A Semi-Daily Collection of Whatevers

“You look like you need some cheering up.”

Nobody had his head buried in his hands, his fingernails digging sharply into the soft flesh of his temples. Sitting down next to the man in grey, she rested her hand on his back, speckling his clothes with a soft red that began to spread out and touch delicately at his emotions. She didn’t need to ask why he was so tense; she had spent so many nights with him that she knew. She knew how frustrated he got when he’d glimpse something from before; the taste of a familiar name on his tongue, or a fleeting moment of Déjà Vu.  She knew how much he hated not knowing.

He jerked his head upwards, glaring at her. Whens was surprised to see his face so flushed. She had noticed that he was beginning to retain some colour, but the change was so gradual that she often lost track of how vibrant he was becoming. Well, vibrant in comparison to how he was when they found him. His eyes were deep and dark, however, and she took this as a signal to back off. Pulling her hand away and resting it on the sand between them, she chose her words carefully.

“Who was it this time?”

“I had it.” He said, his voice hoarse.

“I could hear him. He was saying something about…About a date. November. November Nineteen Ninety…Ninety…AUGH!” He jumped up and pulled at his hair, tensing his muscles. Whens was not far behind him, sliding in front of him and shrouding him in colour, pulsing out the softness, most calming waves of sweet cherry she could muster. It was draining, but she could see his gears start to run more fluidly, his mind begin to unravel as his muscles flexed questioningly. Looking down at her, Nobody slowly released his hands from his head and dropped them loosely.

“You have to think I’m insane by now.” He said, scoffing.

“Here’s some man you picked up in the desert, and he can’t even remember his name. And then he goes on about weird dates that don’t even exist and…Memories of men with dark hair…” Letting out another frustrated noise, he stamped the ground, the sand retaliating in a dust that rose up to choke them. Coughing violently, his heaving lungs only frustrated him more and he sat back down again. Hugging his knees to him and looking out into the horizon, his brow furrowed.

“What’s it like to remember.” He said suddenly, after marinating in a long silence. At first, Whens didn’t know how to answer, surprised by the question, even from him.  Turning, Nobody looked at her, and she picked up on the little notes his face gave off. The way his eyes twinkled pleadingly for something new; more knowledge to lap up and process. How the corners of his mouth twitched expectantly as he waited for an answer. She could always sense that scared hesitance that lingered in the back of his mind sometime.  Nobody wasn’t very hesitant, but she could see when he began to fear if he was pushing too far; delving too deep, acting too hungry.

 

Whens woke up in a cold sweat.

Another dream about him. She couldn’t take it. It wasn’t fair! It was never fair.  It had never been fair.

“I’ll never go back into a damned city again.” She muttered angrily to herself, flinging her blanket from her and crawling out of the tent, carefully avoiding Aurelia’s feet and Pavillon’s hands, curled delicately around the stem of a desert lily. Meeting the brisk coolness, she reckoned it was early morning and she cursed again. She needed sleep tonight; they were packing up and moving again today. Looking back at the tent, she heaved a heavy sigh and began to walk further away from the campsite, the cool sand welcoming between her toes.

They were close. It was strange.  Once upon a time, this air was breathed by Nobody, this earth walked by him, back in his grayest nights. Back when they first found him.  Once upon a time they found a cold body in the sand on this very horizon and nursed it back to health, enduring the week and a half it took for him to finally come round.

Once upon a time, there was Nobody.

She didn’t know how long she had been walking; it must have been a few miles at the least before the sun started to heave the heavy burden of day into the sky, the horizon turning a distilled pink and the stars receding further and further into nothingness when she finally reached it. Whens was surprised to see that a lot of it hadn’t been washed away by the desert. The rocky pit they had made to hold their fire had only a covering of dust on it, and the unused tinder lay strewn over the old campsite.

Plucking a piece of amaranth from the ground, she began to pull out the seeds and pop them in her mouth, trying to savor their earthy taste and calm her heart from throbbing so menacingly. Slowly, almost fearfully, she took delicate steps toward her destination; the deep old hole that had begun this journey.

Pavillon had said that they would perform a ceremony for Nobody when they got here, and all pay their respects but this was something Whens had to face alone. She was the one who was there when it happened, she was the one who had seen his body first, toppled over all the rest of the god damn torturers and ego-tripping bastards that had got him in the mess in the first place. She was the one who watched his colour drain from him, saw his blood cache cold and grey on the floor of the Encyptor’s hideaway.

She was his best friend.

A deep, longful red seeped slowly from her fingertips, her toes, leaving a trail of crimson heartache with each step closer to his birthplace she took. It began to flood into the tears she, until then, hadn’t noticed she was crying, leaving red stains in their wake. Her irises began to dance with firelight, flicking between golden brown and hazel red. It was rare she released so much colour, but she couldn’t help it, it was for him. Everything she had done in the past few weeks had been for him. Every story was told for his benefit, every bit of knowledge squeezed out of her and given to him, every compassionate thought and sympathetic act was to help him feel better, stronger about himself and his position.

And now he was gone and all she had were her memories; stories of a legendary hero with the bravest of hearts to be passed on to endearing children. For the first time, it wasn’t enough.  He had deserved more than the preservation of storytelling. He deserved life; true life, like the kind he was so close to achieving.

She reached the rim of the hole before she was ready. Her heart was beating in her throat, gagging her in the painful spiral of emotions and causing her to choke up the amaranth seeds she had just tried to eat. Falling to her knees, she dug her fingers into the sand and let herself sob, her voice echoing off the dunes in the eerie silence of this dawn. Sparks of vermillion, alizarin, carmine, mercury flooded the air around her, thickening it with pain and raw emotion as she poured herself into the moment, letting the broken fragments of herself sway hard with the desert wind. The monochromatic flurry began to switch directions after awhile, finding itself a path into the hole, filling it to the brim and dying the sand around it deep shades and hues of Whens, churning and writhing and becoming more and more potent as she wept louder and louder.

