#WritingExcerpts

[bellasmumblingsandmusings]

Teaser Tuesday/WIP Wednesday!

Tagging @nyx-knox @roguishcat @bardic-inspo @bloodinwine No pressure! Give me a teaser of what you are working on! Because I post

What Could Have Been on Weds, I am gonna try and do these on Tuesdays!

SPOILERS Ahead! For Chapter 13!

Astarion hadn’t expected such swiftness from her; he had envisioned her drawing it out—turning it into a game. But the boldness of her action struck him like a spark to tinder, igniting a primal hunger within him. His eyes roved over her, unabashedly drinking in every curve, every shadow. “Very good,” he murmured, his grin widening, his gaze darkening with unspoken promises. “But I’m afraid that’s only the beginning... I want all of it, pet.” Sima leaned back further into the chair, draping her legs over one of the arms, her body arching in a languid stretch that was as provocative as it was defiant. Her hair spilled down one side, her back curving elegantly against the chair’s cushion. “Oh... I suppose you mean this last, inconvenient scrap of lace.” She gestured to the thin black thong at her hips, a teasing smile curling her lips. “I might take it off... perhaps. Or maybe,” she purred, eyes locking onto his with a tantalizing glint, “you should come over here and use those pretty teeth of yours.”

Chapter 13 drops tomorrow! Weds Sept 11 2024 Chapters on Tumblr: Prologue, 1 , 2 , 3 , Interlude, 4 , 5 , 6, 7, 8 , 9 , 10 Interlude 2 , 11 , 12

Entire Story Link on AO3

Spotify Playlist

[blog-de-nats]

Writetober Day 2: Retro

Palabras: 1247.

Formato: Short story.

Género: Sci-fi ligero, comedia.

Advertencias: ¿Caos adolescente y mucho sarcasmo se consideran advertencias?

-Llegas tarde, Andjela. 

La chica apareció al lado del hombre de traje en apenas un pestañeo, haciendo parecer que se teletransportaba de un lado a otro ante el ojo del ser humano. 

-No seas aguafiestas, jefe.- comentó, sacando el cassette de su lector y quitándose los cascos.- Esta vez no ha sido para tanto, ¿quince? ¿veinte minutos?

El adulto suspiró, cerrando los ojos durante un instante y contando hasta diez mentalmente. eso era cosa mala, Vasile sólo lo hacía cuando Andjela lo sacaba de quicio, que era todo el rato.

-Andjela, quedamos hace tres horas en el Congreso para que nos dieras las fotografías que habías conseguido. Hace justamente dos horas y treinta y siete minutos me llamaste desde una cabina en Nueva Jersey, que está a la distancia de un océano, para decirme que ibas a estar en la feria y me las darías allí. 

-Oh, claro. -La chica le cortó, rebuscando en los bolsillos de su chaqueta de cuero.- Y las he metido justo aquí... En alguna parte, estoy segura. 

-No las has perdido, ¿verdad? -Vasile entrecerró los ojos, mirando fijamente a la chica de esa forma que él sabía que la ponía de los nervios o, por lo menos, cargo de conciencia.- Llevas tres horas para entregármelas, Andjela. 

La chica pasó a rebuscar en su mochila de cuerdas y estampado de flores. Mientras tanto no se atrevió a mirar a la cara al adulto.

-Oh, ya sabes. -divagó, intentando entretenerle.- Tengo una vida muy ocupada y me pillabas entrenando, ¿sabes?

-¿Entrenando?- Vasile alzó una ceja. 

-Oh, sí. -terció la chica, pasando a buscar en los bolsillos de su pantalón- Ir a la velocidad de la luz no se aprende por gracia divina. Aunque todavía no he llegado a tales velocidades, la verdad. ¡Pero hace una semana descubrí que voy lo suficientemente rápido como para andar por encima del agua!

-¿Y es por eso que acabaste en Nueva Jersey?

-Exacto, así que aproveché a visitar un centro comercial que habían abierto hace poco y me fui a pintar las uñas. ¿Te gustan?

Andjela le enseñó las manos, sacándolas de sus bolsillos.

-Son muy... rosas. -Vasile comentó, ajustándose la corbata distraídamente. 

-Lo sé, son maravillosas. -La chica sonrió, metiéndose las manos en los bolsillos de su chaqueta- Oh, mira, estaban aquí.

La chica sacó unas fotografías instantáneas de su mano, dobladas y arrugadas. Pero su imagen dejaba ver con total claridad todas las muestras que necesitaba el Congreso y, por ende, Vasile.

El hombre se las quitó de las manos y las desdobló, permitiéndose unos minutos para analizarlas.

Andjela se balanceó sobre sus pies, pasando su peso de las puntas a los talones y de los talones a las puntas todo el rato. Miró distraídamente los carteles de luces de colores de la feria mientras tarareaba para sí, intentando rellenar el silencio entre los dos. 

-¿Por qué las has hecho en una cámara instantánea? -el adulto preguntó, mirando de reojo a la chica un instante.- Te dimos una Nikon último modelo para que nos dieras la memoria de la cámara. Y, según el papel de la fotografía, has usado una polaroid de hace por lo menos una década.

-Ah, es que no quería malgastar el potencial de una cámara tan buena en algo tan aburrido como una misión secreta de espionaje a un grupo terrorista. -Andjela se encogió de hombros.- Si te sirve de consuelo, la voy a dar una mejor vida que la que tú planeabas. 

