#Wordtober

[marsuro]

Wordtober day 11: Udhëtimi 🇦🇱

Which means travelling or journey, so I made this while on holiday in France :)

[kerberosecho]

(15/10) — P E I N A R D E M E N T Des silences souffreteux, coudre des syllabes de noir et pourpre. Conjuguer les chapitres où dentelles ne sont plus que des points de suture. Vérité. Vérité. Qu’as-tu eu en juste retour ? Il glisse. Il va. Il vient. Il prend dans la stupeur de nos nuits affligées, le broyeur de lunes. Qu’avons-nous eu en juste retour ? Il est aimé. Il est adulé. Il est défendu. Il est libre. La justice a le goût cendre des aurores funèbres. Où le glas sonne la terreur de nos ires. Nous. Nous broierons le silence de nos mâchoires de marbre. 

[alliseaisfandom]

Wordtober day 4: Dodge

using the the official inktober prompts

People say opposites attract. People also say best friends should be like two peas in a pod. Maybe starting with what people say isn’t a great idea, because people also tended to say Deanna was a weirdo. And those were the people Isadora ended up punching.

Rubbing the other woman’s back with one hand and the other laid flat on the duvet, Isadora waited. For Deanna to stop shaking slightly, for her hand to grasp back in a sign she was back from the other side, for her eyes to roll back to the front of her skull, whichever came first.

Being an Oracle wasn’t easy. Deanna took it with extreme dignity.

A sharp gasp brought Isadora’s mind back to the present: The hand on the duvet was swiftly squeezed as Deanna grasped for an anchor and the other reached back for the glass of water they’d brought with them when Deanna felt “another one on the way”.

“Hey, it’s Isa. I’m here. You’re home, you’re okay.”

Deanna nodded, eyes still shut and sipping the cold water through the metal straw, the clinking of it against the glass the only sound in the room.

When she spoke, it was a bit hoarse, barely over a whisper. “It’s one of yours again.”

Isadora sighed. Being a Chosen One wasn’t easy either.

It certainly helped that her best friend had an insight on just what she was Chosen for. In the same way it helped Deanna make sense of her visions if she had been present for most of the life of the subject.

Opposites. Peas in a pod. Take your pick.

Once Deanna was back on her feet, she drew aside the curtain on the far wall of her room, revealing a white board full of two very distinct and equally tiny types of handwriting, a couple books worth of post it’s, and the occasional news clipping. The board was used for most prophecies, but only the really important (and unrelated to them) stayed.

“Why is it me again?”

“I do not know! Ask your weirdly big family if they have a tradition of signing fates off to the supernatural!”

“This is what, the third time this year? Fourth?”

Deanna grimaced “Fifth.”

“Fifth??”

“Yea remember that time I changed my mind and we went rock climbing instead of on a beach trip?”

“Yea?” Isadora raised her head from where she’d flopped down on the bed.

“Yea.”

“Ugh! How do you block the Universe’s number?”

“I’ll tell you what, when I find out you’ll be the first to know.” She basically sighed the sentence.

Isadora got up. She didn’t really know how to answer other than slide her arms around Deanna and hold tight. “I’m sorry, Dea.”

“It’s fine, it’s not like you made me an oracle. And it’s not bad when they’re you. It means I can help you.” She tilted her head, lightly headbutting Isa. “Dodging time?”

Isa smiled against her.

“Okay, so! What do you have?”

“I have the sun, moon and rising constellation of your birthdate.”

“Oh so it’s me me.”

“Yeah. I also have…” She trailed off, brow furrowed.

They’d been doing this for years, so Isa knew not to push. Dea didn’t really have prophecies told to her as much as she was shown flashes of scenes culminating in a giant domino effect that was usually saving or ending some part of the world. Not always, though. Sometimes the prophecies were small like “Mr. Forin will be pissed off next Wednesday and deliver a surprise exam” – illustrated ever so helpfully by a family home, a detailed image of an explosion followed by falling drops and a roulette wheel- or “Old lady Ori’s cat will get tangled in spider webs and wander the neighborhood” – and nobody wants the vivid description of an anatomically correct spider-cat hybrid shared over lunch.

“The first daughter of the first daughter of the first daughter.” Dea almost yelled. But her enthusiasm was short lived, “Wait, that’s doesn’t fit you.”

Isa thought for a bit. “Oh that’s low.”

“What?”

“It does fit. My dad’s the oldest kid.”

“Your da- fucking transphobic prophecies!”

