#pandemic prose

[tlou-reid]

Get her back! ❤︎ Abby Anderson

♡ SUMMARY: abby was so in love with her roommate Nora's girlfriend, she can only control herself so much when you come to get your things after a fight

♡ WARNINGS: angstttttt, unrequited love, pining, heart broken abby :(

♡ NOTES: this is my september challenge for the pandemic prose server! based on get him back! by olivia rodrigo. it is not edited love u guys!

—♡

Abby was tired of the constant buzz surrounding her. When you and Nora first got together, she did not expect it to be such a big deal. She figured with a literal apocalypse surrounding the WLF, there would not be any time to gossip and glitz about what was going on with you two.

Sure, Abby and Nora were roommates at the time, so she was expecting some kind of infiltration into her life, but she at least figured she could walk to the cafeteria without hearing your guys’ names in a sentence. And when it started becoming a conversation subject when she was out on patrols, she was ready to snap.

She knew why it drove her so crazy, she just did not want to accept it. The way her skin lit up when you hugged her after she got injured, or how her eyes constantly searched for you when she walked into a room, or how she always chose the chair next to yours. Abby was hopelessly in love with you and was too scared to do anything about it.

So, yeah, hearing everyone talk about your new relationship with Nora was aggravating her. A lot.

However, it was nice to feel in the loop with things going on. Truthfully, sharing a room with Nora meant that she had the inside scoop on your relationship. She knew when you guys were happy, when you guys were arguing, when you guys were taking small trips together, and everything else in between. She also knew that recently, there was a lot of arguing (which also meant taking trips together, as that was Nora’s go-to solution when apologizing to you).

There was some kind of rift forming, and she could hear Nora apologizing to you through the door. She was going to walk away, let the tension drift away before she entered the room, but, for the first time, she heard you argue back with her. It was hard to make things out clearly, but she heard your voice raise, and you insinuated something about Nora flirting with your friends.

Abby couldn’t help the smirk on her face as she listened to you yell at Nora, your heavy voice seeping through the wood of their shared door. She was frozen, and too busy allowing her heart to fill with pride to notice the door knob begin to turn. She didn’t realize the shouting had stopped until you were walking out of the door. Your eyes fell on her, shooting her an evil glare.

You didn’t mean to be mean to Abby, she was always sweet to you (sometimes, too sweet. like when she held onto your thigh during the ride to the last scar base, but you wouldn’t tell anyone about that), but she was friends with Nora. And right now, there was nothing but hate in your heart for her.

You quickly scrambled away, trying to put as much distance between yourself and Nora as quickly as you could. Abby watched with saddened eyes. You seemed so small, so defeated. She hated seeing you like that. “What are you doing?” Nora’s voice interrupted her thoughts. Abby couldn’t help the nasty look she sent Nora’s way. She didn’t respond to her question and Abby's muscled shouder bumped against Nora’s as she forced her way inside the door.

There was no sign of you for a few days. The chatter didn’t stop, but the tone of it changed. There were no more outward declarations of how cute you guys were together, but, instead, there were hushed whispers of people wondering why they hadn’t seen you two together. Abby knew the answer and knew how much the truth would shake the WLF community, but she respected you too much to tell your business to anyone.

The knocks on Abby’s door only added to the headache she was currently nursing. The patrol she had been sent on was awful. There were scars pretty much every time turn and her group was severely under-manned. All she wanted was some peace and quiet, and maybe to take a nap.

However, her annoyance completely dissipated once she opened the door. There you stood, avoiding eye contact with her. “Oh,” she said softly, “what’s up?” Abby tried to ignore the deep circles around your eyes as you spoke, “Is Nora here? I just want to grab my things.” Abby was surprised at how your voice sounded. You weren’t sad or mournful, you seemed to be more angry, more jaded.

“Yeah, yeah,” Abby felt awkward. You’d never been in the room alone with her before, “Come on in.” She stepped back, holding the door open for you. You hesitated before you stepped in, and even stopped to scan over Nora’s side of the room before you started making your way over to the dresser she had on the side. You opened the bottom drawer, the one Abby knew had been designated yours, quite aggressively. The whole dresser shook with the force you used, but you didn’t reach in to grab anything. You just stared your belongings in the open drawer.