-¿Y lo de la mancha de salsa en una de las fotos?- preguntó, pasando a otra instantánea.

-Es que me he comido un perrito caliente en Nueva Jersey mientras me cercioraba de que las fotos no habían salido borrosas. -la chica comentó mientras se asomaba sobre el papel para ver la mancha de la que hablaban.- Creo que eso es mayonesa o mostaza, no estoy segura. Pero estaba riquísimo. ¿Quieres probarlos? Dame un momento, ahora vuelvo.

Y la chica desapareció de en medio de la nada para la vista de Vasile. Hace unos meses él habría sido capaz de divisar una estela de movimiento cuando aparecía o desaparecía, pero ahora era demasiado rápida como para reconocerla. Por fin se estaba tomando el entrenamiento en serio. 

Por otro lado, seguía siendo la misma chica que había reclutado.

Vasile negó con la cabeza para sí, guardándose las fotos en el bolsillo interior de su traje. Miró el ambiente colorido y animado de la feria. ¿Por qué no le sorprendía que lo hubiera citado allí?

-No sabes lo desesperante que puedes llega...

-Ya he llegado.- la imagen de la chica con unas gafas de aviación puestas y con un perrito caliente en cada mano apareció ante los ojos del adulto.- ¿Decías algo? Cuando me he acercado parecías tener la boca súper abierta y estabas haciendo un sonido como el de un osos susurrando. 

Vasile volvió a contar hasta diez en su interior antes de responder.

-No es de tu incumbencia, señorita. 

-Bueno, allá tú. -Andjela cedió, dándole un bocado a uno de los perritos mientras ofrecía el otro al adulto. 

Él sacó un pañuelo de tela y cogió la comida sin llegar a tocarla. Andjela no supo cómo, pero el hombre también se las arregló para darle un buen bocado sin que se le escurriera salsa por algún lado.

La chica se quitó de los ojos las gafas de aviación que solía usar cuando corría a velocidad sónica, dejándoselas superpuestas sobre la frente, y volvió a rebuscar en los bolsillos de su chaqueta.

-Antes de que se me olvide. -hablo una vez que hubo tragado todo el bocado.- Has sido tú el que ha invitado a los perritos. 

Sacó la cartera de Vasile y se la tendió mientras empezaban a andar alrededor de la feria. 

El adulto se la quitó de un golpe seco y se la guardó, esta vez en el bolsillo interior junto a las fotografías.

-¿Cuánto te ha costado?

-Treinta dólares.

El adulto tuvo que pestañear un par de veces antes de poder responder.

-¿Cómo es que has...?

-Sí, ya lo sé. No hace falta que me lo digas. -Andjela cortó al hombre- Es un rollo eso del cambio de moneda, pero es algo necesario. Pero no es para tanto.

-Andjela. -advirtió Vasile.- Un perrito no vale sólo quince dólares.

-Bueno, también he aprovechado para pagar lo del pintauñas y me he comprado un cassette nuevo. Lo del perrito han sido sólo ocho dólares. Pero tranquilo, todavía tienes un montón de pasta dentro de la cartera. Para dar y prestar, de hecho.

-Eres increíble.- farfulló antes de darle un bocado increíblemente elegante al perrito.

-Lo sé, no hace falta que me lo digas. -Sonrió la chica- Tú también eres muy amable, pero me tengo que ir. Prometí a mi madre que volvería a casa antes de las nueve y ya son las nueve y media. A la próxima tendremos que quedar más pronto. 

-Pero si hemos quedad...

La chica desapareció antes de que Vasile pudiera terminar la frase, dejándole tirado en una feria con un perrito de la mano. Miró su mano izquierda y cogió una entrada a la noria que había aparecido entre sus dedos justo cuando la chica desapareció.

Una vez analizado el anverso, dio la vuelta al papelito y se encontró con una letra emborronada y apretada que conocía de sobra.

"Diviértete o algo por el estilo"

Vasile negó con la cabeza y contó hasta diez. 

Esa chica iba a ser su perdición. 

[wordsintheattic]

“There’s a hunger in me poetry can’t feed. A longing too wild for language. So I bleed metaphors just to keep breathing.”

—wordsintheattic

[notnocturne]

academia things to research when you're bored (because doom scrolling is insipid) :

african architecture

medieval methods of washing clothes

the history of religion

oceanic mythology

the renaissance era's idea of masculinity

the colour wheel

the history behind braids

donna tartt's childhood

the influence of cigarettes on women in the 1920s

how, exactly, swords are forged

the history of cinnamon (very interesting!!)

the different shades of maroon and their names

who the first person was to dissect a human body

the side affects of anaesthesia

your favourite university's mantra

the black dahlia murder

the controversy surrounding psychiatry

why do we smile to express joy

music theory and how it shaped the making of instruments

symbolism in renaissance art

the rat race

the most poisonous plants

the history of calligraphy

what ancient greece thought about music

how to bake sourdough bread from scratch

conspiracy theories

how to study latin

turkish proverbs

the history of metaphors

the process of erosion

the act of proposing

[hatshepsutsposts]

The night hung above her like a pair of burnt-edged curtains that refused to fall over her eyes. Wherever she turned, a new darkness brushed against her back. Sleep crept in eventually, like a door splintered at the threshold—fringed with thorns and splinters of broken dreams.

