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clem turner Oct 12
I believe they said, initially, that the first wave was going to hit on a Tuesday.

And the crowd – us, the ones shielding our eyes from the sun as we stared up at them, the ones on the podium – listened.

It was a long speech. I couldn’t recall any particular details from the first hour if I tried, as much as I want to tell you. I focused on the man’s tie. It was a striking shade of red, the kind of red that almost glows in the right beam of light. I spent so much time on the tie. It reminded me of my father. Or, maybe it didn’t. I can’t quite remember.

Anyway. They said, the first wave will begin, will crash through our neighborhoods and our grocery stores and drag our weakest from their homes, on a Tuesday.

And we, in turn, said what do we do?

And they, in turn, said wait.

Nolan turned to me, "They’re saying… before it starts, it feels like a foot on your chest. A foot with a boot that weighs ten pounds. And when it begins, the foot begins to press."

"And when it ends…?" I said.

I didn’t know what day it was. They hadn’t told us in a while. In fact, we thought everything was done. There were forums, in fact. The forums themselves were intended to discuss theories, to engage in conversation where we couldn’t do so in person. Of course, there were the bad actors. The online impatient who began to start rumors – that’s all they were, rumors, nothing to worry about – about what this was all about. Rumors about symptoms of some sort of malady.

The ten-pound phantom boot was among the list, along with all manners of ridiculous indicators of sickness – forgetfulness, paranoia, fatigue, loss of identity. All of these things, to some extent, are immeasurable. Such is to be expected from a hypothetical illness.

"They’re saying you forget your ABCs when it happens," Nolan said. I didn’t believe him.

"Sounds silly," I said. He laughed at that. Because it was. "Like they’re children."

I stood, shaky steps, to join him. I wanted to see. I wanted it to be an inappropriate magazine or a scary image. I craved the validation of a ridiculous gift. My feet stopped moving as I caught a glimpse of vibrant red fabric peeking out from its bleak wrapping. And then I understood.

Oh, my God, Nolan’s voice sounded like a whisper after a year of screaming. He looked pale like I’d never seen pale. He grasped at the carpet with his fingers, muttering curses into the floor as if someone would answer. Oh, my God. Oh, my God.

I didn’t know what to say, so I said nothing. I stared at the packages on the floor, at the ripped paper, at my friend who would most likely not want to be my friend anymore in a moment or two.

We – w-we did everything right. Nolan’s breathing made me nauseous, the pace and the depth. He stretched out on the floor, We can’t… we can’t… we did everything right.

We did everything right, I said. I must not have sounded convincing.

He pushed himself to sit and looked at me. I think he knew before either of us said anything. He lifted his eyes to meet mine and he saw through any excuses or lies I could form. He plucked my regrets from my head without prelude, without forethought.

The sirens began to sound like words. Long, drawn-out words. ACT, MOVE, OBEY, or something like that. My brain began to ache. There was the potential for a thought, I think… the potential to tell myself: "you do not have to move, you do not have to obey."

But potential thought is not tangible thought.

And I could not remember how to think.

I am keeping a tally of things I know.

As I stand here, looking up at the window of my house.

Is this my house? I wouldn’t have left the light on. Or would I have?

I know the rain is sharp as it hits my face, I cannot convince myself to feel it.

I know that the neighbors are beginning to make those noises in the back of their mouth.

Um… I know… What do I know?

I know that the boot has begun to press, and that I cannot hear the sirens anymore.

And… And… I know that Nolan used to leave the windows open at night.

I know h-he liked to hear the crickets outside while he slept…

And... Oh, God. What is a Nolan?

I know… I know my ABCs.

