#yellow. which i have no choice but to interpret as the one form of mourning he was able to do

[drydak]

every week i have the same question which is where is cody is he safe is he alright......and every week i get no answers

[tipsycad147]

How To Use Psychology To Guide Your Color Magic

SL Bear

When you’re just starting out in witchcraft, correspondences are important. They guide new witches through their first spells, giving them structure. After all, many of us have grown up following endless instructions from parents, teachers, and employers who have a set way of doing things and all you have to do is follow the rules. If you’ve grown up with religion, following steps in rituals will already be second nature and correspondences are the perfect roadmap to follow. You want a banishing spell? Simple, use black pepper, black candles, black cord. A money spell? Green candles, green stones, green herbs. I’m not being critical — I don’t think it’s a bad thing at all. You want spells to work and capitalising on tried and true methods seems like the surest bet, not to mention the easiest way to get your feet wet. Just make sure your intentions line up perfectly with your ingredients and ta-da! Magic.

As you grow into your craft, however, you learn that witchcraft isn’t a cookie cutter endeavour like school or a random job, with a one-size-fits-all method for success. You develop your own style, you learn what works for you, and you find new ways to practice. It’s important and second nature for us to evolve and grow into better witches over time. The crutch of online correspondence lists can evolve too. You can create your own personal correspondences based on your experience — not somebody else’s — and in doing this your craft becomes your own.

So where to start? I’ve chosen to focus on colour correspondences because I tend to see the most discrepancies in colour symbolism online and in books. The logic behind some of this symbolism often seems a little shaky. Money is green, so money spells require green. But wait, what if I use the euro? It’s rainbow coloured! Nature is more universally green than money. While herb symbolism is based heavily on tradition, colour symbolism changes at random depending on what source you’re using. Today, I’m going to provide you with information so that YOU can decide what these colours mean to you based on your own personality and life experience, making your magic more personal and therefore more powerful.

What’s your favourite colour?

I’m sure we’ve all asked and answered this innocuous question more times in our lives than we can possibly remember. You asked this question in kindergarten of potential new friends you wanted to get to know. You answered this question when you flirted with a new romantic interest. You posed this question when you were just bored, hanging out with someone you’ve known for years. But why? Is a favourite colour so much more informative than, say, a favourite number? Yes, because colours are evocative. A favourite colour can tell you things about yourself that you never guessed.

Colours capture our minds and hearts. Historically, people have turned to colours to heal, tell stories, and spread messages. In ancient Egypt, healers would place their patients in colour rooms or sit people in the path of light refracted by coloured gemstones, specifically tailored for various ailments. The colour red was a go-to in pre-modern medicine across many eras and cultures. Arab physician Avicenna, born in 980, would cover patients in red to cure them. King Edward II of England was placed in a red room to treat his smallpox. The Chinese wore rubies to ensure a long life. In Japan, sufferers of nightmares turned to red to banish them. The idea of a physician using colours to treat a patient today seems slightly ludicrous until you learn that premature babies are placed under blue “bili lights” to prevent jaundice. Perhaps, the ancient world was more sophisticated than we imagine.

World religions have always ascribed special powers and meanings to colours. Islam is associated with the colour green — the colour of paradise. Buddha and Confucius are both typically associated with yellow and gold, but with slightly different taste in robe colours; Buddha wore red and Confucius, black and white. In Christianity, the Virgin Mother is usually depicted swathed in blue and white robes, symbols of divine purity.  

But what do colours really mean? Common knowledge will tell us that red is the most dominant colour that people perceive. Red catches the eye and energises us to act. Or stop acting, if it’s a stop sign. Red’s power is not just psychological, but physiological. In 1958, scientists found that exposure to red light can actually raise your blood pressure. Never underestimate the power of red — advertisers certainly don’t! Huge corporations like Coca-Cola, Virgin Atlantic, and Nintendo all rely on red to grab the consumer’s eye. McDonald’s arches may be golden, but they’re nestled in a bright red background.

That’s not to say that the rest of ROYGBIV is lacking in some power or psychological umph. All colours on the warmer end of the spectrum inspire an emotional response, even the sometimes maligned yellow. While admittedly the traditional colour of cowardice, yellow is also the colour of the sun, which made it particularly important to ancient cultures the world over. And yellow’s sparkly cousin — gold — needs no explanation. People see everything desirable in gold: Valour, wealth, achievement. It sits on the heads of kings and queens. It rings the fingers of the married, a symbol of fidelity and a lasting oath. Perhaps yellow’s problem isn’t its shade but its brightness. Bright yellow can be difficult on our eyes and brains. However, a nice, muted yellow is pleasing.

Orange can be a tougher sell, at least in western eyes. In Asia, orange is associated with spiritual enlightenment. In the west, at least in certain shades, orange is more garish — the colour of second-rate sodas and children’s TV networks. Perhaps, as one psychologist posited, it’s all about climate. People in warmer climates love orange’s warmth and brightness. It’s all around them, in the sumptuous flora and the delicious fruit. It has similar aesthetic qualities to red, in that it brings out strong positive emotions, but they’re less intense — red’s little sister. Where red denotes passion, orange brings fun and youthful exuberance.

