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How do you get so empty? Who takes it out of you?

Visions of Excess by Georges Bataille / An Oresteia by Anne Carson / Art by Scott Donaldson (@/underwaterlad on ig) / Art by Anthony Cudahy / YOUR FATHER MY FATHER by Mal Fawzy / Quote from Ash by Tracy K. Smith / Fight Club by Chuck Palahniuk / Dearth by Deborah Stevenson / Fahrenheit 451 by Ray Bradbury

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Me looking at the first draft in anything writing wise

You know, mind and body is already giving me a hard time in life. Let's just leave on the second draft and call it a day. Some good editing before running into the sunset. Not one to have elegant style. The cake may look ugly, but hey, doesn't hurt to leave some sprinkles and chocolate cream on top. That's the first and second draft.

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100 Theme Challenge - Day 9 (Fear)

Claustrophobia...

If there is any place that provides some comfort, is avoiding the afternoon times where his favorite streets are flooded by people within the bustling urban life. He tries to make do with what money that he has in spending it on a spacy apartment, with any belongings left to make it feel home.

From the realm of where he came, he was subjected to solitary confinement with temporary removal of his legs or arms. In rare cases, detesting them came with a hefty punishment of his wooden skull all alone, left in the dark room for prolonged bouts of time. Of course, when the time is up, they were ready to give him back the rest of his mannequin exterior.

Noises within there was almost never-ending, hearing his other mannequin brothers and sisters in various other acts of damnation. He could hear the wooden splinters cracked, sliced and sawed, or sewed together like proper puppets.

He tries to stand away at any enclosure or the illusion of darkness, making the room or area insignificant to the naked eye. When he was homeless various times, he avoided those eerie alleyways in the dead of evening.

Some notebook work/brain scrambling

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📏 gabs is 5'1- for manny

Send me 📏 (ruler) + your muses height and I'll compare them to mine! (Accepting) | @malafxde

"It's better to be at this height than soaring my head through the skies where it's easier for the short people to punch me in the nut sack. Or worse, every giant's krytonite. Those dang door frames, always hitting their heads. You should be grateful you're not tall as those people."

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The world has been engulfed by tree roots growing ever so rapidly. Civilizations are no more than landscapes, infested by the savages rummaging through decaying artifacts, smudged and unrecognizable. It’s been years since the outbreak took place until the world was a forestry plain of existence. Some took refuge within the oceans, structures sheltering many people who were lucky enough to escape, the only place safe from the expansive woods screaming many echoes. Those who were unlucky, they couldn’t find a way out and suffocated to learn of their new found territory.

They dreaded the hours coming when night falls. They can only pray until the morning lights hit their eyelids.

Dear Anyone Reading this, It's three o clock in the afternoon, and while we love to dip our heads into the waters with the millions of waterfalls made through out the various years passing through before our very eyes, we can't sustain much nutrients to everyone. The nights have grew more violent more than usual. We've lost our children, chickens, pigs, everyone who would we promised to protect with every fiber of our being. They dwindled one by one every night, and with food running low on stock. We can only pray for some unlucky booger to step by, so we can feed ourselves upon his morsel. We've waited for Uncle all day and all night, as he promised to come back with a bundle of supplies to slab a piece of wood down for our windows again. Our generator is running low, and we have no where to go or direction to visit when this place is absorbed of its resources. He never came back, and all that's left is me and my deer sweet brother. I can't trust others, my cunt of a father and my banshee of a mother. They're losing their attachment to reality, and the more we stay here. Hell will break loose. I must find my brother soon and make way for the hills. They say there's a field of carrots, a field of pineapples. That's our next destination, and if you find these notes upon these hastily written words, pray for my family as they're most likely dead next morning within the mud.

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"Not the first to call me that, definitely not the last." How can he forget his ramblings of whatever drips from his own mouth? He literally burst into tears long ago in front of Louis. It was embarrassing, and he couldn't remember why he was breaking down in the first place. It was for very stupid reasons.

As much he can recollect with any memory left in his empty brain. He was on autopilot.

"It's a lovely name, her name. If she took care of you during trivial times, because i can imagine military work can be real straining up here and our bodies." He points to his head. "You've turn out well thanks to her. Look, you have muscles, a nice luscious hair. I could almost be jealous, but I'm not that kind of fucker."

"All I'm saying is, listen, you're too handsome to hang out with some troglodyte who fucks in the streets. Street trash looking motherfuckers. They're not loyal at all. But maybe I'm just ranting, like I always do."

"Cold cocoa..." He chuckled a little at that. What a dorky thought--then again, nutmeg probably was too. He was relaxing with a rub of his neck. Though, he was making a fatigued fart sound with his lips a moment after.

Talk to someone you dearly love? Who did Manny think he was? Also did he take his own advice? Or was he like Louis, with no one?