Abby’s eyes couldn’t leave your form. You felt her stare burning into the back of your head. You knew Abby and you had a special relationship. You cared deeply for her, and she definitely cared deeply for you. What you two had was more than platonic, but you were with Nora. Were? Are? Will be? You weren’t sure. You loved her and hated her at the same time. You wanted to be with her, but you also wanted to be as far from her as possible.

You didn’t notice the frustrated groan you let out at your thoughts, but Abby definitely did. She shifted from her place on her own bed. Her body subconsciously moved closer to you, not liking that you were upset. “Hey, you okay?”

“No!” you exasperated, “I hate her, Abby!” You hadn’t even meant to let the words slip. You weren’t even sure if you meant them. Abby was frozen in her spot, not knowing what to do, as more words fell from your mouth, “I hate her, and I love her at the same time! I want to hurt her like she hurts me but I never want to see her cry! I get so angry and then I miss her and I get sad! I don’t know what to do!” Angry tears had begun to slip down your cheeks. You were glad Abby couldn’t see them. You didn’t want to embarrass yourself in front of her (even though there was no chance in hell you could. abby would’ve wiped the tears off of your face and pressed her lips against the trails they left if you would let her).

Abby was surprised at the lack of sadness in your tone. There was nothing but anger as you spit out such confusing words. Abby’s eyebrows furrowed as she tried to decipher what to say next. She didn’t like seeing you angry and she wanted to do everything in her power to make sure you were happy again, she just wasn’t sure how. All you could muster was, “Do you need a bag to put stuff in?”

At this, you finally turned around to face her, only after wiping the remnants of your tears. Your eyes scanned her body. She looked beautiful, sitting on her bed. The way she was manspreading was so inviting, you just wanted to plant yourself in her lap and never leave. “I want to get her back, Abby.” You declared. Your tone had shifted. It was dark, truly conveying the anger you were holding.

“How?” Abby inquired. Her brain also began conjuring ideas. She would help you get your revenge in whatever way she could. She could help you make Nora jealous. She’d do whatever she could, especially if it meant she got to be close to you. She would do whatever you asked (but you didn’t know that. yet.)

You stepped closer to Abby and let out a gentle, “hmmm”, indicating that you were thinking. After a few seconds, you, with a cunning grin on your face, said, “I want to make her jealous. I want to make her feel really bad.” The look on your face had Abby breaking into a smile, “how are you gonna do that?”

“You’re going to help me.” You declared. Abby’s smile fell at your words. “H-how?” She stuttered out. God, she wanted you to use her in any way you could. She would do anything you asked. And now, here you are, asking.

“I don’t know,” you sighed in defeat. It’s hard to plot revenge on someone you still had feelings for. “Do you have any ideas?”

Of course, she had ideas. She could think of a million and one ways to make Nora jealous. She could kiss you in front of her, hold your hand in front of her, look at you with loving eyes in front of her, fuck you on her bed, cuddle up with you in Abby’s own bed when she knows that Nora would be coming back, she could do absolutely anything. And it would take no acting on her part. It would be believable because it would be real.

“No,” she lied straight through her teeth, “I don’t know.” You let out another frustrated groan. “It can’t be too bad, y’know? I love her. What if we get back together?” You rambled again. Abby’s heart was breaking at your words. She couldn’t help the attitude she gave you as she spoke, “You just said you want to make her feel bad.”

“I know, and I do, but not like ruin her life. I just want her to hurt like I do, Abby.”

Abby wanted to be mad at you. She wanted you to know how bad you were hurting her. She wanted you to know how much she loved you. She was feeling exactly like you did, only her hurt and confusion were focused on you, while yours was on Nora.

It was silent in the room as she worked through her thoughts. She was beginning to understand how you felt. She understood your heartbreak, as she was feeling it too.