Warm colours, orange in particular, are often indicative of levity on the stage and film, even in the characters themselves. What colour is Peter Pan’s, Pippi Longstocking’s, and Ron Weasley’s hair? It’s believed that warm colours induce such good feelings, that warm lighting can even make you feel like time is slowing down. Warm colours are inviting. Extroverts are even said to prefer warm colours, because of their lively natures. We relate to them; even our skin tones are naturally warm.

But don’t discount the introvert’s preferred palette: Blue, green, indigo and violet. You don’t want to be energised all the time — sometimes you want to cool down. Green is regarded as the most calming colour. The colour of nature, of life’s continual renewal, and probably the only member of the Cool Family we really want to eat.

Blue is also generally interpreted as a peaceful, divine, intellectual or transcendent colour but, as with other cool colours, our perception is deeply dependent on context. We might see ourselves as “red hot,” but nobody wants to be blue (or green), literally or figuratively. Warm lighting makes us feel good (and look good), but cool lighting brings out the flaws and brings on the migraines. Purple generally gets a better psychological rap. It’s an exotic, egomaniacal colour which represents opulence and commands attention. Luxury goods (excepting Taco Bell) and royalty favour the appeal of purple and indigo to set themselves apart. In fact, Julius Cesar declared only the emperor may don purple robes. It’s said that the artist’s favourite colour is usually purple (or artists formerly known as…). While the cool tones heavily depend on context for their appeal, they still manage to claim the world’s favourite colour: Good ‘ol moody blue.

Black and white are special cases. In terms of light waves, white light contains all the colours in the visible spectrum and black is the absence of all light. In a physical form such as paint, it’s just the opposite. Black is all colours mixed together and white is the absence of colour. This duality perfectly mirrors the interpretation of black and white across cultures. Black is visually impactful — a startling absence of colour and vitality. Almost universally, black is associated with heavy, dark emotions. It can express foreboding, authority, formality, and even death. But there are really two sides to black. Black is often the colour of mourning and sorrow, but a little black dress is the epitome of sexiness. Black is the colour of intriguing mystery and the unknown.

White is generally associated with purity, rebirth, and cleanliness. But white is also sterile and empty. Interestingly, China flips the association of black and white with death and life. White is the mourning colour, and black is more commonly associated with life. Black and white together are even more stark and eye-catching. Naturally, the combination of black and white has intense symbolism. Yin and yang, dark and light, life and death. You can’t have one without the other. They are opposites whose visual power is enhanced by the other’s presence.

Personal Rainbow

With this information, we can base our colour choices in magic on logic and psychology instead of arbitrarily assigning associations. Most importantly, you can base these colour choices on your own personality. Are you an introvert who would like to be more outgoing? Turn to warmer colours to boost self-confidence. Do you live in a cooler climate? Icy colours will feel like home and you’ll connect with them more deeply.

Instead of turning to green for money and luck spells, look to violet and gold — the luxury colours worn by rulers — and save the green for calming spells and spells with a strong natural element: Rejuvenation, new beginnings, and spells focused on mothers. I live in colourful Colorado, so while blue is a calming colour to me (the association that pops up over and over), primarily it’s the colour of the Rockies and the sky, powerful entities that loom over my city and seem larger than life. For me, blue in spells means natural wonder, immovability, and majesty. However, for someone living by the sea, blue might mean changeability, harvest (fishing), or peace. Someone living in the city might see blue as elusive — the colour shining between buildings, or only seen on trips away from the city.  Maybe to you city witches, blue is industrial and commercial — the colour of cars and billboards.

Not only will your colour association change based on your location, but your perception. How do certain colours make you feel? How do you connect and react to them because of your own personal experiences? Black is the colour of mourning, but to a witch, black is the colour of mystery, of the wonderfully peaceful night. It’s the colour of cats, of recently burned sigils and ink scribbled into grimoires.  Black is the backbone of our witchin’ aesthetic. It’s the colour of magic at work!

So, witches, for the first time ever I’m giving you homework. Before working any more magic involving colours, sit down, get centred and make a list of colours. Next to each colour, write down exactly how this colour makes you feel, what it reminds you of, and if it’s for “positive” or “negative” magic. Access your psyche! Rely on yourself for your correspondences and watch as this brilliant world of colour magic starts working wonders for your spells!

https://thetravelingwitch.com/blog/how-to-use-psychology-to-guide-your-color-magic

[ecotone99]

[RF] [MS] [TH] Escapism

I came-to midway through a vivid dream. I was not in my bed. I was not lying down. I was standing; staring blankly outside a broken window from the first floor. The glass clung to the skeleton of the window frame in lonely, trianguloid polygons. The sill was covered in scratches, and caked with grime, and seemingly years’ worth of dust. It looked especially filthy after the recent bursts of rain had blessed it with moisture.

I could smell my sweat; it was a sweetish sort of odour. My wet T-shirt was stuck to my back. My legs felt weak.

Outside, I could only see the forest of triangular, perhaps, coniferous trees all the way to the end until they went out of sight. It was dusk. As if in response to my observation, the remaining slice of the large crimson disk hid itself behind the safety of the shadowy mountains, as if it too was afraid of being ripped right out of the sky by a species prone to pillage, exploit, and destroy all that was natural, including themselves, and each other.

