Endings - Blog Posts

FIXED IT!!!

My 2nd entry for @vibez_express’ DTIYS. I used @redladydeath's design from their wonderful (and incredibly dark) RAM AU @randomly--accessed--memories.

I was incredibly unsatisfied with my first attempt, especially the background, and decided to redo it. Still not 100% satisfied with it, but nothing’s perfect and I have a time limit. 

Here’s the original:

And here’s the extras!!:

My entry for @vibez_express’ DTIYS hosted on Instagram. I used @redladydeath's design from their wonderful (and incredibly dark) RAM AU @randomly--accessed--memories on Tumblr. 

Here’s the OG image:

Here’s the extras!:

And here’s the transparent stuff!:

I feel as if there's nothing to look forward to and I am feeling this after my high school ended.......WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH ME.

The enemy of love is OFFENCE.

There are endings, and there are endings. 

-

It was snowing, I think, that last day. Snowing the way it hadn’t yet, that year. 

The thing with snow:

It wipes away everything you’ve left behind, 

Buries it, 

like a pirate burying hoarded gold. 

We lay down our half-finished hopes, the midnight musings we’d  incanted into streetlight-lit hollowness. 

Hello! we cried. We are here. We are

Here, 

Like footprints in the mud and the branches of a fallen tree jutting up from the ground, we are

Here. 

There was moonlight, stealing away our

whispers 

like the wind borrows secrets, 

like a faerie steals a child. 

-

Count down from five, love. 

The snow is falling, and the stars are bright, and

the moon is listening. 

Count down from five—

promise me you’ll remember this is not the

ending it seems to be. 

-

—this is what it means to begin (y.c.)

i wish i were better at goodbyes.

yesterday was the last time i'm going to see you for a while, if not forever. not that i don't want to see you anymore - quite the contrary, you were (are) the biggest reason for me to wake up in the mornings. but now i'm leaving and you'll be gone, and i'll miss you. so so much. hell, i missed you when we said goodbye at the end of the day and i watched you making your way to the subway station, even with the knowledge that you'd text me that evening, to wish me a good night and that i'd see you the next morning, in school. these three months will be hell, and the years after, even more.

and what upsets me the most is the fact that we didn't even say goodbye. we stood there, awkwardly, in the middle of the volleyball field, with my best friend by my side and your girlfriend by yours and we just looked at each other.

you smiled. i tried to, but i had to turn my head so you wouldn't see me crying. i looked at you with tears in my eyes and you said "don't" softly, and that made me want to cry more. i said "yeah", and you smiled again, said "well", and waved. i nodded. you turned, took her hand, and left.

i started crying.

that wasn't a goodbye. that was an awkward standing contest, with your girlfriend as the judge. i could tell she was so annoyed because she had to be there. and i wanted to ask you for a hug, but i didn't have the courage. not while she was there. i don't want to be a problem, even though i probably am at this point.

i wish we could have said our goodbyes in the hall. just the two of us. you could have played brahms for me. i could have given you a hug and cried on your shoulder while you comforted me. that would have been a goodbye.

instead i just stood there in the middle of the volleyball field until i was hit on the head by a volleyball.

it was raining. the sky was crying with me.

i wish you were better at goodbyes.

From death, life.

They stand before her, and they brandish their weapons callously, carelessly. She knows they mean to kill her – she’s of no use to them. “Don’t run and we’ll make it quick, little girl,” one of them says. “You can join your family.” She knows that he is lying. The world is open before her, and she knows all that may be known.

She can see the silence behind them, the darkness. Death. The void awaits.

The men smirk. They are empty of life and humanity, worn to blood, bone, and sharpened teeth by violence. They expect her to beg. They do not know.

She stands before them, small. Her spine is straight, and her head is high. She meets his eyes.

“No,” she says, and her voice is strong and clear. It is still a girl-child’s voice, but there is something more behind it.

He is taken aback, but something nasty quickly enters his eyes. “More fun for us then,” he tells the others.

“No,” she says again.

“I am not afraid to die.” She tells them, and there is a universe under her skin. She feels her life like a star in her chest, and death like tides in her blood.

They roar with laughter and start forward. They step with heavy feet on soil rich with death. They do not know.

The darkness is behind them, within them, between every atom in the air and in the earth. It is within her. The silence.

“I am not afraid to die,” she repeats, “but today is not my day to die. It is yours.”

The raucous laughter enters the air again, but she can see something like fear rising in the eyes of the wiser ones.

The time for words is over. The silence is here.

She closes her eyes - and breathes. Life is here, she thinks. Death is here, she thinks. Truth rings strong in the silence.

The darkness rises in her like the tides. The empty space between the stars is here, between the pieces of the universe. Void calls to void. The hungry dark will devour all. The shadows grow, and –

She opens her eyes, but there is nothing to see. The dark presses like a living thing against her skin, but she is not afraid. She is part of it, and it a part of her. There is no sound, because the dark and silence swallow all. But she can feel them. She can sense their light growing dim. Their fear grows, as the darkness within answers to the call of the darkness without.

She holds both death and life, light and dark, silence and sound, void and star – in her hands and in her heart. Her light does not fade as the darkness grows. There is no fear in her. She has already passed through the void and emerged.

The lights in the darkness are gone. The sense of nothing presses against her skin. She waits. She knows it is not yet done.

She waits, and the dark waits also, hungry. It is restless and chaotic, and it would consume her given the chance. She remembers the star in her chest. And waits.

And in the consuming darkness, the void of chaos and nothingness, something starts to grow. She smiles in the blackness, and breathes in, bringing air into her lungs where there was none. The light in her chest flares. Her star fills her whole self. The shadows recede. She blinks in the sunlight. There are no men in front of her. There are no more bodies in the streets. There is only rich black soil.