“I don’t know, y/n,” she was the one sighing in defeat, “maybe just sleep it off? This isn’t the first time you guys have fought. She always makes it up to you.” She laid back into her bed, staring at the ceiling. Her emotions were always written across her face and she did not you to be able to read her.

You huffed out one last sigh, kicking your drawer closed. “You’re right. I don’t know why I get so worked up.” You straightened yourself out, making your way to the door. “Thanks for talking this out with me, Abs. I feel a lot better.”

She mumbled out a, “Yeah, anytime,” as you walked out the door. 

[s-4pphics]

make the bed. (e.w.)

“𝒜𝓃𝑜𝓉𝒽𝑒𝓇 𝓅𝑒𝓇𝒻𝑒𝒸𝓉 𝓂𝑜𝓂𝑒𝓃𝓉 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝒹𝑜𝑒𝓈𝓃'𝓉 𝒻𝑒𝑒𝓁 𝓁𝒾𝓀𝑒 𝓂𝒾𝓃𝑒, 𝒶𝓃𝑜𝓉𝒽𝑒𝓇 𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝐼 𝒻𝑜𝓇𝒸𝑒𝒹 𝓉𝑜 𝒷𝑒 𝒶 𝓈𝒾𝑔𝓃.”

omggg my first writing challenge YIPPPEEEE shoutout to olivia rodrigo

ty to the post-pandemic prose and my babies @elliesbelle and @totheblood for pointers :D love yall down 

wc;cw: 1.1K, just angst YAAAAY, internalized homophobia, ellies so sad :(, mentions of alcohol

“lf I liked girls,” you slurred, your lips brushing against the shell of Ellie’s ear, the pounding speakers synched with the squeezes in her chest, “I swear t’god… you’d be mine.” 

Whenever you drunkenly murmur to her like this, Ellie wishes she didn’t hear you; She was shocked she could over the ruckus happening all around, rattling the bubble she created for the two of you. You always sounded so sure with your lies. They never fail to throw her into fight or flight mode. She tensed and her stomach churned in despair. 

“Y’so perfect, Ellie. Love y’so… fuckin’ much. All mine.” 

All she could do was nod and whirl you around with a pained smile before burying it into your clothed shoulder. You didn’t bat an eye; You were always the affectionate drunk. 

But she wanted to scream. To cry and beg and ask — demand that you fall into her right where you stand. To love her the way she’s loved you since she showed you how to ride a bicycle in elementary school. She flinched at every delicate kiss you planted on her neck, her hands squeezing at your hips. She doesn’t know if she wants to push or pull you closer. 

She knows. Her arms enclosed around your waist and you giggle into her skin. 

This is exactly how you two should be. She’s envisioned it since middle school: completely infatuated and engulfed in each other, secluded off in your own little world filled with nothing but solace. Closeness. Affection and desire. 

So why was she sick to her stomach at your scent? Lavender and sage no longer brought her the comfort that they used to in adolescence. She was being torn apart from the inside out, but she couldn’t scream. 

She only listened, digested every drunk fallacy that you directed to her in secret. With no one watching. No one ever watched. No one could know. That was your only rule when she climbed through your window months prior. Please just keep it between us, you’d whispered before leaning in to kiss her. 

At least Ellie could imagine that this was real as she held you tight: recreate the same image in her mind over and over. The two of you are together and happy to be in love with no selfishness or regrets in her mind. All she had to do was close her eyes, and you were all hers, just like you said. She’s so, so in love with you. 

But you didn’t want her. You never did. 

She’s instantly reminded of that day a few months ago. The memory feels like a ghost over her shoulder; Maybe that’s why she’s constantly peeking over it, picking at it with her nails. 

The two of you often reserved study rooms during exam season for review, but you had other plans. You were exactly where you were supposed to be — room 213 — but you weren’t by yourself. 

You — beautiful, as always — brought… friends. Friends that Ellie knew, that you knew, didn’t like her. She never actually talked to them, but she always felt… off. She was instantly riddled with anxiety, the books that she checked out ten minutes ago almost hitting the floor as her arms weakened. Sweat pebbled on her forehead as she stood and watched everyone stare at her. 

