#memory fragments

[luanggie]

A mi sí empalagame, llename de besos, abrazame, mandame cientos de fotos, enviame audios contandome tu día, celame, dejame verte recien levantado y antes de dormir♡

A mi me aburre el desinterés...

[hysteriaxcoded]

Memory Fragment 58.

"When Papa grounded me, I climbed down the trellis. The tree branch makes a bridge, and it's not much of a drop. Keep our secret, Alice, or we're not sisters!"

— Naughty Times Two // Lizzie Liddell

[flecks-of-stardust]

And They Shall Always Follow — A Rain World Short Story

The bond between siblings cannot be broken by mere distance. Though lost, its siblings will always be where it is.

The third sibling bids farewell to the big tree, followed by the memories of Survivor and Monk as they do so.

No formal content warnings for this piece of writing.

It wakes to the gentle nuzzling of Egg Parent, a delicate nibbling on the ear that rouses it from the depths of sleep. Not fully awake yet, it nibbles back, but Egg Parent pulls away, padding towards the exit with fading footfalls. Other Parent is already gone, leaving behind but a scent to indicate a presence that was once there. It stretches, and then follows Egg Parent’s tracks, the dirt soft beneath every step it takes. It knows what is to come.

The tree is always larger than it remembers, and it takes a moment to look up into the branches of the tree. The faint scent of blue fruit lingers even here, at the tree’s roots, owing to the many batflies that have roosted here through the light falling and rising many times over. If it squints, it can maybe see the fruit in the highest boughs of the tree, a lengthy climb away.

It turns to look at Egg Parent and Other Parent, watches the gentle, quiet grooming. The air is heavy, heavier than usual. Other Parent looks at it, eyes bearing a similar heaviness, and flicks an ear; a permission, one that is not needed, but granted nonetheless. Then, Other Parent turns away, and Egg Parent follows, grooming, waiting.

No time to waste, then. Skittering forward, it approaches the base of the tree, gazing at the shrubbery around. Long, spindly leaves drape over the ground, providing ample space to play with the strands. It picks two of the leaves up, folding them over each other. How did Brave do this again? It watched Brave, once, sitting out here at night, fingers moving fast to twist the leaves into delicate, pretty braids. More often, when light came again, it would find the leaves all tied together. Why that was, Brave never explained, but wherever Brave went, braided leaves would follow.

It asked Brave how to do this, once. Brave held its hands and the leaves, moving its hands for them, but the moment it let go, the braid fell apart. It tries now, too, one leaf over, one under, one looping around, but the leaves spring apart regardless. Brave had not laughed then, instead nuzzling the top of its head gently; it wonders what Brave would think now.

It tears off one of the leaves, tucking it behind its ear, and continues. Up and up it goes, hand after foot after hand again, slowly climbing the tree. On the first branch, a thick, round and gnarled piece of wood, it pauses, walking out towards the end. Soft sat up here often, much like Brave was often around the bushes. Sometimes Soft would eat fruit while it sat here watching the light fade, the juices dripping down to the ground below; sometimes it would join Soft, and Soft would curl Soft’s tail around it, nibbling on fruit as the light dribbled out of the sky, bit by bit.

Soft always had fruit nearby. Sometimes it was hard to tell what Soft smelled like, because Soft often had fruit juice smeared on Soft’s snout, and so Soft also smelled like fruit. If Soft groomed its head, then it too would smell like fruit; it used to push Soft’s snout away until Soft groomed the fruit juice off. Despite that, the bark here does not smell like fruit, nor does it smell like Soft. But here, with the light dappling onto it through the leaves of the tree, if it focuses, it can smell Soft here still.

Padding all the way down the branch, it plucks off a small twig and tucks it behind its ear. Then it leaves the way it came, continuing further up the tree. Long ago, Brave and Soft climbed this way with it. It was hard to get a grip on the bark then; now, it doesn’t think twice before ascending, climbing with all the speed that Brave and Soft had had. This moment had seemed so faraway then, too, as if it would never grow to be as fast or as strong as Brave, or as determined as Soft. But here it is now, making the climb on its own.

The bark grows rougher, and the branches thin. Deftly, it leaps from bough to bough, climbing faster and faster. The rush of air past it as Brave had tossed it at Soft when it was young resembles how the sky flows around it now as it jumps up on its own. And with a few more steps, a few more leaps, the fruit is within reach, batflies flying every which way around its head. Plucking a single fruit off its stalk, it gratefully begins eating it.

It peers back down as it eats, seeing the distant silhouettes of Egg Parent and Other Parent. Ever since Brave and Soft left, things grew quiet here, and the air always felt more still. One moment Brave and Soft were here, and then the next, they were both gone. Egg Parent never explained much; there was rain, and there was wind, and it was dark. And then they were gone.

It munches on the fruit some more. Wherever Brave and Soft are now, they both must be thriving. Brave always knew what to do, and Soft was always kind. If anyone could survive on their own, it would be Brave, and Soft would find a companion quick, too. Perhaps they have both just lost their way? They are both clever enough to find their way back home.

