#suggtober 2021

[jupiter-suggestion]

we are becoming something else. something new. we are becoming what we were all along. it hurts; what doesn't?

[deadman-suggestions]

You’ll feel sick when it’s all over. You’ll feel empty when the lights die down and the heat is gone and all you are left with is your hands

[silence-relief]

[pale grey dawn, monotonous dark seas, bleak pine forests. where has the color gone? ignore the flitting shapes in the corner of your eye. remember the colors. remember.]

[redhandedsuggestions]

you’ve spilled so much blood that it’s become a permanent part of your scent. was any of it spilled for a worthy cause?

[fractalsuggestions]

tangled wires send mixed signals, strangling you with contradictions.

[bitterbardsuggestions]

Tell me, Warrior of Light, what it is that you are mourning:

the person you thought you were, or the person you are becoming?

[staronthemountain]

[your fury splits you in two. molten, incandescent, the anger within boils forth from the cracks like lava, unstoppable and glorious. steam comes off in ribbons from your shattered skin.]

[curious-suggestions]

Biting theirs heads off with the jaws of a shark

Tasting their blood with the tongue of a god

[unkindledsuggestions]

You thoroughly clean the wounds, then bind them with a practiced hand. 

After all, no one else will care enough to.

[floweringsuggestion]

Can you imagine vines weaving across your skin, dear? The leaves that brush you as it tightens and winds like a hungry snake, crawling from chest to fingertips, thorns pricking the spaces between them- There is a religion here in this pain that grows from you. Can you taste it, dear? Moss and iron, a taste of rain, there’s a promise there on your tongue that says “you are more than your flesh and bone,” can you hear it, dear? 

Rest in the soil and ash you left behind with your loneliness. You are no longer alone

[jupiter-suggestion]

if you find something holy in her eyes, be not afraid. if her words are hymns to your ears, if her smile is light in your eyes, find solace on your knees. we are worshipful by nature. with palms up and lips parted, revere her.

[deadman-suggestions]

Have at it babes! Suggtober 2021! @curious-suggestions and another friend helped me to put it together

The post doesn’t need to include the word, it can be just inspired by it! And free day is just a write whatever you want day! Also you don’t need to have a suggestion blog to join in, any writing blog can!

I’ll add a plain written out list under a read more when I get on the computer next

[silence-relief]

[it's inside you, you know. it knows every inch of you, and it's so hungry. you can't escape it. just give in. feed it now while your will is your own]

[redhandedsuggestions]

you wander. you roam. you kiss the stars and shoot gods from the sky.

they aren't your stars; they taste of cardamom and whatever dreams are made of. the sky here is malleable-- the gods even more so.

you flit from plane to plane, planet to planet with the same ease with which one might stroll through the park. it takes you months before you find yours again, see the twilight of the sky you grew up under and taste the magic in the air, far different but no less potent than the star-strewn plane you were thrown to.

and when their arms wrap around your shoulders, when you breathe in the scent of his skin and his fur and her hair and their flame, your soul finally knows it found home.

[fractalsuggestions]

shaking, seething, how could this happen to you? how could this happen to you, how could this happen to you, how could this happen to you. where are you now? drowning at the bottom of the sea and shaking yourself apart in your own wrath.

[alien-depths]

It's cold. Achingly cold, to anyone except you. But you've cycled out half your blood for antifreeze, and the cold is just a whisper. Just a reminder, each time you wake up, that you're still waiting, still trying to conserve power. There's only a limited amount of sunlight out here, and your solar panels can't capture it all.

You've long since replaced the air with inert nitrogen. No corrosion, no chance of fires while you sleep. You wear a mask that gives you all the oxygen you need. Far less than any true human would. (No, you're still human, you remind yourself. Just changed.)

You wake up once a year to do needed maintenance, make sure the systems still running haven't broken. There's very little to do. Your unconscious mind runs everything while you sleep, and each time you wake, you find your limbs slightly more unfamiliar, your mind slightly deeper in shipspace.

This used to be more than once a year. You used to keep the ship more active, air still filled with oxygen, non-essential systems still running, stored power slowly running out. But that was when you still believed your captain would come back for you.

It's been ten years since he left. Ten years of waiting, of hoping.

Now you're waiting for his successor. You know her name. Danika. You've seen her, once. Back when your captain would still communicate with you, three years into your waiting, he sent you a photograph of the two of them. She was little then, but still you could see the resemblance. She's only his brother's daughter, but she has his smile, and her grandmother's hair, with that white streak over her forehead.

By now she'd be sixteen. You still have so long to wait. At least seven years until she can take the captaincy, take her rightful place. If she wants it. You hope, more than anything, that she wants it. You long to sail once more, through starry skies or alien seas. To stand by your Captain's side as they journey to new worlds and new discoveries.

You finish your yearly maintenance and, dimming the lights once more, you slip back into coma-like sleep.