The sky was aglow in funereal orange; the clouds were heavy, sombre, and gathering. They looked like they were mourning the cowardly departure of the sun, or rather, were they celebrating it?

The agitated inhalations and exhalations of the flower-patterned curtains seemed to reflect my own condition. They were stained and damp as well. Like me, I thought. The damp, dirty smell of wet cloth hung in the air.

I blinked and returned to myself. I had been staring outside the window for quite some time now. I had forgotten what I was going to do, and I could no longer remember what I was dreaming about either. I didn’t know where I was or how I got there. I turned around to behold a dilapidated room. I didn’t know where I was, nor what I was here for or how I got here.

An immediate fear materialised somewhere within my gut and a rush of paralysis entombed my body. I was unable to move. I had gone from dazed to wide awake in thirty seconds. And from wide awake to deadly scared in another twenty. A static, spidery electricity seemed to have zapped my stomach.

The thought of computer filesystems came to mind. There are a bunch of different choices out there – for Linux users. Windows users can only use the NTFS file system. Windows’ NTFS can’t even mount Ext4 but Ext4 can mount NTFS. Momentarily, I contemplated a sexual connection between the two inanimate filesystems.

A filesystem determines the way data is accessed and stored. You have different types of filesystems such as Ext4, which is the most commonly used Journaling file system. Then there’s Btrfs (pronounced butterFS) which is an advanced copy-on-write file system. There are also other ones such as XFS, which I use, and ZFS. All of them function in different ways and are ideal for different use cases.

A filesystem helps a computer keep track of where every file is stored so the files don’t get lost in the delirious planes of 1s and 0s. Every read and write operation, no matter how small, is logged. And metadata about these operations is stored, and there are event files, and everything else that enables the computer to never forget how to interpret any binary data, or where it is stored.

Mostly even in the case of power outages, using metadata and logs, a filesystem can get back to where it lost its track of its work, but sometimes it becomes unable to figure that out. Or sometimes the hardware itself, that it operates on, starts to behave erratically, and that’s when all computer hell breaks loose. Everything will go wrong and get worse from that point on. The data can become mangled and interfere with other data too. It’s a mess. Ensue binary delirium.

Well then, I thought, which bug is affecting my filesystem, causing it to malfunction this spectacularly?

The last thing I could remember was watching a documentary film with Amanda. We were on a short vacation trip in the middle of Europe, and we were living at her elder sister’s house. It was afternoon, and Amanda was in one of her odd moods. She was deeply engrossed in watching the narrator describe in graphic detail, with photographic evidence, how the infamous serial killer, Jefferey Dahmer had sex with his victims, killed them, had sex with their dead bodies, photographed them, dismembered them, sometimes preserving the finer looking genitalia, and then, for him, the rest was just dissolve, drain, and repeat, if you know what I mean.

The scene cut. For me, it was all about the control, Jeffery Dahmer said, I wanted a completely obedient person under my full control. Living humans were too much hassle. So, I killed them, but that was not idea. That’s why I tried to puncture a hole in one of their skulls and poured acid inside in hopes that I could try make them more obedient. A picture of a sexually positioned torso appeared, its chest ripped open, and blackish organs spilling out. I felt nauseous even looking at it, so I looked at Amanda instead. She was engrossed. Amanda was so deeply obsessed with these things: sometimes it frightened me.

Every so often she would pause the movie and sit in silence, lost in thought. I watched her face closely. Sometimes small lines of tension formed on her forehead in response, as the documentary went on. What was she thinking? I wondered. Then, I asked her this. She didn’t even hear it, and if she did, she ignored it. I reached out to touch her breast, more to snap her out of it than in a sexual manner, and she hit my hand. Hard. She immediately apologised. Not right now, she said, not when I’m thinking, and she fell silent again. I didn’t try to touch her breast again.

I don’t remember what we did next. That was the last thing I remember, and it was probably this afternoon when these events took place.

The room that I found myself in was full of dust. If I had any term to describe the room with, I wouldn’t use abandoned, dilapidated, ominous, foreboding, flaking, run-down, collapsing, fear-inducing, paralysing, claustrophobia inducing, or such, despite it being all the above. I would say it was Dusty. The most prominent thing was dust. Everything was covered with layers of dust, undisturbed, for years at stretch, by any intelligent life. And it was not the light kind of dust that could be blown away in a breath, but sticky, heavy dust that had settled deeply into this room and burrowed into its metaphorical soul like a parasite into its host. The particles were heavier and larger than usual. It had descended endlessly and declared everything an extension to itself. Everything: the flaky walls, the moist, leaky ceiling, the rotting wooden tables, the broken bed, and even the humid, sallow air belonged now to no man, but only dust.

On the floor there were the imprinted souvenirs of my trawling feet; I, the intruder in the realm of the dust. I could not look at the corners of the room. The caked filth evoked, in me, a severe sense of disgust.

The walls were heavily flaking. The wallpaper, wherever it remained, was yellow and stained. An unrecognisable pattern was visible. The ceiling seemed ready to collapse at any given moment. To the far side of the room, the ceiling had a dark, wet, leaky patch on it which reminded me of the sight of Amanda’s wet panties, and the walls were tattooed by the shadowy trail-memories of water droplets.

