in response to Labyrinthia Mythweaver ’s weekly prompt.
tw: suicide, graphic violence, drugs. take care of yourself
this is a true story in its weirdness.
i woke up in the middle of the night, feeling a strong urge to pee.
having tea before going to bed is a bad idea, but the headache was unbearable.
i hate camping mostly for this, when I have to walk outside to pee. let me see if i can find the torchlight. i’m lucky i found my glasses, at least. i cannot find the torch, so i go out and choose to trust the sky, the stars are usually visible to show me the way and it’s enough.
there are days where i cannot distinguish between what’s past and what’s happening in the now.
things get blurred.
a breakup can make you feel unreal.
i was a moving corpse for years and nobody noticed. those who noticed didn’t care enough.
as pee rushes out of my body like an unkind stream, i hear some bird.
at this strangest hour, birds are not usually awake at night.
or maybe i didn’t take the time to notice. i never wake up in the middle of the night, why would i? we are surrounded by the mountains, and the valley shows itself in its fully imposing form, as Nature cyclically always reminds us.
we are nothing.
a shriek. maybe another bird is being born now? or is this a warning.
the sky is purple, the kind of indigo Huxley saw when taking mescaline.
am i dreaming?
perhaps life is a dream state.
we are the puppets and the mastermind is having fun.
the full moon shows itself in its majestic brightness, uncanny green.
mirroring the mountains green.
ten years in this place, I grew together with each tree, along every rare, endangered organism not found outside of this protected area.
these Mountains are my best friends.
two minutes from the camping site to the bridge is what it takes to fly off.
the bridge under which the highway speed collapses with the quiet River close by.
i slowly walk towards the bridge, i stand right in front of the Moon.
the fence is looking dull.
the fence is the barbed wire that gives access to a body to move from one world to another.
a border. illegal body
a portal. magic soul
a dream. crazy mind
the barbed wire is still broken, nobody cared to repair it. we were not prepared for it. why would we?
you decide to kill yourself and you show up to a party in the mountains, where people reunite to celebrate life in its brokenness. you chose to celebrate life by choosing death, leaving us shocked for years.
some felt guilty for not being able to prevent the end of life.
i didn’t feel anything.
human beings will never be ready for it, despite the rehearsal in our minds, over and over. obsessive thoughts, intrusive repetition, images returning. the drugs are not enough.
that happened at dawn.
maybe the moon would have given you wings.
a gentle something to attach yourself to. one more chance at being.
Vertigo fly
one car hijacked the landing. not a soft one.
a family leaving on vacation. turned unforgettable.
blamed guilty.
sudden break, useless.
your head rolling like the roundest pale moon ever on the highway.
the green of the mountain stained red with shock.
the sky has remained bruised from that moment.
the rest was pure chaos.
the music stopped.
Vertigo fly
*kind stranger. may your soul rest in peace. you left an adieu handwritten letter for your family but you didn’t think of writing a letter to me, having to look at your headless lifeless figure imprinted on my memory for the rest of my life.
the sound of a body under the wheels was heard across the entire valley, the mountain made sure it was memorable. the stains are still there. the trees saw everything. humans cannot use bleach on skin, trees cannot walk away. one cannot wash off the horror.
Nature. sound system infallible.
the kind of sound that stays in your system and alters the pulse.
the kind of sound that echoes a sudden failure of the heartbeat.
every gesture helps sustain this writing. subscribing it’s free and still means a lot. liking, sharing, or restacking helps this work travel further than you might imagine, and I’m so grateful for it.
i’m slowly building a writing life that can remain independent, creating work that unfolds without compromise. Supporting me allows this voice to thrive and hold space for ideas that might otherwise go untold, smothered, unheard. If you have the means, considering buying me a coffee.
Thanks for the trigger warning, but because it's your work, I had to read it. I'm not sorry. Though the images might haunt me, the way you set down the words inspires. Love, Virg
This is beautiful yet haunting. Ethereal, but a nightmare. The way you write is mesmerizing. I hope you find comfort in sharing it. 🫶