Why did it look like they were all laughing? She couldn’t hear any chuckles, but there was laughter. Someone’s laughing at her. Do they know? You have to know, but do they know about the two of you? About how Ellie feels—

Ellie? you’d called. 

… Mhm? she recalls almost fainting. 

Your eyes were confused; You knew something was off, and it made her even more nervous. 

Sit down, honey. Come meet everyone. You made sure to massage her knee under the table; It always soothed her. 

The introductions were surprisingly smooth. Ellie never expected your friends to be so polite considering how rowdy they seemed outside of class. She was pleasantly surprised and put at ease. Until the end of your study session. 

Everyone was packing their bags and cracking jokes. Ellie even got a couple laughs out of some of them during the quiet few hours. 

Ellie wasn’t sure what came over her, but she eased closer to you, still gathering your books. She relaxed at your scent. When you turned to face her with that gentle smile, her mouth moved on autopilot. 

I missed you so much. You never hit me back last night.  

Maybe it was the way Ellie said it. She shouldn’t have looked into your eyes the way she did, whispered to you like that, said she missed you with so much devotion. But she did, and she wished she didn’t. 

Your smile turned to worry instantaneously, and Ellie’s heart plummeted when your head whipped around the room to check if anyone heard before turning back to her. No one cared. 

Ellie felt like she’d been stabbed. It happened so quickly; she probably would’ve missed it if she blinked. Her nails dug into the hardcover of her books, tears jerking in her eyes before she tossed a stiff see you guys later over her shoulder and rushed out the room. You tried to grab her arm, but she shoved you off. She had to fight her instincts so she wouldn’t turn around and apologize for being too rough. 

She got back to her dorm and… trashed it while she cried. Disgust and anger flooded her system while she threw her clothes, her trinkets, the photo of you, Ellie, and her mother at your shared high school graduation across the room (she only sobbed harder when she noticed it cracked when it hit the floor). The emotions that rushed through her weren’t even for you, but for herself. Ellie’s own hope destroyed her, and she only has herself to blame. 

She should’ve known at the time to never speak to you again, but she loved you. She loves you. Every fiber, every cell of her being lived to see you at your happiest; It’s tortuous how you expose the darkest parts that she wished to keep hidden until the end of time. She hasn’t felt like this since she was a teenager. 

And yet, she still swayed you. Kept you close so she could breathe you in. This is the most you allow, at least: physical touch. She knew better than to allow you to mistreat her, but she couldn’t leave you. You both danced until your legs burned, and you fell into her bed the same night. 

She forced herself to lay in the massacred mattress that she’d tried to keep made since she was a kid. The least you could do was fluff the pillow you slept on every night.

[spilledinkgenerator]

If some stranger you’ll never meet

Falls sick mysteriously

Within months struggling to walk

Too pained to eat

Lose their loved ones

Their lives

Their ambitions

Never again free

To you it’s all just a means to an end

You have to live your life

The bodies pile high

If you don’t look down

You don’t have to see

[disasterhimbo]

there's laundry to do and a genocide to stop

By Vinay Krishnan

there’s laundry to do and a genocide to stop. I have to eat better and also avoid a plague. my rent went up $150. I’ll need to pick up more shifts. Twenty people died in Rafah this morning and every major news outlet is stretching the limits of passive voice to suggest whole families may have leaped up through the air at missiles that otherwise had the right of way. I just got a notification that my student loan payments are starting up again and my phone isn’t charged. My cousin got COVID for a fourth time and can no longer work or walk or even feed himself. The person across from me on the L train seems to fashion themself a punk rock revolutionary, but they’re not wearing a face mask, and that’s the kind of cognitive dissonance that makes me want to steal batteries. Fascists keep winning primaries for both parties, and I think I gained a few pounds. The CDC just announced there are no more speed limits on highways, and I think this Ativan is finally hitting. The NYPD farmer’s market only sells bad apples, have you heard that one? Listen it’s warm today, too warm for March. But I don’t have time to think through the implications because there’s laundry to do and a genocide to stop.