The air felt heavier, much heavier than outside air. It had some kind of weight to it that made breathing hard. Odours of the ageing wood of the bed, the moist walls, the rotting mattress, and the ubiquitous dust had mixed together into something jaundiced and sinister which pricked the lungs, and stuck to the alveoli.

The side table looked like it was eaten up from inside. Parts of it had turned into powder, or more appropriately, dust. The drawers were half-open, as left by the inhabitants, or the post-inhabitant raiders. On top of the side table stood a lamp. It looked like a bearer of unspeakable burden, it’s shade slightly tilted, as if in an expression of shame.

The bed was the only thing in this room that looked like it hadn’t aged badly. The mattress, however, was a different story altogether. It was ripped apart, it’s insides gouged out just like the victims of Jefferey Dahmer, exposing clumps of eaten wool infiltrated with dust, and springs that languidly stuck out and fell off-ways like they had lost all purpose to their life a long time ago.

Outside, it was cloudy, but it wasn’t raining. It had rained in quick bursts multiple times since the two days I had lived in this remote European town with pretty Amanda; Amanda who scared the wits out of me sometimes, but who I had desperately fallen in love with anyway. Being in a strange place away from home seemed to have made her more reckless and nihilistic than I had ever seen her before.

Hey, I know where you are, I said to myself aloud but softly, in order to stifle my fear of being alone in a strange place. Remember that abandoned mansion that Sophia was talking about? Amanda was so excited to see it. So that’s probably this place. But then, where are they? And how did I end up here alone?

I don’t know, I replied.

Talking to myself soothed me somewhat. I used to do this even as a child when I had to walk to the bathroom at night. I used to imagine snakes behind me for some reason, and I used to think that talking aloud would keep them away. Apparently, it did, because none of those snakes was ever able to bite me.

The initial paralysis that had gripped my body, prompted by the fear of being alone in a dilapidated, abandoned place was a lot more permitting now. My fingers were twitching because of the adrenalin rush. I could feel a warm sensation under my skin as if my insides suspended in a warm, viscous liquid. I slowly checked my jean pockets. No phone. My phone was not there. My phone was missing.

Once I had familiarised myself with the surroundings, more strength had returned to my body, but I was still fearful of stepping out. What exactly I was fearful of, though, I don’t know. Anyway, I grabbed a weak-looking wooden beam from the footboard of the bed and ripped it out. It took more strength than I thought it would, and the loud cracking it made took me by surprise. The dust exploded in anger, but nails and all still clinging to it, no more an extension of dust, the wooden beam was now an extension of my white-knuckled fist. I listened carefully for any sound in the house. Still complete silence.

Maybe she’s asleep somewhere too? Could that be? I asked.

I really don’t know, and I don’t think so. But you can try to call her, I replied.

Right, I said, I should try to call her.

And so, I did.

Amanda?

No response.

Sophia?

No response.

Amanda? I shouted, a little louder this time.

Where the fuck did, they go? I whispered to myself.

Is this a prank? I shouted. If this is, then you got me! Let’s go home now.

No response.

I knew I had to get home before it got dark outside, but I just could not move. I felt only fear. Fear of wild animals. An unfounded fear of cold-blooded killers lurking in the darkness. Whoever said that fear was based in rationality anyway? Nobody. No, it’s rooted in instinct, I thought. Clutching the wooden beam, hands shaking, heart thumping, sweat dripping, I walked out.

Look, I have a wooden beam in my hand to protect myself against wild animals, so don’t startle me if you’re around, I shouted to anybody who would listen.

No answer. I trawled on.

I could not have guessed that I would ever find myself in this kind of a situation a year prior, or even six months ago. I lived a happy life with my then-girlfriend Laura. We were happy, we were in love, we had plenty of sex, and lot to look forward to. Then Laura left me, and I found Amanda. Amanda and her slim, white body, her tiny breasts, her many, many tattoos, and a madness that scared the wits out of me, yet, at the same time, drew me deeper and deeper into her.

Amanda and Laura were so different.

I walked outside, ears ever-receptive, eyes darting, knuckles white and ready. There was nothing to fear. There was nothing here. And whatever was there, was probably harmless. Why was my imagination unnecessarily bothering me, then? Nor was I fearing rational things. I was fearing ghouls and fiendish creatures from another world. Why? I asked myself. But the fear did not simper and scurry away.

I had suddenly become aware of an odd feeling in my entire body. My vision seemed to have gotten darker as well. I felt a deeply ominous feeling creeping over me, like the dust was taking over me, making me a part of itself. There’s nothing to fear, I said to myself aloud. My voice was small and did not sound like my own. I said the same thing to myself again, louder this time. I felt a strange nausea, and my stomach seemed to be revolting to something. Probably just the fear, I thought and went onwards.

There were two more rooms on this floor. One seemed to be another bedroom on the far side, and the door was shut, and maybe a bathroom, whose door, too, was shut. I had no interest nor strength to explore these areas. I just wanted to get out and be home before dark. I kept feeling the presence of something behind me, but I urged myself to recognise the foolishness my imagination; and of this entire situation. I reminded myself of the truth: that this was purely manufactured fear, conjured up by my imagination.

