I'm lost. I'm losing them. I've given each breath that I struggle to take to them, towards making them better, towards making things better for them. But they always fall in the end. The always need something I can't give them and something they won't seek for themselves.
The pain in my back might be from physical injury. However, I choose to believe that the increased pain is actually from the weight baring down on me. I've never had good posture. I imagine it's only about to get worse.
I think I may only have around two minutes of air left.
From me, they might have a few more years, some of them decades but I have ultimately failed them. I can't give them all the things they deserve, I can't give them the guarantee of life. I have given them my own breath and that is all I can afford them. It is always down to my own lacking, my own inability to do so many things. I gave my all. It wasn't enough.
Rainbow Island. A place just for me to relax. It has my dream place, home, castle, shops and school. I can be free there whenever I want. My friends care about me and always enjoy arranging play-dates and meet-ups. There's always life in RI. I've only told 2 of my friends about my fictional paradise, just for us. They have characters there, mine is Celeste Sparkle. I love all the colours and shades in the rainbow, I really do. Sometimes I feel elated, joyful and sometimes I feel sad, sorrowful in the real world but in RI I'm always happy. My feelings change constantly but no matter what, I'm always positive, optimistic, open-minded. I love the unpredictability of life-you never know what will happen next...RAINBOWS!!!
As you know I've been a little inactive on 420fables.com recently. That's because I'm losing ideas and inspiration so I thought I should take a break from freewriting for a little bit...
Well here I am writing. Art Journaling is one of my favourite hobbies at the moment. It lets you create unique pages within one book and you will never lose a page. It lets you creatively express your feelings-you can write a quote, how you're feeling. You can tell a story with doodles and colours. Choose your path, what direction you want to take. Do you pick pastel or neon colours? Black and white VS Colourful? Who knows...I love doodling, drawing, colouring and writing together. You can mindlessly create an image on the page. There are no instructions to follow just your heart...
Walking through what I assume to be the Phobos Labs was quite the unnerving experience, even with all the other shit going on here. Demonic aberrations strung up on dissection tables or suspended in tanks full of formaldehyde (still alive too!) with tubes all over their bodies.
Ran into a pack of the nasty pink critters, they seemed hungry so I fed them some rockets, even after the garish feast they were working on before I interrupted.
Picked up a prototype x390 Chaingun from one of the weapons labs, hurls death at 1000 rounds a minute. Glad the new matter compression backpacks finally work correctly else all this shit would be heavy.
More demonic symbols everywhere, blood painting the walls and mixing with the slime vats. Saw a room that looked like a human meat locker with grisly cadavers hanging from the ceiling and the Bony Brown Shit-Stains going to town on them. They made good practice for the Chaingun.
Found another blue sphere and some weird blue armor. It's lighter than my green combat jacket and has the same bluish color as the sphere. It seems pretty sturdy and my current jacket is shot anyways.
I'm working my way towards what a lot of the PDAs I've found refer to as the anomaly. Maybe there I can find some answers. Whoever is commanding these hellspawn has a rendezvous with my boot, the location, their ass.
The fiery bird flutters to my shoulder and whispers in my ear: "I am the god of procrastination. I am on the prowl. You are my prey." As I lift my hand to shoo him away, he flaps into the air in a cacophonous frenzy. Glitter sparkles shoot from somewhere behind him as rainbow spirals flow from his instant show. I try to look away, but he shrieks like a child suffering and my attention returns to him, feeding him, making him stronger. Making his glitter clouds sparkle brighter. Making his rainbows glow in 3 dimensional awe. I squint to block the show, but it is no use. I lunge at the bird and manage to grasp him by his spectacular throat. I take a deep breath. The bird begins to burn. Heat makes him hard to hold. In my crisis moment I cram him into my mouth where he struggles like a madman. Like a toddler who resists going to bed. With a swig of white tea I swallow the god of procrastination. I swallow him whole. With a fist on my chest, to quell the deep burning, I turn my head and cough out a small cloud of smoldering feathers.