Fear Nothing // [Mylee]

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Sunrise Rainier D2 // [Thundy]
Retired Staff

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Pronouns: He/Him
last seen Nov 17, 2023 15:15:56 GMT -5

cozy, queer af

Fear Nothing // [Mylee] Jul 23, 2015 14:19:02 GMT -5

Post by Sunrise Rainier D2 // [Thundy] on Jul 23, 2015 14:19:02 GMT -5

______________________

You took me to your favorite place on Earth
to see the tree they cut down ten years from your birth

I write stories over faded lines of notebook paper, gazing over District Seven like it’s a kingdom of my own. There’s not much to stop a girl from feeling powerful when she’s up in a tree, sitting above the world and looking upon it like a bird, with her heart soaring and her pen sliding freely against paper.

More than anything, I feel that I belong up here.

When I scrawl notes along the margins, there’s no sense to any of it, no order or plot. This is the kind of story that plays out on its own, and I don’t feel like I have much control over its outcome, scribbling thoughts as they occur and throwing down the first words that jump into my head. Today I dream of freedom, of a world painted in hues of yellow and blue, sunshine and warmth and calm.

I tend to read stories more than write them, but sometimes it’s hard to find one that feels happy, so today I write my own.

A slight breeze passes through the branches as I write the words FEAR NOTHING in big block letters on the tattered corner of a page, staring at the ground a hundred feet below.

warehouse

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last seen Apr 18, 2024 5:30:31 GMT -5

Fear Nothing // [Mylee] Aug 23, 2015 23:05:45 GMT -5

Post by Deleted on Aug 23, 2015 23:05:45 GMT -5

[presto]

[/presto]

alana

A front door always worn and never weathered I do not step lightly when crossing its threshold, determined to let the hinges creak and the wood splinter to the greatest extent that it wished. My sister’s voice still stagnant in a mind ever-staling, withering with the seconds that slip through thin fingers. She was no stranger to the slip of sanity that lingered over all of our heads, yet she pretended to cull the crops with the rest of us under her coat of normality, never a stranger; never quite the same.

I thanked her for the latter, and cursed her for the former.

And when her relations seemed to break through the cracks in her skin I would disassociate, slipping away while she spun stories with my mother of a time greater. These stories were always legend in my mind, rooted in facts based a long time ago, yet they never quite struck a chord of truth completely. Cacophony falling upon a deaf ear I did not listen to their conversation as they sat across from each other at the table, instead keeping my eyes trained on the empty bottles on the counter, her life running out— I’m sure one of those pieces of empty glass was to represent us as well.

One last drink in the bottom of the glass, my time was running short.

But time was not measured in steps lost, and so I leave the worn and weathered door behind with the idea of cracking a code forever encrypted within the confines of a mind not wished to be decoded. Seven steps forward and the wind catches the sound of scratching against a summer sky.

One look north bound and I’m met with the sight of a girl set comfortably ten feet above the ground with pencil in one hand and paper in the other. But I am simply background noise in her story determined to play a forefront setting, and though her inattention scratches at my skin, there is no loss of time in the seconds that are spent in snark, “I’m sure there’s nothing you can write up there that is any better than what you could write down here.”

table by anzie