#scholarly fandom | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

junelover505 · 22 days

Text

I have stitches in my mouth; I yearn to be heard

TRIGGER WARNING!!

existential dread, but it's not too bad! This is part of a series that's for mature audiences however, and the chapters will progressively get darker and darker.

So as always: Minors DNI!! And read with caution!!

A little something to set the mood :)

Between blacking out and coming to; transportation:

Juniper bears an indiscernable hollowness in her heart. The lonely soul found itself in emptiness as terrifying as it was familiar.

Is the void a mirror or a window?

What constitutes your existence?

Is it just your belief? Your perception of your own self? The very act of thought?

Cogito ergo sum.

Juniper always believed that when a tree falls down and no one is around to hear it's echo, then it is mute.

Why think when you can be seen.

Juniper is always seen.

Where is June?

CHAPTER 1: Cogitare; cogitare; the only thing you can do as it begins.

"Je pense ,donc je suis."

"I am thinking, therefore i am."

June always thought it was just: "i think, therefore i am."

The memory was something she recalled from when the teacher brought up some other philosopher's interpretation of the sentence, and upon discussing the belief of a mistranslation, everyone turned to the only student fluent in french for confirmation.

It very well could have been; as the french present tense is rather vague ,and capable of being used in the absolute; whereas the English simple present is much more restricted, and not necessarily indicative of an active continuous action.

That class started with the teacher's attempt to establish a scenario of consistent doubting of all that you know.

--Passed down information, folklore stories, word of mouth anything without tangible scientific proof.--

Discarding all that had a chance of doubt, until all that you had left was certainty.

--Anything that you simply couldn't prove yourself, all that you can't see or experience through your own perception.--

As long as it had even the most minute chance of being false; it is then factually not real, or wrong ;so that what is left is what we can know beyond the shadow of a doubt.A

And as all can be cause for doubt, it also includes your very own senses and your very self.

June moved on to daydreaming by that point of the class, because how can you have doubt in so much? What would even be left for you to doubt? you'll have nothing. might as well be nothing, as nothing will be left.

How can you even doubt all your senses simultaneously for that long, all that you've known and what's been ingrained in you. Something so fundamental is literally 70% of what built you, your perception, and how you process the world that you just simply decided was not real.

You cannot look at fire, put your hand in and feel the burning in your palm, then deny the fact that it simply is a flame before you ,crying deception while blisters form at your skin.

Well ,the strawberry Blonde understood such train of thought when she saw a moving tree that turned out to be a man from the woods, outside a rundown motel window.

She doubted her sense of sight ,when she saw the 'man' turn out to be a live mannequin as tall as if not taller then the highest branches, in a black suit and bright red tie.

She doubted her sense of smell ,when the scent of copper mingled in with that of pine trees after running to look for it.

She doubted her sense of touch, when she stepped on a dying, beaten body in the woods.

She doubted her very judgement when she didn't try fighting harder when the killer grabbed at her like she was some type of stress plush and he was but a scared child.

Now, at this moment where time seemed to stand still and she lost all reference that she's long relied on; she doubted her very existence after blacking out without a second's notice; upon standing before that creature, the moment that blood covered man had let go of her and she failed to run away in time; leading June to find herself in endless darkness for a reason that she has yet to come to understand.

Empty black; an all consuming nothingness. A void. An abyss.

Did she die? Maybe a heart attack.

no.

Those hurt, her diet is good, she had no genetic heart issues from either side of her family.

Did she pass out?

Shouldn't she then be unconscious? Unaware of even where she was and safe from knowing that such a void existed.

What was she supposed to do if she suddenly stopped existing? Was this it?

Without her sense of perception; without that man covered in blood and soot, what other proof did she have of still being alive; of being real?

He was least lucky enough to ask her to confirm they saw the same thing when they faced the tall mannequin; she had no one to tell her if she herself could be seen.

She was alone; without the perception of herself or that of others to rely on.

Can she truly remain when she had no way of grounding herself with her self despite having no body an no way to impact what is around her corporally?

If there wasn't a world for her to interact with any longer, and be perceived in ;then she could only conclude that she was simply taken away from reality itself; akin to a grey hair plucked out from a scalp filled in black.

That is how she felt at least. One moment, she was awake and afraid, doubting all her senses and all that she'd known, facing a one in a million scenario that seemed to have come straight out of a block buster shelf, and like a snap everything went to an all consuming black.

She was no longer real. She could not have been.

She had just ceased to exist, she is now nothing. As nothing is all that is left and the only thing she could conceive.

So she was simply nothing? That's all it could be.

A conscious concept doomed to roam about in a forever nothingness with no one but the empty shell she's never bothered to know until now. Except there was no shell of flesh; just a dull obsidian.

Wasn't that who she was before?

An empty nothing, the lack of a person.

Was that all she'd ever been? How shed been seen? Just the silhouette of a a void, a nothingness cut out from the fabric of reality and ever moving in stopmotion-like gestures ;only craving to prove she was made of tangible matter upon her interactions with all that is in smooth sultry gestures; but pathetically failing each attempt and creating a show of pitiful submission to whatever creator willfully made her believe she was made in the image of meat to be ferociously consumed?

Desperate and hungry in her own right, but never allowed satiation.