"--right." He tried to politely accept the advice. "Thanks. Maybe I will." He paused. "--you know, I've got this old lady that used to take care of me in military school. Her name is Flora. She'd think you're weird as hell. You guys should meet sometime."

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He was about to deny that, but he snapped his jaw tight with teeth clattered. Take the compliment you depressed sack of shit. He pursed his lips with finger tapping on the table.

"Thanks...."

Face glancing away before continuing. "Take it back, you're one up yourself as a nice glass of hot cocoa. If only it was cold today ,or else that's less cumbersome. Cold cocoa, there we go. That's you."

Another pause.

"You're a cool guy, don't doubt yourself that." Another awkward pause once again. "You should probably talk to someone you dearly love. Days will be less hectic that way. If you're heavy in the head."

"Ugh. Don't make it self deprecating, you bitch." God, he jumped so quick to insulting himself. Sounded like the voices in Louis fucking head. "--you...--if I had to pick a flavor, I'd probably pick nutmeg for you."

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"You taste like cinnamon sugar. Me, myself, and I? I taste like molded bread left for hours. You don't want to taste that."

"Even when your elder sounds like he huffs paint?" He snorts, rolling his eyes. "You're just as bad as me, just in a different flavor. I don't wanna hear it."

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"Why, you're correct on that part. I'm actually two hundred years old." He joked, but not really at all. "So therefore, you have to listen to your elders or else you're lost in life."

"Rotary phones were phased out before I was outta diapers, you fucking soon-to-be cremation. I guarentee you're older than me. And I don't have wrinkles!" His korean skin care is ELITE, thank you.

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"Aren't you in your near 40s you wrinkled old fart? Least have some self awareness. I could look at you trying to work a rotary phone and you would still fail at it. Just what are you even doing?"

"What thoughts? The fucking AOL Dial up sound in repeat?"

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"Stop raising your voice. I can't hear my thoughts here."

"It was fucking sarcasm. SARCASM. The use of irony to mock or convey contempt."

"I don't need you fucking 20 year olds who once got a Valentines Card telling me how the fuck to live my life."

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I'll never forget how after finishing Darkwood, only 5 percent of players got to the ending. And with how difficult the game is, it leaves you guessing with 'Okay, where do i go next' or 'The nights are going to get worse, aren't they?' or 'will i have enough supplies to survive the hell nights' It doesn't leave you with room to breathe. And it leaves you with a warning during the loading screen.

You're playing an unforgiving game, you will not be lend by the hand. Respect the woods, focus, be patient.

How can i be patient when these cosmic horrors are trying to kill me?

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The world has been engulfed by tree roots growing ever so rapidly. Civilizations are no more than landscapes, infested by the savages rummaging through decaying artifacts, smudged and unrecognizable. It’s been years since the outbreak took place until the world was a forestry plain of existence. Some took refuge within the oceans, structures sheltering many people who were lucky enough to escape, the only place safe from the expansive woods screaming many echoes. Those who were unlucky, they couldn’t find a way out and suffocated to learn of their new found territory.

They dreaded the hours coming when night falls. They can only pray until the morning lights hit their eyelids.

Dear Anyone Reading this, It's three o clock in the afternoon, and while we love to dip our heads into the waters with the millions of waterfalls made through out the various years passing through before our very eyes, we can't sustain much nutrients to everyone. The nights have grew more violent more than usual. We've lost our children, chickens, pigs, everyone who would we promised to protect with every fiber of our being. They dwindled one by one every night, and with food running low on stock. We can only pray for some unlucky booger to step by, so we can feed ourselves upon his morsel. We've waited for Uncle all day and all night, as he promised to come back with a bundle of supplies to slab a piece of wood down for our windows again. Our generator is running low, and we have no where to go or direction to visit when this place is absorbed of its resources. He never came back, and all that's left is me and my deer sweet brother. I can't trust others, my cunt of a father and my banshee of a mother. They're losing their attachment to reality, and the more we stay here. Hell will break loose. I must find my brother soon and make way for the hills. They say there's a field of carrots, a field of pineapples. That's our next destination, and if you find these notes upon these hastily written words, pray for my family as they're most likely dead next morning within the mud.

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Send me 📏 (ruler) + your muses height and I'll compare them to mine!

using this site

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I kinda want to make a Darkwood au, where the woods of that place grew expansive. It's uncontained and no matter what they do, they can't burn the ever growing roots from spreading through out.

Sorta an apocalyptic verse

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I always wondered how Katsu would change as a person when he reaches past a hundred years old, still no different physically but personality wise? That's question for the century for me cause that needs some development.

And need to remember that he's 23 years old while Manny is 28 to 250 years old. He seen too much shit, while Katsu just started his life as a mannequin after passing away at such an early age. Time is not kind to age so there's some reality checks to how it will affect him in matured fashion.

The optimist clinging to a better future, but getting so tired more and more.