Tonight, her body behaved like a foreign skin. The sweat on her wasn’t hers—it clung like a black djinn, seeping through her pores. The weight on her chest settled gently, like the shadow of a disaster not yet named. As time began to dissolve in silence, she closed her eyes.

And in that moment... she didn’t fall into a dream.

She was pulled under it. Into the underlayer, into the pitch-black water beneath the dream.

Far away—at the shore of the dream—along the finest nerves in her spine, a rattlesnake’s hiss scraped upward, brushing bone.

Above her, a raw, surgical-white light. Mint-green tiles, cracked and grimy… The floor had absorbed decades of death stories, turning them into its own memory. Mold, formaldehyde, blood, urine, bile, lymph, tissue fluid... But now, the air didn’t carry a stench—just another form of silence.

The first thing she saw was a gurney. Cold. Aluminum. With a narrow channel at the edge, still glistening with pooled water.

Then another one.

One was empty.

The other wasn’t.

Her eyes opened without her consent. But no—they were already open.

Only now, she was being forced to see.

Layla's knees gave way. Her mind couldn’t keep up with what her eyes had taken in.

It was as if someone had driven a nail through the center of her heart—and only the echo had just now reached her brain.

At that moment, a mountain shifted.

An ocean swallowed a continent.

A continent shattered in an earthquake.

A meteor struck a peninsula.

All of civilization collapsed.

There he lay.

"Øystein."

The white of his skin was no longer the kind she knew from life.

It was like moonlight fallen into a puddle—cold, dim, stripped of glow.

Those eyes that once burned like sparks were still in their place, but the blue that used to flash lightning into her every time she looked…

Now it was a dull gray, like nitrogen vapor. Silent. Frozen at absolute zero.

His pupils had dilated so wide, they’d swallowed all the brightness.

There was no blue left.

Only… absence.

And a pit.

On his slightly parted lips, she saw something—

Maybe a word abandoned at the last moment.

Maybe a scream rising from within that never made it out.

On the upper right of his forehead, there was a mark.

But it wasn’t just the trace of a wound.

It was the place where thought had shattered.

A half-finished album.

Words that were never spoken.

All the things lived for, yet never completed...

Layla wanted to look away, but couldn’t.

What anchored her gaze wasn’t pain—

It was devotion.

“No... no, no… Let this be a dream. Please, let it be a dream.

You were just beside me...

If this is real, I don’t want to see the sun tomorrow.”

And then, a spark flickered in her mind.

She had felt this before—

That precise moment when the walls of reality cracked and she realized she was inside a dream.

She remembered staying within it, aware.

And sometimes—rarely—she’d even been able to change its course.

But this time, there wasn’t power in her.

There was surrender.

Still, a faint light of consciousness passed over her—

like a sudden flash inside the prefrontal cortex.

A neuron, right at the edge of sleep, reconnected.

“I will tell him what I never managed to say.

And he will hear me.”

With trembling hands, she lifted the white sheet.

On the cold skin were numbers drawn in red acetate marker: 1... 7... 14... The final number: 23.

Some were faded, others smudged, blurred with blood. The ones she could clearly see: 1... 7... 14...

The rest were indistinct, but one had etched itself into her mind: '23.'

She didn’t know why this number stood out so sharply. It felt familiar—like the number of a cursed threshold. Like an autopsy report of a manifesto.

"This isn’t real," she whispered to herself. A lucid dream, searing as reality. Her eyes returned to his. Øystein’s eyes were still open. Layla suddenly remembered:

"Where I come from, they used to say… if a soul departs with its eyes open, it’s left something behind. A word, a burden, something unfinished. Until someone leans in and says, 'What you couldn’t do, I will.' Only then does the trust pass on."

Because throughout human evolution, eyelids haven’t only closed for sleep—but also for understanding.

Layla leaned closer to his face. With trembling fingers, she reached out. Her hands touched Øystein’s eyelids and slowly closed them.

She whispered:

"Close your sapphire eyes, my companion sealed to the night. I swear, until I fulfill what you entrusted to me, I will not leave this wretched world."

Her gaze drifted to Øystein’s forehead. Where the light broke, there was a pitch-black mark. She leaned in and kissed it. The taste of blood-soaked memory and grief-stained loyalty lingered on her lips.

"This mark on your forehead… Was it the final moment embedded in your mind? The knife that stole your last thought, your final sentence? Is this where all the unfinished conversations between us spilled out? All the things you could never say to me?"

She paused for a moment. "Was this the last one? Was it this blow that silenced you? Was it here?"

She fixed her gaze. "This mark... is the murder of an idea. This wound... the mute blood of an unfinished manifesto. And I... I’m still trying to finish the rest of that sentence."

Her hand, trembling, reached his neck. She touched the mark there, as if hoping, helplessly, to heal it. Her fingers lingered. Her voice dropped to a whisper:

"Your throat... As if you were about to speak, and someone stole the word from the edge of your lips. Maybe you were about to say 'run.' Maybe 'stay.' Maybe, 'Enough. Don’t do this.' And just imagining that is enough to drive me insane.

With you, a thousand counter-voices fell silent. They left me with the echo of your silence. And so I will not speak either. Some things, like you, I will express only with silence."

Slowly, she moved down to his chest. Just above the lung, to the upper right of his heart—a deep, sharp wound...

She whispered again:

"This is the back door of your heart... The knife that interrupted the song midway. Scarlet sparks are still shooting from within. It’s a burden that halts the breath."

For a moment, her own breath halted.