I heard Amanda call my name. I heard her clear voice from the room below. I felt a flood of relief. Thank the fucking gods, I thought.

Hey, I said aloud, I’m up here! Let’s go home.

There was no response again.

Listen, enough messing with me. What had we taken? Let’s go! It’s getting dark and I’m extremely hungry!

No response.

Amanda?

No response again.

Why is she being like this? I thought. That was not like her.

I slowly descended the stairs, my grip on the wooden plank was lighter now, having heard Amanda’s voice.

As I climbed down, I could hear more sounds coming from below. It sounded like a lot of different voices, like a large group of people was gathered around in the backyard. Maybe this was a party that we had attended? A party at an abandoned mansion sounded pretty cool. And maybe I had gotten completely drunk or something and gone upstairs where nobody really went?

With my newfound strength I began to strut down the stairs, but out of some clumsy mis-coordination I tripped and fell face first onto the ground. Luckily, I was able to shield my fall with my hands, but I hurt my elbow hard. I stood up quickly. Too quickly, I suppose, because a flood of white obliterated my vision. I rubbed my elbow intensely to make the pain subside. Once my vision had returned, I looked at the back of the room. there was no backyard, just a dark room, shelves, books, other left-behind junk, and a dirty sofa, ripped, too, like every other soul in this mansion.

But there were no people around. No people. No Amanda. No party. No nothing.

What? I thought. I could swear had distinctly heard many voices, and Amanda’s voice too, and her voice especially was unmistakable. That’s when I saw a darting shadow from the corner of my eye and I froze. This time the fear was like something I have never felt before. My hands were violently shaking. I found it hard to focus. I turned in the direction of the darting shadow. There was nothing there. No killer. No fiend. No ghoul. But no Amanda either.

There was some lazy, amateur graffiti on the walls. “Boo!” Was written in blue spray paint. And besides that, perhaps drawn by someone else, was an image in silver spray paint of a phallic object entering a hole with the caption “Boo, Ooh!” There were also a bunch of names, and other random words here and there.

I was here – Jeremy, 12th May 06:41 pm. The year when Jeremy was here was not mentioned.

Another darting shadow. I turned in that direction so quickly, I almost lost my balance. Again: nothing.

The walls were swaying slightly. I told myself that I was simply imagining things in my present state of agitation, and I walked outside through the main door. My legs were heavy and seemed to be refusing to co-operate without plenty encouragement. I was feeling helpless.

I stepped on to the gravel. It crunched. I could hear random tapping and clicking sounds from behind, but I didn’t turn to look in that direction, instead I looked for a way out of this place. No roads for a car, just a thick forest some distance away. The forest looked sinister and evil. The bad elves are waiting for me, I told myself, they are just waiting for me to leave...

I turned to my left and decided to circle the house in that direction. There had to be a path s

omewhere. But I stopped mid-stride. Wait. Wait. Wait, wait, wait! I whispered aloud. My voice did not sound like my own at all. It was heavy and cracked. What bad elves? I asked myself, silently. You just said that the bad elves were waiting for you in the forest. Where did that come from? I questioned myself. It’s like you’re falling asleep while wide awake, I said.

I jumped on my feet to wake myself up, but I was unable to. The sky was getting darker, but it wasn’t too dark yet to see.

Was this an in my mind or was the entire world shaking? Everything around me was swaying to an unheard rhythm. I could not think clearly anymore. There was what felt like static at the edges of my vision. The entire mansion looked foreboding, cold, and dangerous, but I had nowhere else to go. I knew I had to return to the room I had found myself in. I could not walk outside in this condition.

My mouth felt sandpaper dry. I wanted water, but I had none.

I slowly trawled back into the dark mansion. It seems that spiders had emerged from the depths of the house as it was getting dark. They were everywhere, and I was afraid that they had entered in my room too. I did not try to run lest I trip and fall into them, but I had much difficulty avoiding them. There were so many of them I felt sick and afraid. Most of them were small, fast, and translucent.

After an eternity I made it back the dilapidated bedroom. To my disdain, there were spiders here too, but they seemed to be content crawling in and around the mattress, and the corner walls.

I somehow felt less afraid of any fiendish things that I imagined resided in the house this time. I felt like I was one of them now. Inside the room I looked outside the windows. Soon it would be completely dark, and I would be enveloped in my shroud of darkness. My personal hell.

Someone said something right behind me. I heard it distinctly. And I turned around fast. I was still holding the wooden beam in my hands, but I couldn’t lift it up to defend myself anymore. Forget trying to use the wooden beam to defend myself, my own hands felt too heavy to lift. My eyelids too were heavy.

That’s when I saw my shoulder bag lying there. It was previously hidden from my sight because of where I was standing. My phone was probably in there. I ran to the bag. Or at least I tried to. My legs didn’t want to co-operate, though, it seemed, and I fell face first on the hard-wood floor, and I heard the eerie sound that my shoulder made. I felt a vague pain, but it felt so distant. My mouth was open, and I had gathered a quantity of the floor-dust, which tenaciously stuck to my tongue.

