Not To Be Cringe But *enjoys My Interests In A Fun, Harmless Little Way That Makes Me Happy*

I have been fighting death ever since I was born and I’m not fucking dead yet so one can only assume that I’ve just kept winning

GREEN FLAGS

GREEN FLAGS

GREEN FLAGS

GREEN FLAGS

Imagine how you might feel if your wildest and most wonderful fantasies were brought to life. That’s probably how a child would feel if their drawings of strange and wondrous characters were turned into real-life plush toys, which is exactly what Budsies does.

Budsies takes children’s drawings and reinterprets them as 16-inch-tall hypoallergenic plush toys – but they’ll take playful adults’ drawings, too.

TW; Sensitive topics

Note: Despite the trigger warning above, please please if you find you have the strength to read this, then do. It’s important and not just for the people living in the states. This affects all of us.

Alright so I know i’ve disappeared for a while but I’ve come back to tell you guys something very, very important.

racism/ˈreɪsɪz(ə)m/

noun

prejudice, discrimination, or antagonism directed against someone of a different race based on the belief that one's own race is superior.

This isn’t just a ‘oh yes racism that’s very bad’ kind of matter anymore. An innocent man was killed, not by accident, not in self-defence, and by the same people who apparently were supposed to be the good guys.

George Floyd was choked to death by a police officer.

He was choked to death by a police officer.

He had to beg to live.

Do you know how horrible that is? We talk about human rights to improve our lives, and this man had to beg for him to keep his own.

What makes it worse is that it didn’t work. He still died.

I don’t know how to tell you guys that we should care about other people.

Afterwards, there were protests. Of course there was. There had to be. Peaceful protests. Raising voices for justice, for a better change, for the right thing.

And do you know how the fucking police responded to these peaceful protests? Peaceful protests asking for better lives?

Do you know how the same people responded to violent, gun-wielding protestors asking for a fucking haircut?

If I told you one was responded with violence, and one was responded with peace, which one do you think would be which?

Would you be surprised to find out which ones really happened?

Would you be angry?

Wouldn’t you be angry? Shouldn’t you be?

These people have been fighting for years and years. They shouldn’t have to fight alone.

They didn’t stop with George Floyd. He wasn’t the first, and already he wasn’t the last.

Please, for the sake of all that is good in this world. Do not let this stand.

There are multiple websites in which you can help support the movement against this hellish system. It doesn’t take too long for you to type a few words in, for you to read more, to find more, to see that this has gone on for far too long.

https://www.joincampaignzero.org/solutions#solutionsoverview

https://www.reclaimtheblock.org/home/#about

https://www.gofundme.com/f/georgefloyd

I Definitely Went Past The Word Limit

It had been some sort of class activity. My professor was quite insistent that, in order to do well in their course, us students would have to band well together. I had no problem, initially, with the party. I’d been to multiple in my long, long life. Yet somehow, just with the very knowledge of that he would be there as well, I found myself dreading the event.

Nonetheless, I had no other choice. I could’ve waited just a few more decades for him to die off, but then my professor would’ve died as well - and I had waited literal centuries for a professor like them to roll around. Besides, it was a party - those were always highlights of my life.

The fast-food restaurant was cold - almost ridiculously so. They’re always cold, I realise. I dislike the cold, and it only added to my sour mood. The party was going terribly and it had barely begun.

Things only went for the worst as he himself walked in. Still with that ear-to-ear grin. The protegee of being amicable and friendly. Aleia.

He made his way towards an insignificant group of people, laughing and clapping shoulders. It was a wonder why they even found his presence worthwhile - every time he laughed, which was unfortunately often, I felt like claws were raking down my spine. 

I’d glanced away. Clinging onto the childlike hope that if I cannot see him, then he doesn’t exist. Object permanence is a terrible thing that I’d hope to unlearn one day. All it did was make me unhappy. A terrible waste of time and brain space.

Then it happened.

Other people were at the fast-food restaurant. Of course there were - it wasn’t as if a bunch of university students could scrounge enough money to book an entire fast-food restaurant. If we had, we wouldn’t have gone to a fast-food restaurant.

A small child, a mere twelve years of age I’d learn later, started heaving. They staggered out of their booth, their hands clutching at their mid-section. With a faintly heard ‘blurp’, they proceeded to vomit pale cream substances all over the tiled floor.

We were all shocked still. Even their caretaker - the babysitter, who I don’t think had been properly briefed in what to do in such a situation - could only stare, mortified as their charge attempted to upend their entire stomach contents onto the ground.

There was only one among us that had a timely, spontaneous reaction. Only one who thought to move forward towards the vomiting projectile.

Now, I’m sure everybody else there would’ve meant well. The world is filled with kindly disposed mortals, despite what the system of oppression currently wants. Only one was commendable enough, because only one had moved quickly enough to help.

Any fool can be well-meaning, yet the bards always sing about the Heroes who move fast enough to save lives. That was exactly what Aleia had done - he’d saved a life.

