

It isn’t uncommon for many highschool students to be interested in the idea of dating, as romantic love is introduced to many of us at quite a young age and only continues to grow normalized as we grow up (I knew many gradeschoolars who had “boyfriends” and “girlfriends” before they even knew what love was.) In some regards, there’s nothing wrong with being interested in dating and relationships because highschool is really the first time teenagers/young adults begin to find themselves and question their romantic/sexual preferences, what they like and don't like, things along those lines.

However, as fun as finding yourself can be, there’s a lot of issues surrounding adolescent dating that is swept under the rug, and for that reason, I think the appropriate dating age should be 24 to 25 years old. First of all, lets talk about biology. Contrary to popular belief, the human brain doesn’t stop developing when a teenager becomes a legal adult at the age of 18. The brain actually stops developing at 25 years old, from that point on, your brain will no longer undergo any developmental changes. But every year before that, ones brain is still growing and changing everyday, meaning a person cannot physically be fully mature until they're 25. Yes, this includes girls, who are often said to mature faster than boys. The growth that occurs faster in girls is that of the emotional and cognitive (learning and understanding) sorts, which means those specific parts of the brain mature faster. Not all of the parts are maturing at the same rate, meaning their brains are also still developing until they reach 25, just like everyone else.

Waiting until you’ve fully developed as a person before beginning a relationship, in my opinion, is a lot smarter and beneficial to you and your partner. You both should understand yourselves and your mental states, making it a lot easier to clearly express what you want out of relationship, even if you've never been in one before. Seeing as your fully mature as well, one should find it easier to sort out their own feelings and have better communication with their partners wheras it can be hard to communicate and rationalize with others as an adolescent because of hormonal inbalances and other external factors (like stress from school/home) that would make it difficult for a teenager/young adult to recognize and properly communicate their own feelings. By having effective communication skills and by knowing the type of person you are before entering the relationship, it'll increase the chances of the relationship being a healthy one where both parties can get the most out of it without feeling like their feelings are being ignored.

This takes me on to the second point, dating as a teenager/young adult can be harmful/dangerous to many who don't even realize they're in a dangerous or toxic relationship (this point is mainly geared towards women, but it can happen to men too.) It is really easy for teens to enter into an unhealthy/toxic relationship and is extremely hard to leave that relationship, many not even realizing the relationship is unhealthy for them. For example, because of this bullshit idea that girls mature faster than men that’s normalied in our culture, a lot of teens think theyre more mature than they actually are, and i’m not saying they’re stupid, I’m saying that because of this idea theyre ‘mature’ that its okay for them to be dating men that are 4 years older than them. Older men play into this idea that girls being more mature is a real and valid reason for them to take advantage of freshman high school students as if they were at all interested in romance and not in taking advantage of them because they know those young girls don't know any better. I have a 13 year old little sister, who is soon to be 14 when I turn 18, not even in highschool yet. There is no way I would date a child my sisters age. No-one should be dating a person with a four year age gap while they're in high school, or even college. Why? Because, once again, there is a serious gap in emotional maturity/brain development. It would be different if it were a 26 and 31 year old dating, hell i’ve seen age gaps bigger than that and it’s fine, but it’s fine because they are both adults with brains that are fully emotionally mature. A 14 year old freshman doesn't have the same emotional maturity as an 18 year old senior, the gap in brain development is just way too large and the whole relationship just seems predatorial. The freshman will think it’s fine because her boyfriend says it is because shes a child who doesn't recognize grooming due to the blindsiding desire to be loved by someone, as well as the normalization of the sexualition of children in our culture (but that’s another story.)