I tried to spit it out, but not a drop of moisture remained in my mouth. With much difficulty I lifted every muscle in my body and sat upright, or as close to an upright position as possible, and I wiped my tongue on my T-shirt. The sensation made me begin to retch and dry heave. Then I spilled my guts on the dusty floor. With much difficulty, I was able to regain my breath. I couldn’t breathe. I looked at the little puddle that I had birthed, and there were little moving beetles in it. I had thrown up live beetles. There were live beetles inside me. The sight of that made me heave more, but this time nothing came out.

A different sort of fear had gripped me now. There were parasitic bugs inside of me, eating my insides. Maybe this is why my stomach had felt odd previously. Maybe they had found their way into my brain, and that was causing all my madness. The dancing shadows. The wonky co-ordination and heavy limbs. The primal fear… I probably knew what had happened somewhere inside myself even when I came-to. I had just forgotten. There were bugs inside of me eating me alive from the inside out, and I had no way of saving myself here. I was about to die very soon, and this time I knew why. It was going to be a slow painful death, and I shivered at the thought of it. Horror. Horror was the only thing I felt.

I wanted to scream for help. SOMEONE. ANYONE. I was in tears. I began to cry uncontrollably. I could not bear the horror of my sad, pathetic, demise. I could not. I didn’t want to be eaten alive from the inside out by tiny, hard-backed beetles. The pain was about to get much worse, and I would not die until the very end. Why? What had I done? I said, but my mouth did not move. I knew the answer. I was being punished for what I had done.

If anything, I deserved this death.

Laura, I called out in my distress. Laura. I wish you were here, but I knew she was elsewhere. And I screamed a blood-curdling scream that sent an icy chill down my own spine. I fell into silence. Dark spots were dancing in my vision. I could barely move. The parasitic beetles had swum, with apparent difficulty, to the edge of my pool of bile and digestive sludge that lay withering on the dusty, hard-wood floor. Laura, I whispered but no sound came out. I wish I hadn’t…, I said, I really wish I hadn’t… I didn’t mean to.

There was a cacophony of sounds all around me. There was the sound of utensils, and voices talking over each other, there were people calling my name, and typing, and a scraping sounds coming from behind the walls as if some creature was trying to escape, and I just sat there among it all, insensible. I, the silent centre of the universe waiting for a painful end. At least it would all be over soon, I thought. This life wasn’t even worth living after Laura had left.

The beetles that I had coughed up seemed to have multiplied in my vomit and were clumping together and rolling and moving in a joyful, lively manner. I felt disgust to the pit of my stomach, but there was nothing more left to throw up. I had given up. A pang of pain rushed through me, as their beetle-brothers feasted on my juicy insides.

The world was completely dark now. I could not see a thing. I could sense the shadows. There were people moving around. Some creatures were still trying to break out of the walls around me to feast on me too, but so far, their endeavour seemed to have been fruitless.

I saw hordes of spiders scurrying around in groups whenever I opened my eyes. I tried to swat them away, and they went off. I cannot describe how it feels to be surrounded by insects. To have them inside you, eating you alive. To have insects crawling over you. Climbing you. Climbing your feet. Entering inside the cavity of your skull and eating your juicy brain as you slowly lose your sanity. No, this cannot be described. You can only imagine it, and that too would give you only a vague idea of the disgust, and true horror that I felt. I did not know this intensity of helplessness could even be humanly experienced.

I suddenly remembered that I was looking for my phone. Despite the impossible weight, I reached my hand out to the bag which was only a silhouette anymore, and I dragged it to me. I could not keep my head straight and it kept falling on my shoulders, lolling lifelessly on my neck.

A faint white light seemed to be streaming in from the windows, casting a ghostly-blue glow on this entire room, and on my clumsy, dying, figure. The curtains leisurely swayed and rolled, oblivious to my condition.

I managed to open the zipper of my shoulder bag and dumped everything out. One torch, two water bottles, four condoms and an assortment of pills fell out. My wretched little life lay thus defined.

I found no phone.

I opened the bottle of water. There was a sort of dark liquid inside. Suddenly a horde of tiny spiders began to crawl out. I threw the bottle and the liquid drained. It did not flow like water. It was a lot thicker and darker. I was dying of thirst, but I did not want to drink anything anymore.

I must have blacked out for a while then.

“Hey,” said Amanda. She was sitting beside me. It was still dark outside.

“Careful of the bugs,” I said.

“M’h’m,” she nodded, “I’m not scared, they don’t do anything to me.” she said, nodding several times and swiping them away whenever they approached her.

“Well, they’re inside me. Eating me alive,” I said. “I’m about to die very soon.”

“Cool,” she said. “Does it hurt?”

“I can’t feel anything anymore.”

She H’m’d.

“Can I tell you something?”

“Yeah, of course you can!” she said.

“I think I am in love with you.”

“Are you?” she inquired. I could feel her narrowed, suspicious eyes boring into me.

“I don’t know.” I said, honestly. “I feel like I am. Stupid me. What’s the point of bringing this up right now anyway?” I shook my head.

“Well, I think that you’re a liar. You keep talking about Laura. Even in your sleep you say her name. How can you say you love me, then?”

“Because” I said. “Because…”

I turned to look at her face; to look at her clear, emerald-green eyes, but she was gone.