"Seeing you like this... for a second, I wanted to burn everything. This system. These silences. Those who chose neutrality. Those who let that cursed soul among us, Varg... Everyone who saw and didn’t protect you. I wanted to curse them all."

But now my hand has touched that wound. Cold, like a severed nerve. This wound... Sent a phantom pain through me. And in that moment, I understood:

I know the language of vengeance too well. But vengeance is no longer mine to speak.

Now, it’s about carrying the tremble of this heart into other hearts. Though we could never birth the world we envisioned together, I know... I must live."

She fell silent. Her eyes fixed on a point.

"But at the edge of this darkness, I will always remain with your voice. That ritual I once cursed... Now I could walk into it without blinking."

"In ancient civilizations, queens were buried beside their kings. The silencing of a woman’s life in the shadow of a man’s death. Like the return of property."

Her eyes drifted back to the number.

"But now, looking at that 23rd mark... I want nothing more than to decay beside you."

Layla’s hands were still on his skin. But now the chill was not of death—it was the coolness of sleep. The light hit his face differently. With a shiver, the dark waters of the dream pulled back. Her eyes opened. She woke.

Her breath was shallow and broken. Her throat dry, coughing as she gasped for air. She sat up in bed. Beside her, Øystein lay still, deep in sleep. She leaned close and listened to his breath.

And in that moment… the mountain settled. The waters receded from the continent. The land breathed. The meteor returned to its orbit. Civilization, after its silence, exhaled.

Her eyes filled with tears. She brought her hands together in prayer. Her voice became a muffled but sincere whisper:

"Asha ra bebin… druj ra bresen..."

A moment later, she murmured softly:

"What if we never manage any of it? The album you gave your soul to... The cities we never reached... That wretched but beautiful trip we planned to Cambodia and Albania... Even being buried together in a forest... None of it."

Her eyelids grew heavy. But her voice remained a whisper:

"Even if we live none of it through… My love for you will have no end. If not in this life, then in another place... Another time, another realm, another reality... maybe."

And in that moment, something collapsed inside Layla. But immediately after, something else—quieter but far stronger—rose to its feet.

"A woman who vowed to fight, just so the man she loved would not die with open eyes."

When Layla embraced him, her hands were trembling. She lay beside him, one hand on his back, the other on his chest. She pressed her ear to where his heart beat. There was a rhythm—restless, stubborn, alive.

"It’s beating… still beating," she whispered.

The tightness in her chest eased. She finally exhaled deeply. White soap... She had washed his clothes herself that morning. But beneath that scent, there was still that warmth—his scent, known only to her.

Øystein turned slightly, finding her with his eyes.

"Was it a nightmare again, Layla?"

Layla clung tighter to his neck. From the sleepless nights tearing her chest, from the moment in her dream when she saw dead eyes—but also from the savage, sharp joy of knowing he was alive.

That familiar, raw and warm scent... a bit of soil, a hint of iron, and something of a man abandoned by the gods.

"I’m touching you. You’re here… You didn’t go."

She placed small kisses on his neck, his forehead, his eyes. Øystein paused a moment.

"Why are you kissing me like this in the middle of the night?"

"Because you’re alive. I want to truly feel it. You’re still here… and I want to make this moment infinite."

Oystein pressed a kiss into her hair.

"It’s over. I didn’t go anywhere."

"Min Layla, don’t be afraid. I’m not going anywhere."

Then, in a low whisper:

"I won’t leave you."

Layla’s eyes had been open since she woke from the nightmare. She had even forgotten to blink. Finally, they closed slowly. Just like Øystein’s. But this time… while still alive.

Note: Øystein Aarseth (stage name: Euronymous) was a Norwegian musician and founder of the record label Deathlike Silence Productions. On August 10, 1993, he was murdered in Oslo by Varg Vikernes, stabbed 23 times. According to the autopsy report, the fatal wound was delivered to the skull. The scenes in this text are fictionalized, constructed in reference to a historical event. The narrative treads the line between reality and fiction. All representations are purely the product of individual imagination and emotional interpretation.

*"Min Layla means 'my Layla' in Norwegian."

/////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

Gece, gözlerine bir türlü inmeyen, uçları yanık perdeler gibiydi. Nereye dönse, sırtına başka bir karanlık dokunuyordu. Uyku, eşiği kırık, kıymıklı ve dikenli düşler taşıyan bir kapı gibi aralandı bir süre sonra. Bu gece bedeni, ona ait olmayan bir ten gibi davranıyordu. Ter, içeriden değil de kara bir cinin içinden çıkıp sinmişti üzerine. Kalbindeki ağırlık, adı konmamış bir felaketin gölgesi gibi usulca oturdu içine. Zaman çözülürken sessizce, gözlerini yumdu. Ve o an… düşe düşmedi. Düşün dibine, alt katmanına, rüyanın zifir karası suyuna aktı. Uzakta, rüyanın kıyısında, sinirlerin en ince dallarında bir çıngıraklı yılan sesi omurgasına sürtünerek yükseldi.

Tepede çiğ beyaz bir ameliyathane ışığı, Mint yeşili çatlak seramikler… Zemin, yıllar boyunca içine çektiği her ölüm hikayesini kendi hafızası yapmıştı. Küf, formaldehit, kan, idrar, safra, lenf, doku sıvısı… Ama artık koku değil, sessizliğin başka bir biçimiydi bu. İlk gördüğü şey, bir sedyeydi. Soğuk, alüminyum, ucunda su birikintilerini taşıyan o küçük oluk… Sonra bir tane daha. Biri boştaydı. Diğeri dolu. Gözleri, istemeden açıldı. Ama hayır, zaten açıktı gözleri. Sadece şimdi görmeye mecburdu.