Additionally, there are other safety concerns that tie in with the one previously mentioned, such as abusive relationships (physically, sexually, or mentally.) When talking about abusive relationships in teen/young adult years, statistics indicate that a majority of girls are victims of abuse, one article mentioning 94% of relationship based abuse happens to girls between the ages of 16 to 19. As I mentioned earlier, it is so easy to enter an abusive relationship, because what people don't understand is abuse isn't always physical. It isn't always black eyes or bruised arms. Abuse can be a lot more subtle and hard to pick up on but is just as harmful. Abuse that’s verbal is a lot harder for outsiders to pick up on and a lot harder for the victim to pick up on too. Shit like, “If you’ll ever leave me, I’ll kill myself,” or, “If you love me, you’ll stop seeing (random friend),” are legitimate forms of abuse that start off as harmless enough requests or comments that develop into unhelathy, controlling relationship where one partner essentially controls the life of the other. These relationships lead to serious damage of the victims mental state and confidence and can lead to feelings of despair at being in a relationship that you don't want to be in, but don't know how to leave because no one ever taught you how. A lot of teens go into relationships with little knowledge of what a healthy relationship ought to look like and get hurt as a result of it, which is a failing of the school system for not talking more about women's safety in relationships, how to recognize signs of abuse, and consent (once again, another story.) I’m not saying these girls/women are too stupid to look these things up themselves, but that’s infomration that should be taught sooner rather than later. Lets not even get started on sexual abuse because it’s way too common in relationships. People usually view rape as a thing that happens randomly and for no good reason but it’s statuistcally proven that over 82% of victims know their rapist.

In conclusion, I’d like to say that this is not a callout post. If you are dating someone right now, I respect both you and your partner and I wish you the best! I also understand that not every highschool/college relationship ends in tragedy and I don't look down on people who enter relationships before the age of 25. Your life is your own and you can go crazy with it! The above statements are the opinions I've formulated as a result of personal experiences, experiences I've had seen with friends/family, and statistics and is in no way meant to make anyone question themselves negatively. If anything, I only wish you take out of this healthy idea that you deserve to be happy in your relationship, you deserve to be treated kindly and with respect and there's no shame in getting help if you're having doubts about anything happening to you. That being said, stay safe and be aware.

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sunflowersnows-blog · 5 years ago

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“So, heya. Got a question for you.”

The girl shifted, putting more weight on the table that supported her elbows. She was starring outside as she often did, since the kitchen table overlooked the door to the backyard of the house. Her aunts house-- dad didn’t have a house. The weather was okay today too, despite it being a solid negative seven outside. It was sunny and the rays of light reflected beautifully off the snow, still unmarred by footprints. Her hands were clasped together and for once, she wasn’t mindlessly thumbing through he phone in constant search of distraction. The internet here was shitty, anyway.

Her dad was flittering about the kitchen that opened up beside the table, grabbing bowls and spoons, wiping counters, and washing dishes. No matter what he was doing (driving, cleaning, talking, sitting, for fucks sake) he always had a nervous buzz about him that permeated throughout the entire house. Even when she was upstairs, there was a sinking feeling that lingered in her gut because of him, two floors away.

On second thought, maybe it wasn’t his constant anxiety that disturbed her so. Maybe it was the memories of yelling and violent words he once spewed that she recalled at the worst of times. Like, whenever he was so much as mentioned in conversation, let alone sitting three feet away from him. Or maybe she was over-analyzing the situation and she was just stupid. Maybe it was that, maybe.

Through his anxiety driven cleaning, he turned to her with a nervous smile to respond, voice high pitched and honeyed. It was like standing in a flower field, expecting the cool breeze of spring to pass over chilled ears, but hearing nails raking down a chalkboard instead, squeaky and uncomfortable.

“What is it, sweetie?”

He always used pet names talking to her and she wanted to feel mad that someone so violent, vindictive, and downright fucking insane at times could take on such a harmless and kind demeanor (it was the nerves, the nerves made him seem more gentle. No one would think such a squeaky pushover like him could hurt his children, no one.) However, in place of righteous anger there was naught but a dull ache and looming dread.

‘He’s gonna yell at me. He, he-- he always yells at me. Always yells, always mad, always nervous. I hate this. Will I be like him, some day? Nervous, useless, angry? Am I like that now? Please, please, anything but that, I don’t want to be my fathers daughter. Please, please. I hate this. I hate coming here, I hate asking for things, I hate being in the car with him. I’m scared and I hate it, I hate it.’