I must have become so senseless. I didn’t even notice her leave. I felt like she had left me forever this time. It was true, I had loved Laura, but she had left me, and just so Amanda had too. That’s when I noticed my phone where Amanda had been sitting. She must have left it behind as she left me forever.

I picked it up and tried to call her.

The line clicked.

“Hello,” a sleepy voice said.

“Hey,” I said, and then immediately recognised her voice. I was in fact trying to call Amanda, but instead, I must have called Laura in my delirium. Maybe Amanda was right about my obsession with Laura.

“Um, hey,” I said again, “I’m really sorry I called you this late. I was trying to call someone else – but don’t go away yet. Can you talk for a bit?”

“Oh, that’s fine,” she said, and I felt a warmth spreading in my heart. I could talk to her one last time, at least. I was relieved.

“Well, how have you been?”

“I’m…” she paused, “I’m getting well you know.”

An icy chill rushed down my spine. Getting well you know…

I dropped my phone in my surprise. I tried to get pick it up, but it had sunk into the ground. I could only see the top of it like a drawing on the floor. I tried to use my nails to pry it out, but it was pointless.

Laura’s words echoed in my mind, tormenting me. I’m… I’m getting well you know…

I’m… I’m getting well you know…

I’m… I’m getting well you know…

I’m… I’m getting well you know…

I’m… I’m getting well you know…

Stop. Stop. Stop it! I screamed. The voice stopped. Stop it, I said once again. I didn’t want to hear it anymore.

Laura had died six months ago of a drug overdose. A young, innocent, hard-working, straight edged girl, within months, dead of an overdose.

The memory of her lifeless body came back to my mind. Her body was just as calm as always. Not one wasted movement. That was Laura. Her skin smelled like warm, tropical flowers and I used to rub against it and explore it like a thirsty bee. Now she lay shrouded in her usual silence. She looked like she was simply resting in her grave. Her breasts were large and well-shaped in contrast to Amanda’s, and she had a full, motherly body, a little puppy fat, a few imperfections, and no tattoos. I could still recall, with clarity, the taste of her skin.

“Hey girl,” I had said “Wake up.” And she never did. My girl. She was gone.

It felt strange at the time. Like it was a dream. Sometimes I would forget that she was gone in the morning and call her name so she would come back to me in bed and cuddle for a bit. And instead of her warm, soft body, I would feel the intense wave of guilt answer my call.

Everything that happened henceforth, and a lot did happen, is foggy to my memory.

The shadows emerged from the walls, and I was talking to them. I became friends with the spiders, and like in charlotte’s web, I met their tiny, floaty little children. At one point, my mom was there, and we had some sort silly disagreement about a political issue.

A TV reporter in the corner was reading out a weather report, “…very closely right now. A massive earthquake off the west coast triggering a tsunami warning for Hawaii. LXXXX XXXX from our ABC affiliates in Hawaii, reports.”

“…the situation here in Hawaii earlier this evening. The civil defence calling for an evacuation of all low-lying areas because of a tsunami threatening our area, that generated by the 7.7 earthquake in Canada. We are expecting waves of up to, um, three to six to seven feet. Haven’t seen it materialise yet, but we are seeing some of those tsunami waves coming in at a couple of feet or so. Still a fairly serious situation out here with what might happen…”

Frank stopped by, and so did Cody. Rachel called me up on the phone because she couldn’t make it there in time. It seemed like they were all aware of my approaching death, and I was glad to be able to talk to them one last time.

At some point I lay down on the ground out of exhaustion and closed my eyes for the last time. When I opened them again, Laura was lying beside me. Daylight was streaming in. She said nothing. I peered into her deep brown eyes for a long time. I tried to memorise her features. Her long, wavy hair. Her nose. The curl of her lips. Her glowing smile… her smile was glowing. That’s when I realised. I had felt like she was pregnant with my child. I had strongly suspected it. I had seen her manner change in her final days. I wanted to help her out of the pit I had unknowingly led her into, but it was already too late.

I could feel my soul crumble. My insides writhed. My eyes grew hazy with tears. I knew it. I knew it. I just didn’t want to face it, but I had always known it…

And then I died.

*

A long, loud car-horn woke me up. It’s anger very evidently penetrated the air to reach me, after all, it was meant for me. I knew it instantly.

I hadn’t died during the night. Somehow, I knew I wasn’t going to.

When I opened my eyes, it was bright outside. I could not see the sun, but there was plenty of light around me. I used my elbows, with difficulty, to prop myself up. The puddle of stomach sludge was still where I had birthed it during the night. There were no bugs in it, just remnants of gel capsules. Pink gel caps. Benadryl. I could see six. I counted. The rest had probably been absorbed by my body.

My legs felt jittery. I couldn’t move my arms correctly. It felt like the place my arms actually were, and where my body thought they were was different. My arm always either overshot, or undershot.

I heard Sophia yell my name. I felt afraid of her because of how angry she sounded. I was covered in the old, familiar dust. Some distance away lay the hopelessly strewn open water bottle and a black liquid had spilled out. It smelled like rum. I turned around and gathered my things. The condoms. The pills. The torch. From the other bottle I took a sip without considering what may have been inside it because I was so thirsty. Thankfully, it was water. My phone was not around. I probably never had it.

