𝘈𝘳𝘵 𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘣𝘦𝘥

nvmillustration

What's a character you were super into when you were like 12?

Oh my god, such a good question. 12 year old my was a fucking VORACIOUS reader, but the first thing that comes to mind is Artemis Fowl. Fam, I thought he was the absolute shit

Eyes are for sight and for tears, and it cries at what it sees

Well that is my belief, so thank you for creating something so touching ❤️

"That it will never come again is what makes life so sweet." - Emily Dickinon - Not my belief honestly but it worked for the picture lol.

a writing prompt in the form of a haiku

“I’m not a villain!” 

Spat darkly through gritted teeth;

Tears salting their cheek.

By Laura Gilpin

Death Anxiety, or Memento Mori

Is this not all our lives? We spend this moment in the sunlight being afraid, and trying not to be, and trying to make up for the fear when it never leaves. I scramble, try to scratch my name in the Earth before She takes me back. Remember, remember. One day, my name will be spoken for the last time. If I am lucky, it will be by someone who never knew me. ‘Til then, I know what will happen when I die. The ones who loved me will miss me. They will speak my name. Tears will wet their eyes as they do, and some will blink them away like acid rain. I know. Silently they will scream, and rasp against the ache in their throat and the pit in their gut. No matter how ready the dead were to die. No platitudes will dull the scraping of our souls into raw piles of nerves. Nor should it. Remember, remember. Cry. Cry past the ache in your throat. Knees in the dirt; face in the sun and remember. Let your body shake. Let the hurt flow past the scars in your soul. Let it sting. Hold fast to the Earth, lest the grief swallow you whole. Anchored while you weather the storm. And when you emerge, sail on - and ever remember your death.

April Prompts - 4/14 Smiling - @creativepromptsforwriting text version below (click on keep reading)

Smiling by Kara

I've a papercraft smile Pasted on with hotglue Cut with a technique Of perfected disarmament Hand stuck to my hilt At the ready yet shaking Then I met your smile You must've noticed the snips The jagged appearance of my mouth Caught up in the curl of your lips My body went still Ripped off the paper Learning I've forgotten How to smile

A man in the hospital died today

I'm in the room next door when it happens. No alarms sound his death. No one is there to scream or cry.

Just two nurses, gathered round his bed like doves in blue scrubs. I hope they thought to hold his hand.

His mottled arms are folded neatly across his chest when I arrive. I study his body, instinctively looking for the rise and fall of breath. He is, of course, perfectly still. The sensors have all been removed, he is covered in a feather-light sheet. His skin, nearly translucent, glows in the sunlight.

The older of the two nurses must see my wide eyes; she beckons me and shows me what to do.

This was a good death, she tells me.

I am not convinced. She continues as she hands me a roll of gauze.

He was comfortable.

She shows me how to moisten his eyes to protect them for donation. I touch his eyelid gingerly. The cold makes me flinch. I remind myself that bodies do that when they die.

He was clean.

I place the gauze on his lids, covering his priceless eyes. I remind myself that I cannot hurt him. I still handle him as if his skin were eggshell.

The sterile water runs out from the gauze and streams down his cheek.

He wasn't alone.