She prided herself on keeping such a nonchalant face while suppressing the urge to rock back and forth on her chair, squeezing the fingers she had clenched in a fist to avoid the shaking, and breathing deep and slow to prevent the tears threatening to form at her waterline. What a cry baby, she was. She cleared her throat and began, cursing the unease present in her tone.

“Why did you have to do this? All… All of this. Why did you marry a women you didn’t love? Had she not suffered enough in her childhood only to have a husband who never treated her the way a husband ought to? Why did you make your wife suffer for 18 years only to be too much of a coward to leave properly? Why did you think it was okay to cheat on your wife? Please, please, tell me why you made my mother cry through her rage. She spent so many years letting you walk all over her so that you could stay to raise the children you didn’t even want to give her, so please fucking tell me why she wasn’t good enough that you couldn’t fucking say it to her face that you didn’t love her or that you never had. She could’ve done, so, so, much better than your sorry ass, let me tell you that. Now, tell me why, when your wife was at work and your children were asleep, you created profiles on dating sites and talked to women who probably hadn't the slightest clue you were a father because you’re a liar. Tell me why you never put your ring on when you went to work. Tell me why, dad, fucking tell me please because I've been thinking about it since you up and left like that little man you are and I was left to pick up the pieces of everything you broke. Moms trust in men, my sisters hope, my childhood, all of it. Did you even think about your kids? My sister was so young, so young and she sobbed and it was your fault. Everything is your fault. So, please, please, can you tell me why, father?”

Each words she spoke pierced, sharp as a blade dipped in cyanide that cut open a wound in between the two of them that bled out all over the floor, staining the pristine white tiles a deep, dark maroon. She was shaking now, but it wasn’t out of fear this time.

A silence covered the room, which was expected. She wasn’t quite sure how she expected her father to answer when he was a coward, too busy suffocating in the noisiness of silence that had fallen over the kitchen, imitating the snow that buried the grass outside. When he found the voice to, he’d defend himself with violence and loud words, but never the truth. Because no matter how angry you are, no matter how many cups or plates you shatter in your temper tantrum, you can’t spin the poison dripping from your mouth into 'the truth.'

She wasn’t going to give him the opportunity to do so, however, because this man really just couldn't do enough when it came to ruining his family's lives. Turning to face him, she looked at the miserable being that she had the misfortune of calling father. There was a beast that wormed its way onto his face that contorted it in rage, but she refused to back down, not this time and never again.

She may have been crying, but sorrow no longer lingered in her bones, not for him. The droplets that created tracks down her cheeks were ones that caused wildfires, fanning the flame instead of dousing it. This was not a sign of a quiet retreat, this was a battle cry that forced air into her lungs and anger into her words.

“Actually, actually, I have more questions to ask, dad. Why did you do this to me? Why did you do this to your daughter? How can you stand there and call me sweetie, hun, lovely when you know what you did to me? You won’t say it but I will. Did it make you feel better, dad? Did yelling at your daughter in the comfort of another woman's house make you feel just swell? It gave you strength, huh? The familiarity of unfamiliarity, made you feel like it was okay to say those things to me? I don't know which one of you fuckers I hate more, you or the bitch who stood there and watched as I cried beneath your cruelty. Do you know how bad that fucked me up, dad? I’ve spent the last two years scrubbing your words off my skin and your voice out of my ears. How could you sit there and play the victim, painting a picture with your crocodile tears of a poor, poor distressed prince and the wicked dragon who stole everything from him when, really, the only monster was you? Are you fucking delusional? Really-- I’m curious. Did your anxiety turn you into a schizophrenic too, or have you always been one and just decided to let the diagnosis slip under the rug. Wouldn't be the first time you lied about your mental state! I think that’s a rather important thing to tell your wife about before you decide it’s fine to ruin the lives of your unborn kids because, fuck dad, my mental illness had to come from somewhere and it sure wasn’t mom! Genetics sure are a bitch, y’know? D-Did you think it was fun to watch me s-s-sob as you s-screamed at me for a crime I never commit? It’s almost as if I hadn't heard your rage enough as a child when you and mom always fought. Do you-- I-- Am I some kinda fucked up stress ball to you? You’ve rung all the parental love you had outta me like a sponge and filled me with your failures and stress, because, well, you might as well fuck me up that way too!”