Source: https://x.com/vinayrkrishnan/status/1765428498573771235

[loresanhedonia]

Rampant 16 candles in isolation, 

Fire fades onto the empty space. 

I watch my father as he scraps for change,

My mother cries in rage. 

We want out, we want freedom 

We’re prisoners of our own space, 

Unwillingly caged. 

The urge to run, away from your gun

I’d get out of this city

If the microbes weren’t to harm. 

My youth is to fade, 

My body to wrinkle. 

I pray for your demise,

Ending your expansion. 

[absentmoon]

i finished severance, it was eerily relatable since the pandemic and also because of some of my personal experiences……. it was also SO much to digest & so heavy while simultaneously being fast paced and gripping. its a commentary on consumerism and on capitalism on work on race on immigration on the human condition……… amazing.

OMG YOU FINISHED ALREADY its so so so so goodddgfhbggfhfjfhfgdgdfd GOD. you UNDERSTAND. can you believe that was ling ma's debut novel

[doriandistortion]

I'm still hoping that one day I will wake up and be 16 again and this will have all been just a terrible dream. I need to wake up soon though because I have my 10th grade math homework to get to

[beastwars-transformers]

Reading fanfic is difficult and not in the way you think

[teanicolae]

Pandemic Stories: Daylight

As time slowly unfolded, daylight shimmered through the loss, the ache, the anguish. Softness had been there, inside of me, all along: underneath the grief, underneath the relentless self-loathing and merciless depression, a sweet softness shimmered through.

🦋 Medium launched an invitation to writers on their platform to share their pandemic stories & experiences, in retrospect of hitting our 3-year mark following the outbreak. here is my own story, entitled 'Daylight'. ☀️

In 2020, I spent nine months in isolation in England, out of which five were spent mostly by myself, save for the company of my pet-rabbit. Flight bans and regional restrictions resulted in solitary celebrations of Easter and Christmas, away from my family, who lived miles away from me, in Romania. I marked the completion of my undergraduate degree with a glass of wine in front of my computer’s screen, and my graduation ceremony consisted in taking a selfie wearing an academic cap I had ordered online. I held my 22nd birthday party on ZOOM and began my postgraduate degree in my bedroom.

The first months of the pandemic saw me grappling with grief, unease, and anxiety. My struggle was not with solitude, which I cherished deeply. Truthfully, I have always treasured the time spent with myself, which I often had to defend from family, friends, lovers. I love connecting with people and opening to them, but I crave quietude, I crave me, I crave meeting myself in stillness. Indeed, the first lesson isolation taught me was that I had internalised my need to be alone as something that I needed to fix. Furthermore, the need to justify my alone time to others had left me feeling inadequate. There was joy in letting that contraction go, gratitude in having endless time to spend with myself, and relief in not having to eternally explain my seclusion. In my tiny room, I explored boundless universes through my imagination, through books and poetry, I felt held by friends through the internet, and, in the depth of my aloneness, I realised how tightly connected our world is.

Nonetheless, my struggle dealt with the uncertainty of the future. I had tightly held onto the illusion of control for most of my life, and the pandemic roughly forced me to face that nothing had been in my hands all along. This realisation filled me with unspeakable dread. My mind spun restlessly, and there were many tears.

However, as time slowly unfolded, daylight shimmered through the loss, the ache, the anguish. Isolation offered me silence, tranquillity, and time: time to read, to study, to feel into myself, to observe my mind and my patterns. I learned to cradle myself, I taught myself gentleness and the importance of rest, I found the courage to ask for help when needed.

And, in the silence, the second lesson I was offered was that of trust. Isolation guided me to cultivate a heartfelt trust to the flow of life. I learned that I never had the power to obstruct, control or manipulate it. I began my days with the beautiful prayer written by Reinhold Niebuhr: ‘Grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, courage to change the things I can, and wisdom to know the difference.’ And there was kindness.