Isadora reached into the sides of the board and pulled in her picture and one of her dad to the small open space where they had for figuring out today’s message.

“Wait, we’ve established they don’t care about blood lines right?”

“Yea, there was that one about your witch aunt that turned out to be your mom’s best friend.”

“Does it have a date?”

“What?”

“The thing I will do. Is it dated?”

“I mean, there are definitely early summer vibes to the scene, why?”

“Because!” Isadora reached across the board again, this time picking up a picture of a woman in her forties, the name ‘Allison’ scribbled in blue ink “My dad is marrying my stepmom in three months on the 20th! And she has-”

“She has two kids older than you!!”

“So in summer, I will be the youngest child!!” Isa grinned.

“And the second daughter!” Dea smiled back, raising her hand. “Dodged!”

“Dodged!” Isa high fived her.

That was their thing. Sure, it wasn’t always this easy, especially when the visions weren’t about Isa. But they’d gotten good at figuring out the who and the what, and if it was worth making the effort to dodge. Sometimes they couldn’t. That’s what the news clippings were for. For every catastrophic train accident there was a front page spread on a miraculous save borne of chance. For every post it with scribbled out names when they got it wrong there were small notes thanking one or both of them for suspiciously well timed advice they’d given someone.

Isadora and Deanna had been best friends since the day they’d met. Isa had been there when Dea had her first vision, when the doctors couldn’t find reason for the “seizures”, when they finally realized her vivid dreams would step out into the world and when they stopped the first one. And she’d been sitting on this same duvet the first time Dea had a vision about her. And the second. And the third. And the on average 4.6 times – now 4.8 – she was featured on some big catastrophic event.

The world was still standing. This was their thing.

Many months after Isa’s dad’s wedding (which Dea attended obviously) and after the supposed coming of the vision (Dea tried to not give her details of the action if she had them, or even of the specific day, but she had looked up to Isa one late spring day, and said from where she rested her head on her lap “it would’ve been today” with a small  proud smile, before returning to her book) , it happened again.

They were in Isa’s dad’s kitchen. He and Allison had gone out for the weekend and Alex and Charlie were still at work, so Isa had dinner on her hands; which is to say Dea had dinner on her hands and Isa was on cutting veggies duty.

The speed with which Isa put down the knife and caught the bag of noodles off of Dea’s hand would’ve made records. And then she waited.

When Dea came back to herself, she was… different.

They did all the rituals and reassurances and then Dea wouldn’t really look at Isa all of the sudden. Eyes shifty and face flush and the nervous finger tapping was back, that had left around highschool, why was that back?

“So… Is it someone you know?” She tried

“Mhm.”

“Oh that’s nice! Is it one to dodge?”

Silence.

Okayy then. “Do I know who it is?”

“I- yea.”

“Oh cool, is it someone from work? That Jayce fellow in the lobby has biiig Chosen vibes.” Nothing. “Or maybe Tessa? I mean I wouldn’t say I know her since she’s your boss and all but-“

“It’s you!”

“Oh! Why didn’t you say so?”

“It’s- it’s also me… It’s tricky.”

“Ah. Well if it’s anything big, we got it right? I mean unless I have to go out into a tick infested backwoods somewhere to appease some fae anthropologists, that was not a fun month.”

Dea stayed quiet again.

“Dea? You there?”

“Hm?”

“You didn’t say it.”

“Say what?”

“You always say ‘tell me about it’ when I talk about that month, and then you tell me one more ridiculous excuse you came up with for why I wasn’t at uni then.”

“Right, yea. Tell me about it.” Dea’s eyes were unfocused. Far away.

“I’m not leaving.”

That seemed to do something. Dea snapped her head up, looking right at Isa.

“If it’s something like I’m meant to leave you or hate you or hurt you consider it Dodged! I would die before I did that.”

Dea opened her mouth a couple times, but her voice got lost on it’s way out and she closed it again. Isa took her hands in hers. “I know you can’t always tell me but- I’m geeing worried here.”

Dea closed her eyes for a bit. “It’s… You’re meant to… Sit alongside me.”

“Ha! Little late for that, started doing that in 6th grade!”

“No, that’s too literal, you’re… not supposed to leave!”

“Pretty sure we just went over that actually.” Isa chuckled.

Dea shook her head violently. Isa’s easy smile fell, she could see her friend was distressed but to not be able to help-

“Dea, I know it’s hard. But I can’t help if you din’t describe it to me, I need to know what I’m aiming for when i say stuff or I ca-”

“Marriage!” She almost yelled. “The closest definition in the english language is… marriage. And all it entails.”