The silence was heavier now and the sheer intensity of it began to worm its way into her throat to squeeze any oxygen she was struggling to keep there as her words, laced in discontent and sarcasm, cracked and came out stuttered.

Why wasn’t he speaking. This wasn’t normal-- why wasn’t he speaking? He would always jump in any chance he could get to defend himself before, cutting down her feelings with anger and authority, so why wasn’t he doing anything now? The shaking of her body was composed of half parts rage, half parts adrenaline, and a pinch of absolute fear while she waited to be yelled at, and yelled at, and yelled at, and yelled at, and--

“Hun, are you okay? You’re shaking pretty bad. Do you need a sweater-- or, or Ill make you tea! Do you want tea?” Her dads voice (level, not yelling, not yelling) shoved her from her brain where she tumbled onto the table, disoriented and confused.

Right. Right. She hadn’t said that, not aloud. She would never say that, no, never. She hated when men yelled and it would just upset her sister, who would hear the screaming match and cry. They had that in common, they always cried, even at the slightest of things. What a bonding activity, relishing in the same pain your father had inflicted on you as kids.

It was tempting, to attack (verbally or otherwise) the man who ruined the lives of everyone who had the misfortune of having him in it, but she hated yelling and knew she wasn’t as strong as she painted herself out to be. That was another thing her dad gave her on top of the mental illnesses-- Cowardice. She was a coward and for that reason, even if her hatred ate her alive from the inside out she would shut up and take it because she was a coward and she hated yelling.

Unclenching her first and leaning back on the rickety chair that threatened to give out from under her, she willed her traitorous, weak body to stop its annoying bout of shivers and took a deep breathe.

“Yeah. Yeah, tea would be great dad. Bubble tea, perhaps?” She said with a voice so honeyed and fake she could taste the sugar coating her lips and ran a tongue over them subconsciously, only to find dry skin. A voice in the back of her head nagged on and on, ‘he’s going to yell at you, see? You asked him for something and he’s going to yell, how dare you. How dare you, you selfish and awful child. He’s going to get mad and it’s all your fault. He’s going to snap and yell and mommy won't be around the save you and your sister will cry and it’s your fault.’

“Sure! Bubble tea sounds great, let me get ready. We’ll go now?” He father responded, glancing over at the clock and finishing up his kitchen cleaning, no doubt running over in his mind the closest bubble tea place that was open. Or maybe he was cursing his daughter for asking something of him again. Maybe both.

“Yeah, I’ll grab my shoes and ask Em’ what she wants.” She stood up off the chair and focused on the sound it made as she less than gracefully shoved it back into the table with hands that still had the faintest of trembles to them.

She hid behind the staircase as she took the steps up two at a time to reach her sisters room, hoping if she climbed fast enough, the dread and worms that had buried their way under her skin would be shaken up and out. She hated this. She hated this, she hated this, she hated this, she hated this. Hated him. But it was fine, everything was fine. As long as her and dad continued to dance around each other in an intricate pattern of footwork that involved leaping above the cracks in their relationship and pirouetting around her feelings, they would be fine.

It was fine.

#Having a healthy relationship with your dad? I could never!

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sunflowersnows-blog · 5 years ago

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To be honest, it's hard to place what my greatest insecurity is because I'm insecure in all aspects of my life. I don't like my appearance on most days, nor my personality, nor anything I create, so I don't really know how to pinpoint my anxiety to any one thing.

I suppose, if I had to be general, the thing I'm most insecure about is myself. I'm uncomfortable being myself. I'm comfortable in my own skin, but I'm dissatisfied with myself as a person.

I suppose the anxiety that stemmed from my own existence can be rooted in the fact that, A) I've conditioned myself to cater to others and B) I don't know how to deal with my problems.