This process led me to continuously unearth myself. At first, by way of tears, clumsily. And, as my fears began to soften, daringly. In the silence, my heart, jammed tight for such a long time, cracked open; it was heavy and silken, wrenching, and tender. I cried and I prayed, I wrote, and I danced. I laughed and I lit candles. I made amends and I drank. I howled and asked for forgiveness. I digested life and rested in the pause. As old wounds unravelled and mended, I felt soft and mushy, in awe with how much beauty and loss my heart could feel; all at once.

On a particularly tender night, I felt as if I finally returned to myself: as if I finally met myself for the first time. A quiver, a gentle ‘hey, that’s me’. And love, acceptance, marvel rushed through. Softness had been there, inside of me, all along: underneath the grief, underneath the relentless self-loathing, underneath the merciless depression, a sweet softness shimmered through. Life has unfolded sweetly since then; not smoothly or painlessly, but sweetly. There is an intrinsic sweetness that shines through: through the beautiful and the not so beautiful, through the silly, the mundane, the harrowing. Grace. On the very same tender night, I wrote in my journal:

‘Fears blossom into devotion in the palms of my hands. I bathe in what is. And there is only daylight.’

And I trust that there will be. As Mr. Leonard Cohen would sing, ‘There is a crack in everything. That’s how the light gets in.’

There will be kindness.

photo: mid-isolation in 2020, when my hair was wild & my mind heavy. wearing my mother's dress.

*sing-songs*:  my love was as cruel as the cities i lived in / and i've been sleeping for so long in a 20-year dark night / but now i see daylight, daylight, daylight

[vizthedatum]

I was potentially exposed to Covid over the weekend (and well, most likely was exposed out in the world since I’ve been going out more the past year or so) and informed all my birthday party guests.

None of the people I informed responded with anger or resentment. They also came to the event knowing (to the best of their ability) the risks.

And while the condition may be disabling and contagious, I do feel safer with vaccinations. Widespread vaccinations protect people, including the unvaccinated.

I do think there should be more surveillance efforts and public masking strategies that make more sense, now that we have better treatments, vaccinations, and awareness. And the burden of that is on institutions of power.

There is both a personal and public health burden on this issue.

With the presence of vaccinations and treatments, putting the moral burden on just individuals does not make a whole lot of sense. Our individual responsibilities are as only as good as the information we receive/comprehend and our human needs.

Information is power and helps us make choices.

I don’t regret having my party. I prepped by testing and masking a week beforehand. I mask everytime I go to the clinic/hospital. I even told my guests that before the party. I told people to stay home if they had any respiratory symptoms.

Socialization is important for me, and I don’t regret spending time with the people I love.

I don’t regret informing people right away. And I don’t want to or deserve to feel shame about any of it.

—

I understand the very real effects of contracting covid. (I’m an epidemiologist who has worked on covid clinical trials, analyzed covid datasets, and used to deep dive into how things have evolved the past couple years. (Side note: I am still traumatized by my ex’s use of fear and control during the beginning of the pandemic - their views, values, and opinions were not well-informed, ethical, or practical.))

I understand what it’s like to have disabilities or have abilities taken away from you beyond your control. (And most people, as they age, in this current world will become disabled in one way or another.)

While no one has blamed me or anything, I’m writing this for myself:

I’m not intentionally causing harm, and I should not be demonized for having a birthday party in my home during 2024 in a part of the world where infection rates are low, health resources are accessible, and vaccination rates are high (context matters!!) - I do not have to accept moral judgement when I am influenced by the information I have received/comprehended and my human needs (and not having the luxury of isolating long-term, where institutions/governments with power have WAY MORE influence to mitigate infections, reduce climate change, fund research on other very prescient pandemic-inducing pathogens, and support healthcare workers (just to name a few)).

—

I think disabling conditions and environment are really hard to talk about, especially when there are MANY disabling conditions, environments, and circumstances that can cause mass disability.

People suffer when disabilities occur. Their lives change. That is real and should not be trivialized. This post is not to undermine these truths.

(And no, I’m not going to compare the relative effects of all these conditions, environments, and circumstances to each other. Mainly because it can be hard to quantify and understand in one blog post (there are whole networks of research teams on this). But as an example, the presence of various plastics has completely changed the state of human biology… impacting people’s health in a way that it hasn’t been before.)