She steps forward and kneels, brushing the dirt away from a bright green seedling. Life.

I don't know you at all

infinity is such a difficult concept to comprehend because humans aren't used to the idea of forever. everyday, something ends in our lives. we can't imagine anything not-ending that is real. our lives are defined by endings. anything related to us will aways end. we will die, another ending. infinity challenges the whole notion of the cycle of everything as we know it.

Nothing ever ends poetically. It ends and we turn it into poetry. All that blood was never once beautiful. It was just red.

Kait Rokowski

Each day is born with a sunrise and ends in a sunset, the same way we open our eyes to see the light, and close them to hear the dark. You have no control over how your story begins or ends. But by now, you should know that all things have an ending. Every spark returns to darkness. Every sound returns to silence. And every flower returns to sleep with the earth. The journey of the sun and moon is predictable. But yours, is your ultimate ART.

Et utaknemmeligt træ. Det er ikke det mindste trist. Det amputerede træ har det fint. Det garanterer motorsavene, og de kan ikke tage fejl. Træet selv er måske lidt i tvivl. Men det husker ikke så godt, lidt pludseligt, det er kun de inderste og ældste år der er tilbage. Den nyere hukommelse, den med grene og blade, ligger i en filtret bunke. Og det er ikke spild. Det kan bruges som brænde. Træet er lidt forvirret over, at dets erindringer skal gå op i flammer. Godtnok kun de seneste år, men alligevel. Det er dog en hel del år der sådan er skåret væk. Men motorsave véd hvad de gør, træet kan være ganske rolig. Små nye stiklinger vil komme, og nyde godt af den rensede fortid. En frisk begyndelse kræver en beskæring, væk med det gamle. Det véd mennesker også. Det er slet ikke trist. De døde år er fjernet imorgen. Så er der er ikke flere problemer med at huske. Træet burde strengt taget udvise lidt taknemmelighed. Men sådan er det med den slags der påstår at være levende. Minder og erindringer dukker op igen og igen, som ukrudt eller vrangvoksende vildskud. Det er altid noget kludder, når tiden blandes med følelser og tanker fra før. Se bare hvor effektivt motorsave klarer sig uden. Træet fatter det ikke, men savenes fræsen og hurtige hakken gennem ringe af år, er faktisk en stor gave. Også til træet. Men det står bare der, kan ikke engang pille sig i barken. Det prøver at huske sig selv med hovede og arme. Og hvordan dét var. Det sukker lidt i den top der ikke er der, og knager med de manglende grene. Altså! Sådan et træ er egentlig ret egoistisk. Motorsave har også været små og kan da gå i stykker. Det er overhovedet ikke noget de tænker over. Hvem har set en trist motorsav? De har ikke brug for minder og erindringer. Den slags gør ingen nytte, det er kun savsmuld. Træet burde være glad for miste hovedet! At være trist er misbrug af tid. Det er jo kun gammelt brugt ragelse, ligegyldige år der bare skal skæres væk. Det er de så heldigvis blevet. Træet kan knap huske hvorfor det måske var trist. Godt! #mantelmomento #danielmantel #tree #memories #lifeanddeath #remember #rip #fiktion #prosa #endings #gellerup #treesarepeopletoo #symbolic #sh*t! (Usual one-off...) (her: Now Here Nowhere) https://www.instagram.com/p/CLgalOGhOHl/?igshid=1uyvl6g7jwkek

POSSIBLE ENDINGS. Sorry, danish prose… https://mantelsroman.wordpress.com/2018/02/15/slutning-mulig/ Summary: The story is in place. The fiction can't be more fictive. Of Course there's still a lot of my figures adjusting details. Like if they deserve their own timeline; if they should be in 1.person and tell their story through their own eyes and mind or if they should be told… So on. As for myself, or "myself" or… -all the characters more or less with parts of me. Including past, present, even future, and lots of memories and memories of me through others thoughts, well… I'm most concerned about the ending. Of it all. Of the story; of "me" and me. I actually don't know. An ending. Yes. But which comes first? The ending of fiction? Or the ending of me? And what really matters? Most? #https://mantelsroman.wordpress.com/2018/02/15/slutning-mulig/ #mantelmomento #danielmantel #laurieandthestoryof #primeiroproximopasso #udenfilter (Not true... But the words are!) #prose #meandmystory #ending #endings #danish #novel #writing #selfie #white #mood #justafittingpicturetothestorylinkedtootherwisenotwithanyrealconnection (Usual one-off hashtag...) (her: Central Denmark Region)

The sunset is beautiful isn't it?

I always find myself chasing sunsets- it's a habit now.I'm not sure if I love sunsets because they're beautiful yet short-lived, or because I believe some endings are meant to be beautiful. From sunsets to dawn, I find myself looking outside, just admiring the fading beauty. I try to capture it, so I can relive the moment—feel the same warmth again.This phrase means I love you, but I’m letting you go” is often used, but I think it should be: “You’re gone, but I still admire your beauty.”There are many more sunsets to come and leave, I believe that the afterglow will be pretty.

©-shelovesskiez

In The Beginning

In the beginning

I was on a road

That was headed toward only good things In the beginning

I did not realize that it was

Only too good to be true All it took

Was one

Night And now I don't 

Even remember what

The beginning was like Just a few hours deceased

And they killed my naive stupidity with them

For thinking about sunshine and rainbows I want to be

So far in the end

That all is forgotten

Mikado Endings

I mentioned earlier that the original Bushido Blade has a secret tenth fight. Beating that gives the second (actually canon) ending.

Here are the two endings for Mikado. Her Japanese VA in both games was Michiyo Yanagisawa.