A Puppet With Its Strings Cut Anonymous 2015/09/15 (Tue) 23:56 No. 1893 â¼ File
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Today is not a good day.
...
I made it home.
It took me a long time to recover enough to pick up a pen.
Minutes, maybe hours passed while I just sat there and tried to breathe.
My heart felt like it would explode if I lost concentration for just one second.
My heartbeat felt too fast, more like a continuous stream rather than individual beats.
But, here I am now.
...
I don't know how one should write in a diary.
I've mostly been pacing back and forth, sitting back down to write a line every few minutes.
I can't bring myself to look upwards, at lines already put down. But this is why I'm using ink.
I need only to suppress my desire to rip out the page.
...
At some point, I remembered to take off my boots. Allowing my feet to breathe, preventing me from tracking mud around my house.
The forest gets so annoyingly muddy this time of year.
It's so annoying.
Cleaning up the mud is a chore. Taking off my boots is a chore.
An unnecessary extra "thing" to do.
Were it up to me, I could just sit in place and do nothing.
Like a vegetable.
But simply being alive brings with itself obligations and burdens.
Well, as long as you wish to be part of the civilized world.
There is always the option of... killing my mind, going feral.
But that too would be inconvenient.
Feral creatures do not live in cushy houses that shelter them from the elements.
They do not eat meals they prepare out of refrigerated goods that they didn't need to scavenge for.
Not that I need to eat, of course.
It's just that I'm too weak to give up these convenient aspects of life, so I must bear the obligations that come with them.
...
I went and checked on my guest.
Still asleep. Good.
The drugs seem to have worked well, providing a peaceful sleep.
Something I myself have not known in far too long.
And immeasurable unit of time.
Every night, lying down in bed is like strapping myself to a torture tab
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A Cold Woman Anonymous 2015/09/16 (Wed) 07:54 No. 1894 â¼
The first time I encountered the snow maiden, I had just turned ten years old.
I had run away from home. In the excitement of my younger brother being born, and the anger of my older brother being caught stealing, my parents had forgotten about my own birthday. I had been replaced, I thought, and this time I decided to run away for real. Not just to the shed out back, or to the school where I played hide and seek with our friends. I packed myself two meals, a change of clothes, and I left my home. I walked until the village gates, and then walked some more. I walked past the farms, and away from the trails to the shrine or mountains. I walked far away from the safety of the village. I walked into what I knew was the domain of youkai, but I didn't care. I just wanted to run away, as far as I could go.
By the time the sun began to set, I was already hopelessly lost. I had no idea where I was. I didn't know of any landmarks or features I could use to get my bearings. All I saw around me was short grass, tall trees, and great mountains. I sat down to eat the food I had brought, and as the sun set and the winter night began to replace it, I grew cold. The clothes I was wearing were too light. I took out the spare clothes I had brought and wrapped them around myself to keep warm. It was then that I started to panic. With the night came darkness, and with the darkness came fear of what lied beyond the pale moonlight. My imagination ran wild with tales of youkai, and the horrific fates of those who encountered them. I began frantically running, searching for anything that I might be able to use as shelter before the last glimmer of light faded. To me, in that moment, a hollowed tree trunk looked like the inviting arms of my mother. I regretted running away as I holed up inside it, and slept through the night unharmed.
The next morning, it began to snow. The cold winter didn't care that I was out here. As the snow began to blanket the ground, I was no longer able to even tell what way I had come to get here, and my mad dash the previous night cost me all sense of direction. I finished the last of the food I had brought, and left the comforting shelter that the tree hollow provided. A
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Clinically Over The Moon Anonymous 2015/09/16 (Wed) 23:40 No. 1896 â¼ File
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She hefted me to my feet, and I'd be a liar if I said that lying there on the ground was good for me. But standing was worse.
âYou're not the sharpest tool in the shed, are you?â She brushes the broken glass off my shirt, and I groan. I'd jumped through the window after breaking it with a convenient rock, tripped, and landed on the broken glass face-first. And thankfully I missed the broken glass with my face.
âSo. Sit down and let's do something about that glass in your arms. Then you will explain things to me.â I'm frogmarched to a chair by a surprisingly strong girl with rabbit ears, and she sits me down.
While she plucks out the glass from my arm and applies (probably-deliberately) overly-stinging peroxide to the cuts, she prompts me to explain what made me break into her pharmacy. During the middle of the day. When she was just in the back for something.
âI, I, got a problem.â
âNo shit,â she replies.
âI needed my fix.â
âFix of what? Aspirin? Sulfa drugs? You get high off beta blockers, kid?â
âD-don't you have any of the hard stuff, like opium, or cocaine?â
She snorts in derision as she continues to clean my wounds. âWhat is this? The nineteenth century? Look, there's maybe a bit of morphine, but we haven't done straight-up opium in like, a century here.â She stops, and looks into my eyes. Hers are red, sparkling, beautiful, and angry. âWhat are you going to do when I call the cop on you?â Cop, singular. Kotohime's still the only one who takes on that 'job'. God knows I don't want to have to deal with her again.
Reisen raises my arm, and turns it underside-up. I blush and turn away. âTrack marks,â she says. Of course she'd notice. âYou know, kid, the world's gonna roll you one of these days. Look. I'll make you a deal, I don't want to see you waste away your life. You work here now, for me. And I won't report this crime to the authorities if you make something of it. We got a deal?â
I nod, knowing that I never planned to show up here again.
âGood,â she says, finishing up
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