“YOU WERE SUPPOSED TO STAY WITH US!” She screamed into the day, blinded by colour.

“YOU WERE SUPPOSED TO TELL ME STORIES! It was my turn! You said so yourself! You said that once you knew who you were, you’d teach me…” She sniffled, her head throbbing. Releasing her grasp from the sand, her shoulders sank and her head dropped in a miserable way, the colour beginning to fade and recede from the world around her.

It was then that she heard someone breathing behind her.

Turning around sharply, she saw him with a terrified look in his eyes. Feeling instantly vulnerable and equally terrible for frightening the boy, she got up and hurried toward him, putting her hands on his shoulders after trying desperately to wipe away her tears. Smiling at him, she tucked her emotions away for a moment to give him a reassuring hug, which he responded to with an awkward smile.

“Who were you talking about, Whens? Was it that man you told me about? The one that was there when you found me?” His pale, muted fingers curled around Whens’s in a childlike fashion, looking over at her questioningly. This instilled a genuine smile into the girl, and she squeezed back, looking out into the distance dreamily, noting on how beautiful a golden red sunset can be on a desert horizon.

“Yes, this is where the man from my story came from, Somebody. This is where our story began.”

I didn't let you guys know I was off to a Wayfinder camp.Well, I did, and now I'm back. And it was so wondrously grand. I will type about my games some other time, as I had 2 very intense, introspective games and one happy-go-lucky game.

I also had the chance to meet so many people, such as Khy and Kaide, and strengthen my friendships with tons of people as well. I had wonderful discussions with Brennen Lee Mulligan and tons of other people, cried vulnerably into Vee and Valentine's chests, snuggled so much with Dylsy and Roy, got excited about everything in the world with Jack, and offered my assistance as a mediator to a few heartfelt conversations. I sat on Wiley's bed and talked about Shakespeare for an hour or so, played guitar with Summer, and got mercilessly sprayed with SWEET AND FLIRTY.

I had the best bunk mates in the world. Valentine Monfuega, Sophie D-B, Sarah Goldhammer, Taylor Fisher, Sam Strauss, and Summer Sorge. We were awoken every morning by Julia Subb being a terrifying English witch villian and turning her hair-dryer on all of us!

I cried in front of everyone and was happy about it at closing circle. I can never do that.

I was a traveling actor in Isabelle's game, a soundless, soulless void in Hannah's game, a security guard in Wiley's game, and a red gypsy storyteller in Quinn's game. Wiley's game was so intense, and we're Sonya and Roy are here and we're talking about penises so I'm getting in on this I LOVE YOU ALL

I see two things that focus in and out;

A rabbit's head with four eyes.
And
Two sheep,with skull heads and bat ears, ripping apart a moth that is standing on top a bell.

I found my guitar. It's well worn in and keeps it's tune for an unimaginable long time. It's too big for me and my fingers fight so hard to stretch and find chords. My fingertips are still burning from the practicing I was doing last night. It's such a wonderful feeling.

I'm learning No Rain and Boats and Birds.

PenUltimate in two days if I'm lucky. If I'm unlucky, then no Wayfinder at all this summer. To be official you have to be bureaucratic, and both Wayfinder and I are bad at that. Money, of course, is also an issue. Albiet I'm dealing this a bit late. But I feel like I won't be as upset as I would have had I not spent a majority of the summer with an amazing, uplifting group of people I rarely get to see.

I just want to be there for Music Box.

It's been a good summer.

http://locomotornox.proboards.com/index.cgi

FUCKING DO IT!!

Sleep is apparently non-existent to me anymore.

Some of my old hallucinations are coming back, and that worries me. I don't have the time to deal with them right now. I can normally handle them during school or at home, but what if it happens when I'm at work? I miss Erik dearly. I saw him walking down the street yesterday, but he didn't seem to notice me. Have I become so invisible that even my half-imagined ghost friends don't notice me? Hmm.

I've been trying to keep it on the down low, and I haven't told Colin yet, but I know I'll have to soon. It kind of started around the time when Colin and I were in my mum's kitchen making quesadillas and I looked up at the light and freaked out, because I saw a bunch of giant black...things dancing just above our heads. Colin said he sawit too and it was just our eyes adjusting to the light, but I know the kind of backbrain flittering he's talking about and that certainly wasn't it.

It's been inspiring me to art, though. Which is nice. I'm doing this watercolour painting and this rather dull self portrait that's really only for me to prove to myself that I CAN paint normal flesh tones, and haven't just been telling myself that because I've been chill with fauvist painting. I'm also gunna finish that still life from ages ago so I can wow colleges or whatever. It's big and smooth and that's good, I think.

Mr. Dijk and I have been connecting again lately. Feels good. He gave me a bunch of high-quality watercolour paper and really expensive watercolours that I have yet to try yet, but am excited to. He's gotten comfortable enough with me to tell me how much ass he gets with his wife, apparently. It makes me laugh. He fucks with women so much he's such a coolio. Trust me, I noticed that when Mrs. McCabe was flirting with him last year he conveniently forget to bring up any mention that he was married. Sly dog. I want to have dinner with his family and play with his adorable cat and paint side by side with him in his studio/living room/kitchen/bedroom.

Life has been good, more or less. School is back on the agenda. Grades reaching their usual level (though they didn't suffer too terribly to begin with, besides gym.)

Is it upsetting that I believe holdheartedly in chemtrails, and that they're carrying dangerous diseases? Goverment hoaxes la la la.

Poll #1182607 Battle of the Superheros
Open to: All, detailed results viewable to: All, participants: 8

Who's better?

Do it.