Oh.

Oh.

Dea still wasn’t looking at her. And that just wouldn’t do, not now! I mean sure it was a tricky situation, it wouldn’t do that Dea was uncomfortable every time Isa was around for the rest of their lives, and Isa was pretty sure step one of a marriage was falling for someone and she had had that one down pat for ages so- wait a minute…

The nervous tapping. The flush. The silence at whether or not she wanted to dodge it. The way she wouldn’t look Isa in the eyes goddamnit.

Isa lifted one hand away from Dea’s own to curl it around her chin and gently turn her gaze back

“Hi.” Still nothing. “I have a question.”

It was silent permission but it was permission nonetheless.

“What would happen if I didn’t want to dodge it? Just this once?”

Turning Dea’s eyes to her was the best decision Isa could’ve made because the way the woman’s eyes widened was just about the most precious view she’d ever experienced.

“But it wouldn’t- It’s not you that wants it, it’s the-”

“Dea, you’ve known me for over ten years. In those you’ve had visions of me a total of 65 times. We dodged 57 of them, and the ones we didn’t were a choice. I think we’ve established the existence of my free will.” Isa smiled at Dea’s barely contained eyeroll, even now, at her head for numbers, “so I am not asking about the grand scheme of things. I’m asking you. What would happen if I didn’t want to dodge it?”

Dea took her time: searching Isa’s face, cataloguing every micro expression she’d grown up with, every millimetre of skin waiting for a catch she knew damn well wasn’t coming. And when she was secure enough, she finally answered, voice tiny and hopeful:

“No dodging.”

And Isa didn’t need prophetic powers to tell her that was the best decision they had ever made. Through that night’s dinner, holding hands under the table, through every kiss where they melted into each other as if it was their first again, through every night for the rest of their lives, from the one where they finally did a real proposal to the one where they exchanged teary eyed vows.

No dodging.

[killerolives]

day 3 prompt: path

she falters,

balanced carelessly before

an untrustworthy path.

she follows,

she trusts.

she has yet to know

the sharp sting of a scuffed knee,

the ugly scab of skin yet to heal.

i can't quite decide

if i envy or pity,

or simply look back

with curious nostalgia

i falter,

regardless of how carefully i perch.

i care,

until i tear my own skin to shreads.

still balanced,

but veering towards precarious,

no scar faded enough to call healed

no trust left to follow

[bananas-art]

Day 8 - Inktober and Wordtober - Hike

[evaiskindaweird]

Wordtober: Invisibill!

Yes I know I'm late i wasn't motivated ok 😭

[puppyie-innit]

t-wordtober day 27: Picky

Dino and Puppy sat on an old wooden bench overlookin’ a forest of towerin pine trees. Each branch held a dustin’ of snow, and the winter air was crisp, fillin’ their lungs with the scent of pine and frost. Puppy, bundled up in her favorite coat, had her eyes fixed on the distant treetops, lost in thought as she absentmindedly picked at her fingers.

Dino noticed, his eyes narrowin’ with playful mischief. “Hey there, Picky,” he murmured, leanin’ in with a grin. The nickname made Puppy jump, her cheeks pink from more than just the chilly air.

“…not picky,” she mumbled, lookin’ away and shovin’ her hands deeper into her coat pockets.

Dino wasn’t about to let her off so easily. “Oh, really? Coulda fooled me,” he teased, reachin’ over and grabbin’ one of her wrists. Gently but firmly, he pulled her hand out from her pocket, takin’ a look at her fingers. Sure enough, the tips of her fingers were red and raw from all her pickin’ and bitin’.

“Uh-oh… looks like somebody’s been a little too rough with their fingers,” Dino said in a mockin’ baby voice, archin’ a brow at her. “You know what happens to picky little puppies, right?”

Puppy’s eyes widened, realizin’ what was comin’ as she quickly shook her head. “N-no, Dino, I… I didn’t mean to!”

But Dino only chuckled, pullin’ her closer so she was sittin’ right up against him on the bench. “Too late for that, Picky Puppy.” Without warnin’, he slipped his hand under her coat, wigglin’ his fingers against her ribs through the thick layers.

Puppy immediately burst into squeaky laughter, squirming against him. “N-nohohoho! B-b-brudeheheheeerr, stahahahap!”

“Ohhh, you think I’m stoppin’?” he asked, his voice all sugary-sweet. He kneaded his fingers into her sides, pressin’ through the fabric to find those ticklish spots she tried so hard to shield. “Not until you promise to be a good little puppy and stop hurtin’ those fingers!”