Of course, I snapped out of it soon after. I’d seen a lot - this was moderately tame, in fact. Both of us rushed towards the child and gripped their shoulders - dodging the vomits as we did so. I snapped at the caretaker to call an ambulance, whilst Aleia made sure that the child didn’t begin to choke on their own puke.

The ambulance came and went. We went with it, because the babysitter was too much of a wreck to function properly; mumbling, wailing with red-rimmed eyes. There were either worried for the child or for their own paycheck - but that wasn’t what was important at the time.

We rushed towards the ER, the doctors did their thing - but it was what came after that stuck in my mind the most. The parents had longed arrived - worried to death. The doctor had told us all that the child would be okay; news that we all take with great sighs of relief.

Then came the matter of payment.

I’d my suspicions before - the child’s worn clothes, similar to that of their parents and their wide-eyed amazement at being at a fast-food restaurant - were glaring red flags. Yet seeing the parents mutter and falter for their child’s own treatment drove the truth home.

They were impoverished. Most likely on the lowest economic rung of society. Desperate for financial aid.

My fingers twitched. I could help - I knew I could. I was about too, honestly-

But as I’ve said before. Heroes are only those who act fast enough.

Aleia offered to help them pay the fee. They’d asked him how. He faltered - his eyes briefly gaining a panicked look to them. A look that made me wonder - was he in the same situation as the parents? Was that why he had acted so quickly, acted so determinedly? So ready to help, despite not being in the full ability to?

The traits of a Hero are rarely disputed. Kindness, chivalrous, yet what was most of all was the willingness to forsake one’s own self for another.

I highly doubt Aleia would’ve been able to maintain his own education, had the parents taken him up on his offer. It was extremely lucky for him that an anonymous donor soon paid up it all - and then some.

Very lucky indeed, for him. Very lucky for me as well - seeing him greet me with that same crinkled smile every time we met up was an opportunity I could’ve missed. These people were priceless, hard to find, and ridiculously rare.

Besides, being good friends with someone in your class always has its perks. For one, it made my professor very, very happy.

Writing Prompt #3

‘You have 10 days to live.’

Mortality is a dark subject to dwell on.

We don’t often think about what happens when we die, after it, about the death itself. Often times, we go through our daily lives without even being reminded that we are such fragile things.

I lived that kind of life; a life where I went by the days with a kind of reckless, careless freedom.

Perhaps you could call me ignorant, or oblivious. All living creatures die, but with the way I had lived you would’ve guessed I was chasing death.

I wasn’t. I had no intention of dying. I wanted to live. To live without regret, to look back and to say ‘I’m happy with the way I lived’.

That sentence ran through my head when I learned I had 10 days to live. A measly 10 days - barely more than a week - was all that my goodwill had earned.

Yet amidst the raging thoughts one would usually experience when faced with their own mortality, there was one clear sentence. Found beneath the piles of fear, of anger, of ‘why me?’, there it was, clear as day.

‘I’m happy with the way I lived.’

And I was.

Truly, genuinely happy.

After I realised it, it was easier for me to accept my fate. At least, as easy as it can be.

Those around me took longer; longer nights spent holding them while they cried, longer hours spent pounding away at locked doors because I cannot stand not seeing them again before I left.

I didn’t even tell most people. Those who had been with me for years and years, defended me from all sorts of monsters, and yet I kept this secret from them.

I wished I had enough time to tell them, to be able to tell them and be there to reassure them. But I barely had time to comfort the ones closest to me, and to convince them to accompany me on my plan.

My last journey.

I only had a few days left, after spending them on clearing all my extra affairs. It was then that I realised I had been lucky, in a sick and twisted way.

At the very least, I knew enough to plan for it.

After all affairs had been settled, we packed our bags into our car and went on a road trip. We called out buildings, sighs, horses, cows, fields, mountains, lakes, parks, people. We stopped and ate at the most questionable diner I had ever stepped into - and that was truly saying something, as I’d walked into multiple questionable diners.

We traveled and slept and talked. After a while on the road, I’d noticed that the others had began to relax slightly, to enjoy this final journey I’d planned, to live in the moment with someone without many moments left.

I was glad they did. It made the journey easier for me.

After all that traveling, we’d finally arrive at our destination. 

A long bridge, suspended high above a river valley. From the centre, a single piece of cord.

It had been unanimous that I were to go first. The man in charge fixed a harness around my torso, gave the cord a few more experimental tugs, then nodded an affirmative in my direction.

I took in a deep breath, then I jumped.

After it, my friends had applauded me on my bravery. They called me reckless, as always. I smiled cheekily in return, as I’ve always done.

And then we went home.

Bungee jumping had been the last thing on my bucket list. My last hurrah to the life I’d lived before I learned the news.

I was happy, but oh I wished I’d lived longer. Of course I would. I had plans that went on for years, dreams that plummeted like a deflated balloon.

But I dealt with the hand I was given, and while it was truly a shit hand, I was satisfied enough.

9 and 3/4 days after the news, I climbed to the roof of my apartment. The stars still peeked out beneath the ever-brightening sunrise sky, and I had wanted to see them one more time.

One last time.

Despite how dark the subject of mortality can be, Death always came on time.

And I was ready for it.

The silent guardian. The watchful protector