[yourlocalghostwriter]

College was just a fever dream.

I remember my mother calling me early in the morning because the government just announced that cities will be on lockdown due to COVID-19. I just got home from a night of partying that time. I was 19 years old. I was in a different city. It was also my first year in college.

When I ended the call, I can still recall how I hurriedly stuffed my bags with everything that I could, not minding if clothes were folded or if everything was just a crumple of mess inside. I need to hurry before the buses are filled, I thought just as well as the other people in my dorm.

Before I left the familiarity of my dorm room walls, I remember receiving an announcement—a university memo—stating that classes will also be cancelled for two weeks due to city lockdowns. "Two weeks", it read. So I decided to leave a few of my things—my bedsheets and mattress, dirty laundry, and a few books—thinking I'll just be back after a couple of weeks. It sat in my dorm locker for two years.

The world seemed to stop spinning within those two years. My life was also held on pause. I spent my second and third year of college in front of a screen, not seeing the faces of the people I thought I would spend my highs and lows with in what was meant to be the most exciting time of my life, and most of the time I found myself dozing off on lectures just as much as the world had dozed off on everybody else.

When the government had given the go signal for a few universities to finally hold face-to-face classes, my university was one of them. I was ecstatic. I would finally get to see my friends again. There's still time for us to catch up to the two years we lost. Little did I know back then that what was lost will remain lost forever.

My last year in college was filled with the business of my feet moving from one place to another just to finish my thesis paper on time. It was filled with the voices of my supervisors telling me what and not to do because I was their intern. It was filled with phonecalls towards home, asking my mom for an additional allowance, because I barely had enough money for meals because my thesis and all the other things that came as a graduating student was a financial burden. It felt like I was scraping off time from the little spaces left on my academic itinerary. I barely got to hang out with the blockmates I-so-wanted to be my college buddies.

I'm 23 years old at present, turning 24 next month. I just graduated college last year in June. I'm still studying but it's for a licensure exam now, not for midterms nor finals. Until now, I still don't feel like an adult who just graduated from uni life. I still feel like that 19 year old girl who just left her hometown to study in a far off place, looking at the world like it held big adventures in its path. I feel robbed of that liberty. I feel like what was supposed to be mine—the experiences, the joy and sorrow, the highs and lows—were all stolen from me in a heartbeat and were never brought back.

College felt like it didn't happen despite all the certificates, the pictures, and the diploma proving that it did.

[s-4pphics]

forever dying. (e.w.)

FEAR. noun. an unpleasant emotion or thought that you have when you are frightened or worried by something dangerous, painful, or bad that is happening or might happen.

emotions writing challenge :3

wc;cw: 7 hunnid, angst, ellie needs a hug :(, gore

Ellie’s boots bury deep into the snow with every weighted footstep, her pack and bow hitting her back as she walks. She wanted to run, but she didn’t want to cause a scene; Freaking out in public makes her freak out more. 

She needs to get home. She misses you and she’s on the verge of panicking because you’re not next to her. She should’ve never volunteered to do patrol. 

You’re tired, you’d whispered in the early morning as she dressed, just lay here with me? 

He’s old, Ellie whispered back: about Joel. If she doesn’t go, then he’ll have to, and he’s old, although he denies it; He shouldn’t be working as hard anymore, at least, that’s what Ellie convinced herself when she saw him reorganizing the horse shed. Boxes were being stacked, but he was tired; It was evident in the tremor in his arms. Ellie’s exhaustion will never be able to match his, no matter what she does. Plus, I wanna go. It won’t be long, promise. 

And just like that, she kissed your head, your nose, your lips, before snagging her coat and leaving. 

She’s gotten used to killing clickers; There was a dark point — two years ago — where she actually enjoyed it: the grittiness, the power she had over the source that destroyed the world. But moments like today remind her how gruesome and horrific life is. 