I know… I know…

eureka Jul 26
i’ll be turning a year older soon and still, my mind is clouded with so many thoughts. insecurities are surfacing; loneliness has come knocking on my door again. i haven’t let her in but somehow, she found a way like how an old friend knows every corner of you. it’s good to be alone and i like the peace and quiet that comes with it—i just didn’t think i would feel its very essence. i don’t say anything not because no one has ever asked, but because i fear that if a word slips off my mouth, all of them would overflow and i wouldn’t be able to stop. if i can’t bear and withstand my storms, will anyone ever? even the dark and the silence are no longer a friend to me. in the repainting myself; i have lost myself. i am nothing but a blank canvas, wishing i could swallow a yellow paint.
i don’t know anymore
CB Apr 21
"I cannot afford to miss you anymore, to soak in my tears any longer, my body pruned, and wet. I hoped to drown. Which I did, In the memories of you. It seems as if I suffer more and more as time passes. Watching as the sky turns gold to grey in what seems as a matter of seconds, I’m too lost to count the numbers on the clock.

I can almost start to say “its been years” I think that’s what pains me the most, to watch as the seasons change, to see this world without you by my side, to lose my balance and fall, because you're too far to catch me.

You’ve been in the corner of my eye daily, fleeting glances of your back as you walk on by puts weight onto my chest. I slow my tired bones in hope to catch the look on your face, then other days I’m practically sprinting when I see your feet under the crack of a door. It hurts so much that when I begin to start thinking about it I begin to get a headache. I’m then frantically thinking of all the memories of us, all the words, all the touches, everything.

My brain is constantly tired from discarding newer memories just to remember what we ate one year, three months, two days, and sixteen seconds ago, together.

I let it hurt, I think thats what I’m afraid of most; forgetting you, I almost did and realized it was chaos. I ached terribly at first, but it had yet to reach my body physically, now I shake, my heart beats frantically looking for a way out, if only it could leap out of my chest, just to get away from you, it clenches tightly when you’re mentioned because the very essence of your stupid name tears it apart all over again."
Too many commas, but that’s ok because this little excerpt is about 2-3 years old, with a little bit of revisions here and there
Elly Apr 11
nakikita ko ang pinaghalong sakit at galit sa kanyang mga mata, “nasaan ka nuong kailangan kita?”

nanlalabo na ang mga mata ko dahil sa mga namumuong luha na nagbabadyang bumagsak, “nuong panahong kailangan mo ako, kailangan ko rin ang sarili ko..”
I trudge along for what seems like an eternity.
With each step, I fall further into the pits of despair.
Pretty soon, I fear, anxiety will consume me and shatter whatever flicker of ambition is left.
Maybe I should just give up now and lay here in these woods until the vultures decide to make a meal of my remains.
An excerpt from a book I'm working on that sounded pretty poetic to me.
Xella Jan 8
It's a crying shame
The pursuit of our own wealth lights a flame
That makes greed a game that lets the whole world
As the world turns, the whole world burns
Money was invented for trade
But now those bits of paper twist hearts, make
Turns a saint to a sinner
A child to a killer
His finger on the trigger of a money game
NOT MY OWN WORK. This is a part of a song called Money Game by Ren. I think he and his friends who are making music are very underrated as they speak what needs to be heard.
Kaede Jul 2019
"Everyone is leaving the past, and you want me to stay?" I asked.
Sabila Siddiqui Jul 2019
“It’s becoming tougher to love you every time you hurt me. It’s becoming tougher to trust you every time you betray me. It’s becoming tougher to be vulnerable every time you exploit me. It’s becoming tougher to lend you my heart when it feels like an open wound in your hand. You taunt me every opportunity you find, brag about my flaws occasionally, criticize and act cold at times. I am tired of visiting the restroom as though it is my sanctuary during occasions, shedding tears and walk out numbing my heart. We ought to be encouraging, loving and supporting one another and not pushing the other down to rise. But the heartaches are becoming often and old wounds are being reopened. It’s becoming tiring to experience it over and over again. I guess for it to not hurt anymore, it shouldn’t matter anymore.”
Kaede Jul 2019
One day, you will find yourself standing alone on the same street you were standing with him few months ago and it will hurt less this time. And you will realize that he wasn't even there with you in the first place.
You think you were happy with him, but when he left you, you realize that the happiness you felt wasn't authentic. Now, all you are mandate to remember are all the nights he sent mixed signals and all the nights you doubted if what you had will work out. But no, it didn't.

That is why I am here, writing this excerpt.
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