Anything I've done I've always done for the sake of other people in the hopes I wouldn't be a disappointment in their eyes. Whether it be for my mom or for my teachers, I go out of my way to hide certain aspects of myself or tear myself apart trying to be something I'm not for the sake of pleasing others. Even if I'm unhappy or struggling, I have difficulties communicating these things to others because I feel as though it would burden them, I'd be a disappointment for not overcoming my own issues and thusly creating more problems. My inability to communicate is often what leaves me feeling insecure in the first place as I'm aware I don't feel happy with myself, yet can't reach out to anyone to fix it.

Plus, I don't exactly know how to go about loving myself after so long of molding myself to be functional. Not practical, but functional. I find myself struggling with the most basic interactions and often feel disconnected from others, but that's fine because I know how to be compliant and pleasing to be around. Socializing with people is one of my greatest challenges because, at some point in my life, I stopped interacting earnestly and instead started supplying people with what they want to hear, often at my own expense. I don't mean to be fake or dishonest, I just don't know how to open myself up to people after years of being a bootlicker and people pleaser and am afraid of how my true emotions may affect others. I've reached a point in my life where I'm not even mad or upset about my situation anymore. I have grown so terribly numb about my entire life and I suppose that's why I have problems expressing myself to others, I can't feel anything. I don't know how to let myself feel things and it makes me seem extremely apathetic which is a whole other issue on its own.

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sunflowersnows-blog · 5 years ago

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I love my wife.

We got married about - oh, I don’t know exactly - three? Three years ago it was I believe. We had met at High Valley Farm, one of those overly large farming plots that was turned into a business for families to bring their kids to when they had nothing better else to do. You know, the ones that originally had a farm and barn on it and then the owner decided to add kiddy stuff, like corn mazes, a playground, a petting zoo, shit like that.

I worked there as a supervisor for the petting zoo. Easy job, making sure the kids didn’t treat the animals too roughly or fall into the pins while leaning over to pet the sheep, showing them how to feed the miniature horses properly, just making sure all the kiddies were safe and everything ran smoothly.

That’s where I met her specifically. When she first walked in through the tent flap, I had to do a double take. She wore a casual outfit of leggings and a (very cute) oversized sweater with short auburn hair. I thought she was a little young to be a mother but expected young kids to follow her in all the same. Yet, it turned out I was correct in my assumption when nothing came in behind her. It was a little odd to see adults interested in attractions meant to hold the attention of kids, but I, in my oversized, mud stained overalls and hair resembling that of a rats nest, was in no place to judge her. If a grown-ass, women wanted to pay a twenty dollar admission fee to pamper the pigs, then that was up to her.

Teaching her the proper etiquette for handling the piglets was easy enough, (“Scoop them from underneath the bum - yes, like that - and press them against your chest so they don’t fall.”) the hard part was actually talking to her. As fun as it was to watch her swoon over pigs, I would have preferred if she didn’t remember as the socially awkward farm lady.

It took a few moments of self assurance and deep breaths before I even attempted to start a conversation. I approached her, all intentions of being as suave as possible.

“So, you like… The pigs.” In that moment, I wished I could sink into my overalls and become one with the dirt, real smooth indeed, dumbass. Green eyes looked into mine, piglet still held to her chest.

“Yes! I do love them so, they’re my favourite animal in fact! Oh, but I love all animals, I'm vegan for that very reason! Can’t stand the meat industry.” She responded with a shake of her head, clearly on the verge of vomiting a 12 page essay about the ethics of capitalism on me. I was more than happy to hear every word of it.

From there on, we hit it off. I got her number (her number! A pretty girls number!) and we hung out every chance we could. I gave her discounts on her admission tickets and let her stay long after the farm closed for the day. You see, I was a family friend of the owner, Paul, a nice older gentlemen. He was rather lenient and always let me bring friends on to the lot, as long as we didn’t break anything and cleaned up after ourselves. He was a good guy.