It was only mile three into patrol when she saw the scene from a distance: the outline of a boy, no older than ten, dead and bloody, being preyed on by at least five clickers. At least. 

Millions of thoughts rushed through her mind: why was he alone? Why is he so small? Why didn’t she come sooner and save him? 

Horror slammed into her and she froze, nausea overtaking her at the sight. Shimmer was already snorting and shifting, preparing to turn around, but Ellie couldn’t move. She only gripped the lasso tighter, her thick gloves pinching her skin. 

Apparently, she breathed too loudly; All the clickers turned towards her direction in milliseconds. She wasn’t prepared for all of them to rush towards her and Shimmer. She wasn’t... fucking prepared. 

Ellie’s still not sure how she made it out, but she did, and she needs you close. Vulnerability is extremely difficult for her, but she melts with you. She should’ve never left this morning. 

“Ellie!” Jesse. “Wait up!”

She’s already shaking her head, moving quicker.  

“I’m fine!” She’s not. She swiftly peers over her shoulder, dismissively waving her hand. “I just… I needa get home. We’ll talk later.” Has her safe haven always been this fucking far?  

It seems like hours pass before her walk ends, and she’s on your shared porch; She shoves through the door and is hit with immediate warmth and the smell of cinnamon, and her heart calms. Only slightly. 

She kicks her shoes off and tosses her supplies on the floor before padding down the hallway and into your shared bedroom. 

You’re sitting on the floor, reorganizing the bookshelf, murmuring song lyrics to yourself. You meet her eyes in a mirror propped up against the wall and smile. 

But it drops at the sound of her voice. 

She only whispered hey, but her tone is enough to get you up and moving towards her, concern on your face. Her expression is telling: fear. Grief. No wonder she’s back so early. 

Your hands are cautious as they hover over her shoulders, but she nods gently. It’s okay, she hopes her eyes read, please hold me.  

She’s instantly pulled close, right up against you, and she falls apart. Ellie doesn’t feel any tears coming, just feels them seep into your sweater. You’re asking if she’s hurt, but she’s not sure how to answer, so she stays quiet. 

Your touch is so soothing. But she’s scared… and heartbroken. And guilty: she, somehow, feels at fault. That poor kid. She's sobbing now, loud and painful.

Hope, in this time, is lethal. The graphic scene is proof enough that the world is forever dying. 

[elliesbelle]

using relationship trauma as inspiration for my stories like

[danielleurbansblog]

Meet This Author: Heather Gooden

Q: When did you first start writing poetry? I first started writing poetry when I was maybe 6 or 7? It started as a way to write mother’s day and father’s day cards I thought was fun and special. As I got older that of course changed somewhat, and I would say I’ve been writing poetry consistently since my youngest child was born in 2015. Q: Why write poetry? Multiple reasons. Poetry is a…

[riverstaralia]

confession ꔛ ‬𓃠 ₊˚⊹♡ 13/6/23

i think the pandemic changed me a lot in terms of the way i think..

i didn't use to be so embarrassed of the things i liked, thought, or felt.

i think not seeing my friends for long and spending too much time on the internet literally modified the way i think. the way the algorithm works to frame everything like it's specifically FOR you makes me feel like everything i post will be examined under a microscope by others; if anything i say or do (even in real life) is flawed or imperfect i deserve to be criticized and put down. it stops me from speaking out or posting anything at all...

but the light that peaks through the clouds is that I CHANGED in the first place to adapt to my surroundings whether subconsciously or not! and i can continue to change and change again as long as i walk towards the brighter end.. that's what i believe.

[sarah-gratton]

Finished uni. Dunno what to do with myself. Wrote this instead.

"I already know which friends are never going to meet with me again, and what unhealthy habits I’ll ditch, and how I’ll keep my bedroom tidy. Little things I’ve learned by living with myself and spending the last 4 years as not just a student, but as an adult learning how to survive. I know which order to do my dishes, I know which cleaning products work best for what, I know how to keep a shower clean and how to keep mold off of things. And now I’ll be going home with all this incredible knowledge… but with a bachelor’s. I think that’s a good start." -Sarah Gratton