Layla’nın dizlerinin bağı çözüldü, gözleriyle gördüğü şeye aklı yetişemedi. Sanki biri kalbinin ortasına bir çivi çakmıştı da, titreşimi henüz zihnine ulaşmıştı. O sırada bir dağ yerinden oynadı. Bir okyanus, bir kıtayı yuttu. Bir kıta depremle tuzla buz oldu.Bir göktaşı bir yarımadaya çarptı. Tüm medeniyet yok oldu. Orada yatıyordu

'Oystein'

Tenindeki beyaz, artık bildiği canlılıktan uzaktı. Bir su birikintisine düşmüş ay ışığı gibi… Soğuk, ışıksız bir solgunluk.

Bir zamanlar çakmak çakmak yanan o gözler, şimdi yerli yerindeydi ama her baktığında içinde şimşekler çaktıran o mavi şimdi azot buharı gibi gri, mat, sıfır kelvin sessizliğinde donuktu. Gözbebekleri öyle büyümüştü ki, o parlaklık tamamen gölgelenmişti. Sanki maviye bile yer kalmamıştı. Sanki orada yalnızca… yokluk vardı. Ve bir çukur.

Hafifçe aralanmış dudaklarında, bir şey gördü: Belki son anda vazgeçtiği bir kelime. Belki içinden yükselen ama dışarı çıkamayan bir çığlık.

Alnının sağ üst köşesinde bir iz…

Ama bu, yalnızca bir yarığın izi değil. Bu, düşüncenin parçalandığı yerdi. Yarım kalan bir albüm, söylenememiş sözler, uğruna yaşanmış ama bitirilememiş her şey…

Layla, gözlerini kaçırmak istese de yapamadı. Çünkü bakışını sabitleyen şey, acı değil… Bağlılıktı.

"Hayır… hayır, hayır… Bu bir rüya olsun. Lütfen rüya olsun. Az önce yanımdaydın… Eğer bu gerçekse, yarın sabah ben de güneşi görmek istemiyorum."

O an, zihninde bir kıvılcım çaktı. Bunu daha önce yaşamıştı. Gerçeğin duvarları çatladığında, düş içinde olduğunu fark ettiği o anı.

Uyanmadan içinde kalabildiğini… Ve bazen çok nadiren rüyanın yönünü değiştirebildiğini hatırladı. Ama bu sefer, o güçten çok bir teslimiyet vardı içinde. Yine de bir bilinç ışığı düştü üzerine. Prefrontal korteksin aniden ışıkları açması gibi. Bir nöron, uykunun kıyısında yeniden bağlantı kurdu. 'ona söylemek isteyip söyleyemediklerimi anlatacağım ve beni duyacak'

Titreyen elleriyle üzerindeki beyaz çarşafı kaldırdı.

Soğuk tenin üstünde kırmızı asetat kalemiyle çizilmiş rakamlar:

1… 7… 14… Son sayı: 23…

Bazıları silinmişti, kimi buğulanmıştı, kanla karışmıştı. Net olarak seçebildiği birkaç sayı: 1… 7… 14…

Diğerleri bulanıktı ama biri sanki içine kazındı.

'23'

Neden bu sayı, neden bu kadar netti bilmiyordu. Bir yerden tanıdık… Uğursuz bir eşiğin sayısı. Bir manifestonun otopsi raporu gibi.

“Bu gerçek değil,” dedi kendi kendine. Gerçek kadar yakıcı bir lucid rüya. Gözleri yeniden onun gözlerine döndü. Oystein'in gözleri hâlâ açıktı. Layla, o an hatırladı; “Bizim oralarda derlerdi… Gözleri açık kalan bir ruh, ardında bir şey bırakmıştır. Bir söz, bir yük, yarım kalmış bir şey. Ta ki biri eğilip kulağına ‘Senin yapamadığını ben yapacağım,’ diyene kadar. Emanet o zaman devrolur.”

Çünkü insan evrimi boyunca gözkapakları sadece uykuya değil, anlama da kapanır.

Layla eğildi, onun yüzüne. Titreyen parmaklarını uzattı. Ellerini Øystein’in gözkapaklarına götürdü ve yavaşça kapattı.

fısıldadı:

“Kapat safir gözlerini,

geceye mühürlenmiş yol arkadaşım.

Sözüm olsun

senin bana bıraktığın emaneti tamamlamadan

bu boktan dünyadan gitmeyeceğim.”

Gözleri Øystein’in alnına kaydı. Işığın tam kırıldığı yerde, katran karası bir iz… Eğildi ve öptü. Kanla geçmişin, yasla bağlılığın tadı dudaklarında kaldı.

“Alnındaki bu iz…

Zihnine saplanan o son an mıydı?

Son cümleyi, son fikri çalan bıçak mı?

Seninle yarım kalan konuşmaların yeri mi burası?

Bana hiç söyleyemediğin şeyler mi aktı buradan dışarı?”

Bir an durdu.

“Bu muydu sonuncusu?

Bu darbe mi susturdu seni?

Burası mıydı?”

Bakışını sabitledi.

“Bu iz… bir fikir katli.

Bu yara… bitirilememiş bir manifestonun suskun kanı.