Often, after all the animals had been packed up and put away for the night, I would take her to the old barn. Not the new one where the animals slept, the one that was on the plot before all the attractions were built. Whether it be because Paul was creeped out by the thing or was getting too old to walk the solid kilometre from the farm house to the barn, he wouldn’t go near it. In other words, I basically had the whole thing to myself. It was in a state of disrepair from disuse, cobwebs hung in every corner of the high ceiling, light peeking through from holes in the wood and it was relatively empty save the mounds of hay.

A little musty, sure, but I had never been happier to spend long evenings after my shift with her by my side. Having her weave field flowers into the abyss of my hair all while she talked about her day. About the lecture from her professor, about the nice cashier she encountered, about anything and everything.

In that little run down barn is where I had my first kiss, barely getting my (heavily practiced) confession out before being smothered with kisses and giggles.

We got married shortly after and life was perfect. I didn’t think there was anything that could be called perfect in this world, but when she slotted her soft hand into mine and brushed the silver band on her finger against my palm, I knew I was wrong. Perfection existed and it was holding my hand and giggling into my shoulder.

She finished teachers college and was overjoyed about getting a position at a local highschool near her parents' house while I still worked full time at the farm. Being a teacher had been her dream for a while now and she was so excited to interact with the students and nurture them to grow into the best versions of themselves they could be.

Unfortunately, the highschool became a bit less local after we bought a complex a forty minute drive away. I worried about her transportation, but she met my concerns with confidence and pride. Soft fingers smoothed the crease inbetween my brows and reassured me through whispered words that a short drive could never dampen the joy that came with spending the rest of her life with the one she loved. If I cried a little into the nook of her shoulder while we hugged, then that was between me and God.

______________________________________________________________________

At six pm, when the last of the kids had been corralled from the farm and the stalls had all been shut down, I decided to take my little hike to the barn. I clocked out of work, making sure to give my goodbyes to my co-workers, thank them for their work and the likes. I'd hate to be rude, especially since a few had been acting dodgy, more distant than normal. Maybe a misunderstanding? I’d have to ask sometime.

Before I could head out, I was stopped by a firm hand on my shoulder. Startled, I turned back only to come face to face with my boss. I know I said he was kind, but in that moment his face looked so stricken. Somehow, the wrinkles in his face seemed deeper than normal, heavy with an unforeseen weight.

“Hun,” He started off in his heavy southern accent, slow and soft, as if trying to appease a wild animal, “Are ya… feeling well? Y’aint done nothin’ wrong, just a few people are concerned about ya’, that’s all. Say ya go to the barn an awful lot. I just don’t want ya’ to be… alone is all. Bit worried ‘bout ya’, y’know? Been acting off since…. Ya know, the accident. Irresponsible people… Ought to get off the road.” Paul finished with a light sheen of sweat on his face and a hand rubbing at the back of his neck.

I honestly had no idea what he was talking about. Accident? Accident? Like… A work accident? Someone screw up and violate a work safety rule? I paused, running through the events of the past week, but nothing came to mind.

Before I could gather myself properly, I heard Paul rather loudly clear his throat, clearly expecting some kind of answer. His face was pinched and tight, foot tapping rapidly against the soil.

“I’m sorry.” I responded with a heavy sigh, “I didn’t mean to startle you or the other workers, I'm sorry. It’s just that, well, the barns our spot y’know? Me and hers…” I trail off and I hear Paul give a hum of acknowledgment, but instead of relaxing, he grows even more tense.

“Well, as long as ya…. As long as you’re good, coping well and what have you. See you tomorrow, don’t stay out too late.” He gave a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes and lightly patted my shoulder before walking back towards the farm house. I appreciated his concern, but I honestly can’t see what I did to warrant it. I was just visiting my wife, was that so off putting? She was waiting for me in the barn, as she often did, so what was the issue?

Oh well, I refuse to let this incident bother me. You can’t control the thoughts of others, afterall. With that mostly out of mind, I start off towards the barn. As always, she’s waiting for me when I get there. It’s hard to see in the dim light of the evening, so I take to lighting the candles I set up.