Home no more, though. Cramming the last of the fruit in its mouth, it begins the trek back down, half sliding and half climbing. It, Egg Parent, and Other Parent are leaving now to find a new home. Why, it doesn’t know, but whatever new home they shall come across shall be just as wonderful as this. Other Parent is good at finding strange, tasty fruits and resources, and Egg Parent is great at making new things. Wherever they go, it will be just as warm, just as safe. And wherever they go, Brave and Soft will follow, too, eventually. Because why wouldn’t they?

It reaches the ground again, and it scampers over to Other Parent and Egg Parent. Other Parent roughly grooms it again, cleaning the fruit juice off its snout, and then nuzzles it forward. With a tail flick from Egg Parent, they set off, walking away from the tree, and it follows.

A few steps in, however, it pauses, looking back at the tree. It’s still strange to leave the tree behind, even if it’s prepared to go. All its life it has been here, with Brave and Soft at its side. The new home will be safe, will be warm, will be wonderful, but it will never be old home.

Egg Parent chirps. It gazes at the tree for a moment longer, then turns away, bounding after Egg Parent. It doesn’t matter, though. Because no matter where it goes, Brave and Soft will follow. Because they always have, and they always will.

[hysteriaxmode]

Memory Fragment 36.

"Not burned beyond recognition as I recall. It was the smoke, you see. One day you'll join them in the Oxford family vault, I imagine."

— Macabre Speculation // Radcliffe

[justrandom-n-thoughts]

✨️

[flowerytale]

Joan Didion, from Blue Nights

[feral-ballad]

Jane Hirshfield, from The Beauty: Poems; “Entanglement”

[Text ID: “You are there. I am here. I remember.”]

[ilomilo]

(Disclaimer: This post is not my own. This is a repost from the official ilomilo developers on blog.ilomilo.com (only accessible on the wayback machine)!)

————————

Pickup paradise

Wednesday, July 14th, 2010

Alright, time for some development news! We’ve decided to add some new pickups and collectibles to the levels, such as the memory fragments you can see scattered about on the level in the picture. Collect them and good stuff will happen.

Apart from memory fragments there are records and photos. The photos will unlock pictures from the development process and the records will unlock the in-game music so that you can play it whenever you want. You’re gonna have to find them first though, and that can be quite challenging (Why, you didn’t think we were just gonna give them to you, did you? Sheesh!)

[mournfulroses]

Yannis Ritsos, trans. by Kimon Friar, from a poem featured in "Erotica: Love Poems,"

[kaiserouo]

"Huh."

[llovelymoonn]

derek walcott the antilles: fragments of epic memory

kofi

[nights-at-crystarium]

a noodle and a future noodle eating noodles

[hysteriaxcoded]

Memory Fragment 63.

"...claimed I'd stolen his heart. Trifling with his affections! Creepy sod. Touching me... Told Papa to never invite him to tea again!"

— Incident at Waterloost // Lizzie Liddell

[flecks-of-stardust]

Deep Dark Pools — A Rain World Short Story

A lonely creature stares down into a deep, dark pool, and reminisces.

A quick thing I wrote of Survivor and Monk's parent returning to where the two pups fell/jumped into the water. I don't know which parent it is, but it doesn't matter really. It's a short quick thing I wrote just to get stuff out of my system.

This piece discusses child loss, grief, and mourning; read at your own discretion.

A lonely creature stares down into a deep, dark pool. This is a site of remembrance, of pain, of loss that continues to tear from deep within. Here is a grief indescribable, unspeakable even if there were words to illustrate little more than a paltry visage of what transpired here. Like bugs to the light, like the cycling of the sun’s rise and fall, the creature returns here, staring down below.

Every night, amid fitful sleep and restless dreams, the screams of a young pup fill the air. A cry of fear, calling out for safety. Through the pounding rain, the wail was almost lost, but even now an echo of the cry remains, reverberating off the walls. The world is quieter without that voice. The air is heavier, the skies are duller, and the ache that settled in never leaves.

As the oldest vanished into the waters, the second youngest leaped in after. What for, the creature may never understand. To lose not one, but two pups, in the span of a single, terrible night… Even the food tastes bland. The nights are colder with fewer bodies around, but not from the chill of the air.

Day comes and night falls, but some things never change. Does the grief ever lessen? It has not waned with time. With every day that passes, it seeps further and further inside, until every breath draws only water. Was this how the pups felt, spinning around in that dark pool?

Staring down now, it feels, perhaps, the same. Swimming aimlessly, hoping for air, and finding nothing but water. To drown without drowning.

Nothing can be seen down below; the darkness swallows all. From here, without rain, the water is not visible. But the water is there, surging somewhere, carrying the pups far, far away. The pups are gone.

Eventually, the lonely creature will rise, placing down one careful step after another, the soft footfalls heralding a return to a hollow nest of a mate and a pup. But for now, the creature remains, lingering at this site of mourning.

[hysteriaxmode]

Memory Fragment 35.

"Unpleasantness, remote in time and space has only as much power as vivid memory offers it."

— Leaving One's Troubles // Dr. Bumby

[justrandom-n-thoughts]

✨️ Euphoria ✨️