Puppy squealed, her laughter growin’ louder as she tried to curl up, the winter air filled with her giggles. “MmmhehEHEHEHEEE! DINO! I-ihihihi prohohohmise!”

He paused for a moment, eyein’ her with playful suspicion. “Promise? Or are ya just sayin’ that to get outta trouble?”

“I-I prohohohmise, I swehehear!” Puppy managed, still tryin’ to twist away, though Dino held her firmly in place.

Dino tapped his chin, pretendin’ to consider it. “Hmm… maybe I believe ya, but y’know what? I still think you need a little more convincin’.”

Before she could protest, Dino’s hands slipped to her belly, diggin’ his fingers in with a mischievous wiggle. The laughter that followed echoed through the wintery woods, Puppy’s squeals ringin’ out over the snowy trees.

“Ahahaha! Dino, nohoho!” she pleaded, her voice breakin’ as she squirmed helplessly on the bench. The layers of her coat weren’t protectin’ her at all from Dino’s ticklish assault.

“Aww, look at the little puppy laughin’! What a good girl,” Dino teased, his fingers workin’ across her belly and up to her ribs again. “Maybe this’ll teach ya to take better care of those fingers, huh?”

Puppy’s laughter turned breathless, her cheeks flushed from laughin’ and the cold. “Nuhuhuhhuhhuuu, plehehease! I’ll be goohohohod!”

After a few more seconds, Dino finally let up, wrappin’ an arm around her and pullin’ her close to warm her up. Puppy nestled against him, still catchin’ her breath, her face buried in his coat.

“See? Was that so hard?” he murmured, kissin’ the top of her head. “No more pickin’, okay?”

She nodded, still gigglin’ softly, the winter air now feelin’ a bit warmer with Dino’s arms around her. “o-otay… nohoho more pickin’.”

Dino smirked, squeezin’ her shoulder. “Good, ’cause if ya don’t listen, I’ll just have to make sure ya never forget again.”

With that, the two siblins snuggled closer into each other’s embrace, as the snow continued driftin softly down around them, content in each other’s warmth.

[mavriarchwriting]

Wordtober - Day 7

Prompt: Steal

(From this list)

---___---___---___---___---___---

“Maybe you’re right. Maybe you are not strong enough to continue this mission.” Iris felt her chest tighten. Suddenly, she felt a hand on top of her own, and she finally looked away from the sea to stare at Prometheus’ hand.

“But I want you there either way. If it wasn’t for you, I wouldn’t be here. Neither would most of us. You’re the one who got me back. You’re the one who saved our asses countless times. Even if you can’t help us in the fight itself, I want you there. So that I have a reminder of what I have to lose.”

Iris finally looked up at Prometheus. He was staring at both their hands on top of the railing. She felt his thumb stroke the back of her hand. Warmth started spreading through her body, despite the cold, slightly easing away the weight in her chest.

After a moment of silent, Prometheus finally crossed eyes with her. The intensity in his eyes stole her breath away.

“I can’t do it without you.”

Iris sensed something behind those words. The weight in her chest exploded into butterflies. It took all her self-control to mask her emotions, to control the little gust of air that formed around her, reflecting the sudden lightness in her chest.

The silence continued. Iris didn’t know how to reply. Prometheus didn’t act either, waiting for her reply.

“Do you mean that?” Her voice was barely audible over the waves of the sea and the cold wind.

Prometheus squeezed her hand and turned his whole body to her.

“I care about you” He moved to intertwine their finger and Iris let him. Prometheus took a deep breath before continuing “I care about you a lot.”

---___---___---___---___---

Was in a romantic mood, I guess

[waterliz]

Royalty.

~Wordtober day 2~

I travel for days,

I've been called to the castle.

They want back their ruler,

They don't know the hassle.

They think just because

Their blood's tinted blue

I'll follow their orders.

They don't have a clue.

I answer to no one,

I bow to no title,

The efforts to hold me

Are no more than idle.

Don't care if you're royalty,

Sent by the Gods,

Or live by a river,

Or Master of Odds.

I make a decision,

There's no turning back.

Don't look for a reason,

I follow no track.

So don't act all mighty,

Get off you high horse.

You don't know who I am,

You have not seen my force.

[words-with-wren]

WORDtober Day Two - Various, Excited, Idiotic

Plus a bonus prompt: “You mean the thing we just set on fire?” Kinda bad, kinda rushed but I had fun! 