Ve ben… hâlâ o cümlenin geri kalanını tamamlamaya çalışıyorum.”

Boynundaki ize, içi titreyerek dokundu. Çaresizce iyileştirmek ister gibi.

Parmakları orada biraz durdu, sesi fısıltıya dönüştü:

“Boğazın…

Sanki bir kelimeye hazırlanmışsın da,

biri onu dudaklarının kıyısından almış gibi.

Belki ‘kaç’ diyecektin. Belki ‘kal’…

Belki ‘yeter, artık yapma!’ ve ben sadece bunu düşünerek bile delirebilirim.

Seninle birlikte binlerce karşı ses de sustu o anda.

Bana senin suskunluğunun yankısını bıraktılar.

Ve ben de konuşmayacağım.

Bazı şeyleri, senin gibi sessizlikle anlatacağım.”

Yavaşça göğsüne indi. Ciğerinin hemen üzerinde, kalbinin sağ çaprazında keskin, derin bir yara…

Tekrar fısıldadı:

“Burası senin kalbinin arka kapısı…

Bir şarkıyı yarıda kesen bıçak.

İçinden hâlâ kızıl kıvılcımlar sıçrıyor.

Nefesi yarım bırakan bir yük bu.”

Bir an, nefesi kesildi.

“Seni böyle gördüğümde… bir anlığına her şeyi yakmak istedim.

Bu sistemi, bu sessizlikleri, tarafsızlığı seçenleri…

O lanetli ruhu, Varg'ı aramıza sokanları.

Göz göre göre seni koruyamayan herkesi.

Hepsine lanet okumak istedim.”

Ama elim o yaraya değdi şimdi.

Soğuk, kesik bir sinir gibi.

Bu yara…

Hayalet bir ağrı yaydı içime.

Ve o an anladım:

İntikamın dilini de çok iyi biliyorum.

Ama şimdi bana düşen, intikam değil.

Bu kalbin çırpıntılarını başka kalplere aktarmak.

Seninle kurduğumuz dünyayı daha doğuramamışken

yaşamak zorundayım, biliyorum.”

Biraz sustu.

Gözleri bir noktaya sabitlendi.

Ama karanlığın kıyısında,

hep senin sesinle kalacağım.

Bir zamanlar lanetlediğim o ritüele,

gözümü bile kırpmadan yürüyebilirim şimdi.

Eskiden…

Eski uygarlıklarda, kraliçeleri de gömerlermiş kralların yanına.

Erkek bir bedenin ardından,

bir kadının hayatının susturuluşu.

Bir mülk iadesi gibi.”

Gözleri, sayıya döndü.

“Ama şimdi o 23. ize bakarken…

Birlikte çürümeyi çok istiyorum.”

Layla’nın elleri hâlâ onun tenindeydi. Ama artık serinlik, ölü değil, uykunun serinliğiydi. Işık farklı bir yerden vurdu yüzüne.

Bir titreyişle, rüyanın koyu suyu geri çekildi. Gözleri açıldı. Uyandı.

Soluğu kesik kesikti. Boğazı kurumuş, öksürerek boğuk nefesler almaya çalışıyordu. Yatakta doğruldu. Yanı başında, derin uykusunda kıpırtısız yatan Øystein’i gördü. Yanına eğildi ve onun nefesini dinledi.

O an… Dağ yerine oturdu. Kıtadan sular çekildi. Toprak nefes aldı. Göktaşı yörüngesine geri döndü. Medeniyet, suskunluktan sonra bir iç çekti.

Gözleri doldu. Ellerini dua eder gibi kavuşturdu. Sesi, boğuk ama içten bir fısıltıya dönüştü:

“Asha ra bebin… druj ra bresen…”

Bir an sonra, usulca mırıldandı:

“Ya yapamazsak hiçbirini?

Kendini adadığın albümü…

Gidilmeyen şehirleri…

Kamboçya’ya ve Arnavutluk’a yapacağımız o sefil ama güzel yolculuğu…

Bir ormana birlikte gömülmeyi bile…

Hiçbirini…”

Gözkapakları ağırlaştı. Ama sesi hâlâ fısıltıdaydı:

“Hepsini yaşayamasak da…

Seni sevmemin bir sonu olmayacak.

Bu hayatta tamamlanmazsa,

başka bir yerde…

Başka bir zamanda, başka bir boyutta, başka bir gerçeklikte belki…”

İşte o an Layla’nın içinde bir şey yıkıldı.

Ama hemen ardından, daha sessiz ama çok daha güçlü bir başka şey ayağa kalktı.

“Biri gözleri açık gitmesin diye mücadele etmeye yemin eden bir kadın…”

Layla, ona sarıldığında elleri titriyordu. Onun yanına uzanıp bir elini sırtına, bir elini göğsüne koydu. Kulaklarını, kalbinin attığı yere verdi. Orada bir ritm vardı. Kıpırtılı, inatçı ve canlı. ' Atıyor.. hala atıyor' dedi. Göğsündeki kasılma gevşedi ve sonunda derin bir nefes aldı. Beyaz sabun… Çamaşırlarını bu sabah kendisi yıkamıştı. Ama o kokunun altında yine de onun, sadece ona ait olan o sıcak, tanıdık koku vardı.

Øystein, başını hafifçe yana çevirdi. Gözleriyle onu buldu.

“Ne oldu Layla, yine kabus mu gördün?”