She could not feel the air entering her lungs no matter how hard she tried to breathe.

Once.

Twice.

Thrice.

Over and over, she tried to take in a desperate breath but felt nothing fill the area she assumed her lungs should have been in.

Where were her organs supposed to be in? The rest of her.

There was no way to tell up from down ,the left from right ,the north from east, the front from the back.

Her lungs, her shoulders her feet her stomach, the ever growing source of her aching.

There was no use in trying to hug herself as she felt nothing.

She saw nothing and felt nothing, knew nothing and so she might as well be nothing.

She'd been stuck like this for so long.o

How long?

She never will she know a reality beyond this one, where a lack of existence will forever be her mirror as a nothing; a less then nought.

She was doomed. How much time had passed? It felt like hours ,days, ages without any stimuli other then her own physically unfelt terror and an all consuming famishment for a corplorality she'd lost, bordering onto manic obsession.

Ages of trying to create sound through cries and screams without a voice box to speak of, no throat to go sore ,and no ears to deafen let alone hear.

All encompassing carnal anguish and restless terror of a nothing, a horror that is not to be anatomically felt.

She had no heart, to feel its breakneck unrhythmic thundering in her ribcage, creating rapid thought clouding pulsations in her ear; no blood to feel its rapid pumping through her system; no vision to cloud over and blur and tunnel into everything and nothing at once.

She had no mind left to loose, but endless time to mourn the flesh she's once took for granted and had the audacity to despise in the past, thinking of it as a curse that will ruin her until she would have no consciousness left to realize it was gone ,when she's 6 feet under.

This was hell itself.

Her hell was her very own all consuming emptiness she'd long felt within personified. Her filthy all blackened soul laid bare before her and she had eternity to make peace with such a fate.

Eternity; days ,weeks ,months. Time was not real and she had no way to count it, but her thoughts were so disgustingly clouded as she ruminated on her lack of existing.

Her new normal.

So much began to blur and mush together before separating back with only the sheer desperate carnal thirst her mind had for stimulation that made her take the time to rearrange her dusted memory closet.

And over whatever chunk of uncountable time had passed ,as her very mind felt like it was dissipating and fizzling out; she realized that her new curse of lucidity was the only thing she had left in this dark abyss, was slowly giving out on her as well.

She did have a mind, awareness, at least she had thought. And that might be all she would ever have.

What if that could just as easily be lost as her body and all else?

Wouldn't having a mind mean she was at least something within it's own right? She must at least exist in some form as her consciousness was concrete.

The very fact that she thought she simply ceased to exist was proof she did . And that despite feeling like time no longer existed beyond her vaguely guessed perceptions of its passing, it still technically should have still been passing.

You cannot doubt the active moving concept that you are as you'd need to exist to deny it.

Therefore she herself as an active, conscious concept , is simply incapable of denying her own existence, as the ladder act was paradoxically the antonym of the concept she was denying.

Therefore ,she had to be real, this new normal still had something of her old normal within it, there might be more to dig out.

Maybe her consciousness ,and therefore existence was just temporary?

After all, you'd never know if you are simply dreaming, you just wake up.

So maybe there was a way out of this nightmare that was beyond accommodating to it, or trying to look for traces of her body through recreating the basic functions with no flesh to function ,or raking through her blurred and unreliable memories for concrete examples of her existence ?

It would explain the eternal aspect of her reality and the rapid fizzling of the small traces left of her that were not linked to her corporal

She didn't know how long shed been stuck in this abstract state but it was far longer then she could bother keeping track of all at once ,despite her mind's hunger for entertainment that was not its own self.

She was still real; right? She wasn't completely faded yet as she could still think.

She had just concluded that she was.

But maybe she remembered wrong.

This state felt timeless, but the proof of her existence was not a timeless final fact.

It's only a certainty if she was actively thinking of it, reflecting upon it; doubting it; desperately holding onto her fastly fleeting identity as it slipped like sand through her fingers.

God what she couldn't give to feel sand in her fingers ,under the nail bed that she would later scrub off with cooling water and lathered soap.

The more she tried to guesstimate her time spent in the abstract ; the worse it got, in the form of an ever heavy sense of despair, pushing her to stop halfway through trying to count passing mississippies before starting over again in some type of sick self inflicted torture.

It's s not like she had anything left but her consciousness in this dark and unfeeling , all encompassing void.

She just had to make sure she was real; that she wasn't fading. Focus on your existence, that you are in fact real.

It's the only thing she's yet to try, and she could at least feel it was slowing down the dissipation of the fastly fleeting "I" that she was.

She had to stick to the basics and keep her mind in one easy and discernable track.

"cogito ergo sum"

She was real. Real and not a nothing.

She was June.

"i think , there for i am"

She was june. And she was real. Even if she was stuck here for centuries more. At least she was real. She was;

And she will keep telling herself and make sure it remained as such.

"I am thinking, therefore I am"

She was Juniper Eve Laine. And she was real. She still existed. She was actively existing. And by whatever cruel god that created her, she will keep existing if she has a hand in it.

"I am."

"I. AM."

But did certainty equate the truth?

If she was so sure she existed, did that make it fact?

A gasp finally filled her lungs.

4 notes · View notes