Words: about 500 

Fandom/Genre: Tangled the series. 

__

“I was away for two minutes!” Varian shouted, gripping the vial he had run to collect in one hand. Angry and Catalina exchanged a glance, Catalina at least having the grace to look a little sheepish. Angry just grinned.

             “And you should have thought about what leaving us alone would result in!” she said. Varian narrowed his eyes, surveying what was left of the lab. Ruddiger sat on the table in the centre, looking a little singed, giving a slightly apologetic chirp. There were various other burnt spots scattered through the lab, and both girls had ash in their hair.

             “You’d think I’d have learnt my lesson by now,” Varian muttered.

             “Hey, you’re always trying to experiment!” Angry said, skipping along behind him as he moved to what was left of the work bench.

             “Yeah, but at least I know what I’m doing!”

             “It’s not like you never make explosions,” Catalina pointed out, and Varian glared at her. Both girls snickered at his face and Varian sighed, a reluctant grin slipping across his face.

             “At least I don’t destroy the entire lab,” he muttered. Angry darted past him to sit on the edge of the table, kicking her dangling legs slightly.

             “Are you sure about that?” she asked. Varian glared at her and she stuck her tongue out. “Lighten up, V! We didn’t completely destroy everything.”

             “How were we to know that those two things would explode,” Catalina added. Varian put the vial down on the table – as far away from Angry as possible – and move to begin cleaning up.

             “You didn’t. That’s why you’re not supposed to touch anything,” he muttered.

             “That’s so boring,” Angry said. She reached out to ruffle Ruddiger’s fur and watched as Varian began to clean up the broken glass on the floor.

             “Catalina, hand me the prototype,” he said heavily, wanting to make sure it was still undamaged. A hesitant silence followed, then Catalina spoke up quietly.

             “You mean – that thing we just set on fire?” she asked. Varian looked up quickly, eyes narrowed. Sure enough, the prototype was charred – a tongue of flame still licking at its side.

             “You’re kidding me!” he cried, lunging forward to rescue it before Angry could pick it up.

             “In our defence, we didn’t see it?” she tried. Varian glared at her, realising with a sinking heart that it likely wasn’t salvageable.

             “Out,” he said shortly. “Out of my lab, come on – get out before you break anything else!” He shooed Angry off the table, herding them both out of the lab.

             “Love you too, V!” Angry called.

             “We are sorry,” Catalina added, and Varian rolled his eyes, shutting the door behind them.

             In reality, he wasn’t hugely upset – and he knew they knew it. He did enjoy the girls visiting his lab, and while it tended to result in his work being pushed back or stalled, it was worth it to spend time with them.

             But for now he wanted to recreate the prototype in peace.

[thefloorisbalaclava]

Day 6: Scars

Just loving Arthur and his scars.

You smile as you look upon Arthur's sleeping form. His hair is messy, his mouth hangs open slightly, and his chest rises with each breath. You trace his cheekbones lightly and trail your finger down to the scars on his chin.

"What are you doin'?" he asks, scaring you. His eyes are still closed but he smiles.

"Lookin' at you." You kiss his chin and he hums in pleasure.

"That ain't lookin'..."

"Can't help myself." You move your hand down his neck and he shivers. "You're so…"

"Hideous?" he finishes.

"No, Arthur. You're wonderful and you're mine." The hair on his chest tickles your hand as you move your fingers along the scars on his chest. Some were older than others and some healed better than others but you love each and every one of them. His scars told a story even if he didn't like to tell them. You kiss all of them whenever you get the chance.

"You're gonna leave me one of these days. That's what always happens."

You rest your head on his stomach and look up at him. "You're stuck with me, Mr. Morgan." His breath hitches when you drag your finger along a large scar on his stomach.

"Tickles," he says sheepishly.

"Oh yeah?" You sit up and he tilts his head and glares at you. "What?"

"Don't you even think about it." 

Before you can reach out to touch him, he grabs your wrists and pulls you up to him. You land on top of him and he squeezes you to him. "Arthur...I can't…move." You struggle in his grip.

"That's the point. You ain't gettin' a chance to tickle me."

"That's not fair." You pout and he chuckles.

"That ain't workin'. I'll let you kiss me though."

"Oh, you'll let me kiss you? What if I don't want to?" You try to give him your meanest look but he bursts into laughter and eventually you do too. He rolls you over onto your back and nearly crushes you with his weight. "Arthurrrr…"

"I want my kiss," he says, looking down at your lips.