Layla onun Boynuna daha sıkı sokuldu. Göğsünü yırtan uykusuz gecelerden, rüyasında ölü gözler gördüğü andan kalan son korkuyla… ama aynı zamanda hayatta olduğunu anladığı o vahşi, keskin sevinçle.

O tanıdık, çiğ ve sıcak koku… biraz toprak, biraz demir, biraz da tanrıların terk ettiği bir adamın kokusu.

“Sana dokunuyorum. Buradasın… Gitmedin.”

Boynuna, alnına, gözlerine küçük öpücükler kondurdu. Oystein önce bir an duraksadı.

“Neden beni böyle öpüyorsun gecenin bir yarısı?”

“Çünkü yaşıyorsun. Bunu iyice anlamak istiyorum. Hâlâ varsın… ve ben bu anı sonsuz yapmak istiyorum.”

Saçlarına bir öpücük düştü.

“Geçti. Hiçbir yere gitmedim.”

“Min Layla, korkma. Hiçbir yere gitmeyeceğim.”

Sonra, kısık bir fısıltıyla:

“Seni bırakmam.”

Layla'nın gözleri, kabustan uyandığı andan beri açıktı. Kırpmayı bile unutmuştu.

Sonunda yavaşça kapandı.

Tıpkı Øystein’inkiler gibi ama bu kez, hayattayken.

Dipnot:

Øystein Aarseth (sahne adıyla Euronymous), Norveçli müzisyen ve Deathlike Silence Productions plak şirketinin kurucusudur. 10 Ağustos 1993’te Oslo’da, Varg Vikernes tarafından 23 bıçak darbesiyle öldürülmüştür. Bu metinde yer alan sahneler, tarihsel bir olaya referansla kurgulanmış olup, gerçek ile kurmaca arasındaki sınırda ilerleyen bir anlatı inşa eder. Temsiller, yalnızca bireysel hayal gücünün ve duygusal yorumun ürünüdür.

*Min Layla Norveç dilinde 'Benim Layla'm anlamına gelmektedir

[notnocturne]

because we thrive off spiting characters with our enemies' names

writing is so fun

[regretfulfeels]

“You were my whole world, and I wasn’t fucking even in yours.”

Brii Watts via regretfulfeels on ig

[kinomiakai]

Surprise!! For my second anniversary over on Patreon, we’re celebrating with an AU of my ongoing story - The Forest! That takes the number of stories this month up to 3! Whew!! All my stories can be read for $1 a month - and, if you want to check out what there is before you pay anything, check out the list of my stories here!

Summary of The Sea: And it was probably just him not being able to find the stuff on his first walk around. It would take even the most focused person a look or two, surely, but it did seem...weird. Weirder, too, because sometimes he swore he could see something move in the water—he’d hear a splash, or see something fall, and it was like it had been thrown back to him or something...but that was impossible, right?

Braith just had a knack for finding lost things.

Merman!Fern, Human!Braith, alternate universe of The Forest. 14939 Words.

Except under the cut!

He breathed in and he followed the dock to the end.

He still wasn’t sure. He still couldn’t be sure, really, because the only explanations he could come up with were something impossible. But he walked to the edge of the dock and knelt down anyway, getting closer to...the sea. Closer to the deeper parts of the sea, anyway, which was...if anything was here, which it wasn’t, it would be out here. In deeper water. Right? It wasn’t as if he’d actually been able to catch a glimpse of anything other than a splash, but…

He breathed out and shook his head.

“Um,” he said quietly, pulling the rock from his small pouch and rolling it between his hands, “I’m looking for a pair of glasses. They might be broken, but—um. If you’ve found them...”

Whew. His heart was hammering.

Braith laughed at himself and gave the stone a small toss, scanning over the water before he closed his eyes. He tucked his head down and hugged his knees to himself just to ease the nerves...he didn’t know if this would be too much, but he hoped it wouldn’t. If someone was there to respond, someone who would want to wait until Braith couldn’t see them...

Something shifted in the water. He heard it. He didn’t open his eyes, but he heard it, he held his breath as he felt the dock shift, as if there was a weight—and then another, and a shade over his eyes like something blocked out the sun—Braith didn’t even breathe—

Something dropped on his foot.

Braith’s eyes snapped open.

But his head was still down, and the only thing he managed to catch sight of was the splash, the ripples, and—

Braith swallowed and stared at where it had been.

For a second there—for a second, he could have sworn he’d seen a tail.

Keep reading?

[chief-spartan]

“There’s little to fear of the situation in the Lower City” the Prime Minister stated, wearing heavy body armor, as his eyes scanned the rooftops. “Our metropolitan police and the Internal Forces have the situation under control, and all will return to normal very soon.”

The steady beat of gunfire heard over his speach proved this false.

[arrowistired]

Writing excerpt pt1:

Her green eyes glanced at Bakugou in anger and stress, “I never meant to side with either of you, I can’t be friends with either of you because of the amount of stress and anxiety you both put me through; fighting over me like lost puppies. I love you and Izuku to death but you guys are putting too much stress on my shoulders. I’m sorry but I’m moving, not because of you but other reasons, goodbye Kacchan.”