Even though I knew that none of it had taken place, the memories from last night felt one hundred percent real. I had lived through it all. Through the horror or dying painfully because parasitic beetles in my stomach. Through the hallucinations, through the final conversations with all my friends, through the impossible sense of disgust, through the primal fear and the pain… through it all.

I collected the things and stuffed them into a bag. In the corner there as another puddle with the unmistakable yellow colour and the smell of urine. I did not remember pissing in the corner, but thankfully I had the sense to go to the corner to relieve myself rather than pissing my pants.

I cloddishly stood up and turned around as the door opened. Sophia breathed a sigh of relief, and then she yelled at me for a long time. She was scarier to me than my own mother. And my mother is the scariest person I have ever known.

“What the FUCKING FUCK were you two lovebirds thinking?” she yelled, “AMANDA had a FUCKING SEIZURE! A FUCKING SEIZURE BECAUSE OF THIS! I knew you both were acting weird as fuck when I was driving you here. I knew it, but I thought you guys were just high on grass or something. You know, we did that as kids too, and that’s what I thought it was. Then I FUCKING FIND OUT that you both were SHIT HIGH ON KETAMINE, and had taken a ton of BENADRYL after that so you won’t remember that you took it by the time it kicked in.”

Yep, that sounded like us, I thought.

“Then you both had made me drive out all the way here. KETAMINE?! I have never even touched that shit in my life! And Benadryl? I DON’T FUCKING UNDERSTAND?! Why would anyone even do this? And look at you! You look fucking dead. You both stepped out of the car, and immediately after that Amanda collapsed and began to have a seizure, and while I was trying to take care of her you had fucking disappeared somewhere. I had to take her to the emergency room. I was so worried. My God. My entire YEAR’S WORTH of SAVINGS, all gone in a single night. Thanks. Glad to have had you visit. Thank fucking god. But I’m not even angry about that. I’m just confused. Who does this? Who?”

Sophia paused to take a breath.

“When she came-to I asked her what the fuck she was thinking, and she said that you both were going to get shit high and delirious here, and then you were gonna fuck each other. I don’t even – UGHHHHH! Like do what you want, fuck all you want to but like what?!”

I could understand her exasperation, so I offered no explanation. There was no valid excuse.

“Is.. is she…” I managed to speak.

She softened. “Yeah, she’s fine. But I was so worried. Oh god.” She massaged her forehead. “This entire night… it has been a nightmare for me.” she said.

I nodded. It had been the same for me. “I’m sorry.” I said.

Sophia just shook her head several times. Apology not accepted. You need to think about what you did first.

We got into the car in silence, and she began to drive.

I buried my head in my hands. My body was tired; my brain exhausted.

“You’ll be fine,” she said and rubbed my shoulder reassuringly. “Let’s get you washed up and we can go see Amanda.”

“Why are you guys like this?” she asked me after a while of silently driving. She was asking me earnestly, without any hint of ridicule or a taunt.

“Well… I.” I began. “Amanda… She keeps me. Everything she does, it kind of keeps me occupied. She protects me from my thoughts. She keeps me distracted. I feel like I have really fallen in love with her now, after spending so much time with her for just the kind of person she is. And I just don’t want to ever be left alone with my thoughts anymore. She gets me, I get her. We both are the same. Before I met her, I had resolved to end my life. And then she made me forget about it.”

Sophia was silent. She asked softly, after some time, “What thoughts?”

“Laura,” I said. “I was always so pushy with her. I was always indulging her. I wanted her to ‘Enjoy Life’, you know, ‘to get a taste of real life’ – even I don’t know what that means – but I would encourage her to get high, and we would get drunk and have fun… she was so innocent. I ruined her. I always felt like there was something inside her. Something that she was hiding from me. She never ever opened up to me, even in our entire time together. She was an enigma. I felt like having some fun would solve her problems. She trusted me, and I was an idiot. It only made things worse for her. She retreated deeper into herself, and before even knew it, the silent, cheerful girl was gone. I loved her, and I had done this to her. And just like that she was gone.” My voice had grown weary. I wiped my silent tears.

Sophia stole a glance at me and looked back at the road, saying nothing.

I couldn’t bring myself to tell her about the pregnancy. I couldn’t think of it myself. I wanted to jump out of the running car and die by getting run over by a truck. I had made my final decision. I unclipped my seat belt.

Sophia saw me do it, but she remained silent. I was toying with my fingers.

She looked at me again. “U’m…” she began. “You know I do interior design, right?”

I nodded. I didn’t know why she was bringing that up.

“And the thing is that most of my clients are middle class people, and they’ve got a very rigid perspective towards spending money – and spending money on appliances in their home is a big no-no. I mean they’re really silly about it. They don’t understand how big a difference is between good and bad appliances. The good ones may not cost much more to build from a manufacturing perspective, but the thing is that these companies will add a premium on top of that and make things all the more expensive – but if you’ve ever seen the stats, the good appliances despite the heavy premiums last a looooot longer. And these people don’t get it, which is why I have to tell them something that’s very important: “think very carefully about the decisions you will make because they will stick to you”

She looked me in the eye.

I looked at her with a sideways glance.

I didn’t reclip my seatbelt on our way back. But I didn’t jump out either.

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