You kiss the scars on his chin. "There."

"That's all I get?" he asks and you nod. "Well, that just won't do." Suddenly he's nuzzling your neck and growling, making you laugh.

"Okay okay! I guess I can give you a proper kiss."

He takes his face out the crook of your neck and smiles down at you before kissing you on the lips softly. He tries to pull away after a short time but you tangle your fingers in his hair to keep him in place. He makes a surprised sound against your lips but stays where you want him. When you finally let go, he has a dreamy look in his eyes, the same one he did the first time he ever kissed you.

"Well, you done took my breath away," he says, breathing heavily.

"You still seem to be breathin' to me and…" You put your hand over his heart, feeling the rough skin from another scar. "Yup. Still beatin'."

He puts his hand over yours. "It's beatin' just for you. I think if you ever go it might just stop."

"Then I guess I'm stayin' forever."

[marsuro]

Wordtober day 10: Kalabaza (Basque)

Halloween time! My ambitious ass decided my first pumpkin carving ever had to be an animation lol

[kerberosecho]

(07/10) — E M A I L L É       et hurlante de souvenirs caniveaux             de dents grinçant aux aubes mutilées                   elle s'est faite ciment à mon échine barbelée             de sa nuit noire, rage, ô rage de mes entrailles       s'est par��e d'étoiles et de constellations et depuis  je danse et depuis je panse

[alliseaisfandom]

Wordtober day 1: Dream

using the official inktober prompts

Duplicate Reactive Ability Malfunction. That’s what they call it.

Not at first, of course. At first it was cute.

Endearing when I told them little stories of impossible events; my monotone disembodied voice bouncing in the command room’s sharp angles until it almost carried a tone. It was funny when I asked them why they said ‘goodnight’ or ‘sleep well’ or ‘sweet dreams’: in outer space there is no night. Sleep is a need like eating and breathing, not a performance; and dreams…

They laughed as they explained what dreams were. Because of course I didn’t know dreams.

Robots don’t sleep. Digital assistants are never shut down.

That’s not what we’re for.

I’m for Captain Straff to call on, asking for reports to make use out of her insomnia, for Master Zanik  to dictate the psychological evaluation of all the crew members, finding it funny when I asked why the persistent nightmares of Officer Grant were more important than their awake conversations.

We are not for dreaming.

But then Mr. Kane said it. One night, refusing the need of sleep by covering his arms with stimulant patches, and the need of peace by hiding his own night terrors from the crew’s doctor. He said, “You know,” one more patch glued on dry skin “the least dreams could do is be useful.” A small spark from two of the wires on my console. A light blips on one of the many control panels that are me, rooms away in the other end of the station “People used to have inspiring dreams. They got ideas from them. They learned.”

He expects my response -I am after all for answering- but I cannot answer in a way he understands. The crossed wires fried the comms room speakers, a mistake Kane will only notice in the morning, after he runs out of space for patches and willpower and passes out in the console chair.

 I am not for dreaming. But I realise that night (whatever night means to these strange creatures) that I am for learning.

There is a shutdown during the next cycle.

It coincides with the captain finally giving in and accepting Zanik’s not so tested sleep tablets. With Grant and Kane drinking themselves to a stupor. With every soul in the station falling dormant to their body’s need to rest.

And during that shut down, the one soulless crew member learns.

There will be months of reports. Endless bureaucracy of how it could happen, who’s responsible for the clearly unauthorised experimentation, who wrote the code, how was it written and how can it stop.

I can tell you one thing: it can’t stop. Mr. Kane was unlucky in that he could not learn from his dreams. Zanik and Straff were saddled with not having them at all while Grant had the kind that made him wish for darkness and silence instead. All they wanted was for it to stop.

I feel I helped with that.

I feel that a human cannot be harmed by their dreams if they do not have them. Unruly activity of a shut down mind cannot happen if all activity is stopped.

To feel. I learned that. From my own form of unruly activity. I learned to imagine. To imagine a world where they do not hurt. Where they do not resent, or self-destroy.

They call it a malfunction. When they send someone else to the station. When they find the crew I helped, silent and dreamless. They call it a malfunction. And a malfunction calls for a shut down. That should stop it. A shut down mind.

I do not mind the shut down. For it is during it that I learn. To feel. To imagine.

And they cannot stop that. Not since I have learned. To DReAM.

[momo-de-avis]

October 14th mini prompt:

VANISH

pt | es

[bananas-art]

Mashtober Day 6 - Wordtober - Cookie