“Love, take a look at this!” I start, opening the small bag I brought and pull out a pink candle. “It’s scented! I picked it up just before work this morning. It's sweet, like candy, so I know you’ll like it. Here, smell it!” I offer up the candle and hold it just below her nose for a moment before pulling it away to light it and set it down close by.

She’s lying down, surrounded by straw and dirt, cushioned by a rather large blanket I brought. It was pretty chilly out at this time, after all. She’s looking a bit worse than yesterday but thats okay. She’s still gorgeous, always gorgeous.

But these fucking flies.

With an annoyed hiss, I try to bat them away, taking care not to outright smack my wife in the process. No matter how much I shoo and complain, they always buzz right back to crawl along her skin. At least the raccoons haven’t gotten in.

Ignoring the annoyance, I lay down beside her. Running a hand over her hair, gently combing out tangles and dirt. When I pull my hand away, strands of hair cling to my fingers, but that’s alright. She never had very healthy hair to begin with. I hum with dissatisfaction (I ought to buy her one of those repairing shampoos) before pressing a gentle kiss to her lips.

She’s still ice cold. Even with the blanket, she’s still cold. I run my thumb over her lips in a last ditch attempt to get her to warm up, but to no avail. At least she isn’t uncomfortable though, right? She would’ve said something if she were distraught, but she’s silent now so it must be fine.

I sit back up with some effort and drag my backpack closer to me.

“I brought something else too.” I hum, rummaging through my bag, “it’s the same thing as last time, of course. Oh, but it wasn’t so bad last time, was it? You handled it like a champ! So brave!” I chuckled, thinking of her strength, her resilience.

“We’ll start in a sec I just need… I know I put them in here, I double checked and everything… Ah! There we are! I knew I wasn’t losing it, they were just hiding.” I grin, satisfied with myself before placing the scissors down beside the jar I grabbed earlier.

With that all set up, I grab my wife and gently pull up her head to rest on my lap. Brushing her bangs off her forehead, I look her in the eye. Tenderly, I brush my thumb just under her eye and grab my scissors.

“Ah… I'm really sorry about all this, but you understand, yeah? I’m just trying to help, honey. They’ll get all damaged if I keep them here, and then I won’t get to see your pretty eyes again… I mean! I already did the other one, so might as well finish right? It'll be better this way, I can carry a piece of you everywhere it go! Don't worry, I'll be quick, okay?"

Sheepishly, I look away and then back at her. One gorgeously green eye and an empty socket stare back. If she has any objections, she isn’t voicing them, so it must be fine. It's fine. She understands, surely.

With her silent permission, I press my thumb a little harder over the edge of her socket, just under her eye, feeling where bone ends and squishy flesh begins. I wedge my thumb in the space between the two and press upwards. It takes a bit of effort, but with gentle coaxing I push her eye up and out. I hold it gently with one hand as to not have it roll around and fall, while the other hand opens the scissors.

With a steady hand, I line up the scissors to the string of nerves connecting her eye to her skull. With a quick ‘snip’ the line is cut. Opening the jar beside my thigh, I slip her eye in the opening, watching it softly splash into the liquid inside and float about. She isn’t bleeding, but I still wipe at the socket with my sleeve anyhow, just to make sure she’s nice and clean.

“There we are. See, that took no time at all! Now, I have them both. I won’t let them get damaged or dirty, promise!” I tuck the scissors back into the bag and the jar alongside it after securing the cap. Even though it's still mid-evening, I find myself to be rather exhausted. I gently lie my wife back down in the soil and adjust the blanket around her body, nice and cozy.

Too tired to keep myself upright, I lie beside her and nestle my face into her neck, wrapping my arms around her torso to pull her body flush against mine. She isn’t warm and she doesn’t smell like the perfume I bought her for her birthday anymore, but it's fine. It’s fine.

After all, I love my wife.

“Goodnight, dear.” I mumble before letting the buzz of flies lull me to sleep in place of a steady heartbeat.

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