[somuchtowritearchive]

Goal Tracker Day One

12/17/18 (technically posted at like 12:30 am on the 18th but you get it)

On the nanowrimo website, you can track a goal for however many words in however much time, so I’m going to be trying it out for a new WIP of mine!! My goal is 20,000 words by the end of december (15 days), so I’ll try to keep up with my progress on here and see if I can manage it :)

Word Count: 2117

Remaining: 17883

Excerpt:

“How far is the town?” Lucia groaned. I snorted, unable to help it. Apparently her enthusiasm to get out of the cabin was no match against a bit of wind, though I couldn’t judge her too harshly—I wanted nothing more than to find and inn and huddle up in front of a fire. She scowled, shooting me a withering glare before rushing to catch up with Silas.

“Far,” he said. “I’ve told you, it’s an hour on foot both ways. Find us a horse and then maybe my answer will change.”

“Oh, imagine seeing a horse out here! How majestic would that be?” Elsie said with a dreamy smile.

Silas, Lucia, and I rolled our eyes in unison. Leave it to Elsie to completely miss the point and spin it into something cheerful.

[thenightmareauthor]

Prologue from My Story, “The Last Spirit Princess”

Long ago, in a time not so unlike ours, there were five crystals - one for each kingdom that held sway over the dominion. They were symbols of leadership, faith, and above all, peace and friendship. Each crystal had a distinct, glimmering sheen that set itself apart from its brethren. One was as red as burning flames and seemed to keep one in its core. Another was as blue as the dark depths of the ocean. One possessed every color in the land, sweeping under its smooth and clear surface; while its polar opposite, was black as night and rough as the earth. The last one, however, was very special. It was a deep pink, with a strange glow radiating from it. Only the highest of the kingdoms could possess and control it.

For two hundred years the kingdoms ruled with gentle fists, giving their people the happiness they deserved. Until, one day, when the kingdom who held the Earth Crystal suffered a terrible tragedy. Their king, so sick from an incurable disease, passed away. It was shortly after this that his son, Prince Strigoli Vii, decided that all five crystals deserved to be housed in one kingdom. He led an assault on the neighboring kingdom, possessing the Water Crystal. Within days, he had not only taken it but the kingdom and her people as well.

After that, it wasn’t long until he had taken the kingdoms and people where the Air and Fire Crystals resided. Without remorse and an army so large and diverse, he soon set his greedy eyes on the last kingdom - the one in possession of the Spirit Crystal. He thought he had it within his grasp; that all five would be his, and ultimate power belonged to him. He, however, was wrong. So very, very wrong.

In the kingdom with the last crystal, the king had his army trained ready to fight. But not to win. His daughter, Princess Kirin, was given the crystal, unbeknownst to her on a ring that she swore she would never take off. He sent her away with her bodyguard and best friend to the Outlands, a large expanse of forests that had proven dangerous to the Five Kingdoms. Even the boldest of hunters and explorers avoided the Outlands for fear of the unknown beings that could reside in those woods. When the Evil Prince - as Strigoli Vii was coming to be known as - attacked, he lost the crystal and his final piece to immeasurable power.

The princess learned of her father’s death many weeks later, yet she did not return. She was still young, and her control of magic was erratic at best. Hiding in the Outlands, she and her companions trained and grew together as a family. Princess Kirin grew and trained her magical control until she could work spells with barely thinking. Her bodyguard trained her friend to take his place, and she trained with great vigor, having her will and courage tested many times.

For twenty years they hid, the two young girls growing up and the princess’s bodyguard passing away. While all the while the Five Kingdoms were left in unseemingly terrible conditions from the Evil Prince’s reign. Nobody knew where they are; nor did anyone know when they would return.

All that is, except for me.

I knew because I was Princess Kirin, the holder of the Spirit Crystal, cast away from my kingdom for my safety. But I am not a little girl anymore; neither is my best friend and bodyguard, the Knight Arisu. We returned, and we fought. This is our story; together as friends, comrades, and rebels.

[wordsintheattic]

They spoke of forever as if it were a place. But forever was just the hallway between their glances. Love rarely dies, it only forgets the way home.

—wordsintheattic

[notnocturne]

what 2025 will look like:

classic and historical fantasy books. reading like a fish swims. long sips of bitter tea. writing everyday. picking up new languages. nature walks. soft smiles and silver rings. singing in the shower. dirty white shoes. watching the sunrise stain the sky. learning new recipes. petting stray cats. waving at strangers. cosy candles. sweet pie. birds call. ink on linen. chess games in the park. consistency. iced water and dates. flowy pants. radiant sunshine. faith. stretching.

[authorellenmint]

I'm working on the third book in my reverse harem series and boy is it messing with my dreams. One smoldering demon. One sweet werewolf. And the witch caught between them. #reverseharem #reverseharemromance #writingcommunity #authorwoes #writingexcerpt #wipexcerpt #wipromance https://www.instagram.com/p/CB0eBudgb6e/?igshid=14se5zllf3gw8

[altablackburn]

I try to touch the sunset. it’s so close that for a moment I think I can but, I’m always too far away. somehow it can reach me. its vibrance is so intense that I feel relaxed. rare that it can calm the thoughts in my mind because thinking about stuff that I have no control over is draining. content. it can express such a vivid illustration without words. I appreciate that I am able to remember its radiance because even memories fade away with time. the comfort, I don’t want it to disappear but, I missed my chance, so I wait for the dusk of the next day and try to reach the sunset.

excerpt I wrote

note - replace the following words “the sunset” to “you” “it” to “you” “it’s” to “you’re” “its” to “your”

#excerpts #writingexcerpt #sunset #sunsetexcerpt

https://www.instagram.com/p/B-o0KeHp9fJ/