#blizi writing
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WIP Not-Wednesday
I've been tagged by the beautiful @bougainvillea-and-saltwater to post the WIP of my incoming chapter (from my fic Blue Fire). I know it's been since November that I haven't been writing (story building guys, I need to take care of it to be coherent !) so it will be nice to show what I've been up to.
Also yeah, fat WIP incoming hehe
Chapter 2 : White Shadow
“Let me help you with that…”
As he painted his left eye black above a mirror square, Attül took his brush from Akatän's hands. Disconcerted, the young chief let his elder bend down to his face to seize him with one hand and turn him towards him with rare firmness.
"Attül...I thought you weren't coming with us."
“Ha! And let you have your throat cut once you set foot on their territory? Nonsense." He pressed the brush against Akatän's eyelid, frowning as if concentrating on tedious work.
"It is my duty to protect you and even though I am absolutely opposed to your idea, we do not have the time necessary to think of another solution." His sooty thumb trailed Akatän's cheekbone. "I'm too scared for our families, so I'm praying to the First Goddess that we can come to an agreement with… hrmm" His teeth gritted in a groan, stretching the wrinkles around his lips more intensely. Everything in him screamed that he should have left with the remaining troops to attack the Kamertoph clan by surprise and terrify them once and for all by letting the blue fire ravage everything in its path. Make them pay, crush them far below snow and earth until they meet their dead.
But Akatän, young Akatän! Even if he saw his people dead the day after the last massacre, even if he fought some neighbours who tried to come and invade the Valley, he never participated in the war. He has not tasted the venom of revenge. Attül, the one who applied himself to blacken the eyes of his young leader, yes. He dreamed of getting rid of the cries of pain of his friends who died on the battlefield. He wants to clean the blood that coats his eyelids when night falls. He was tired of perpetually seeing everyone die as life went on for him.
“You know I stand my ground, young Akä.”
"I know uncle," Akatän replied flatly, taking the mirror square next to him and staring at his reflection. Attül stepped back, peering into his nephew's gaze, waiting for his approval. The makeup around his eyes shimmered identically to his eldest, who sneered.
“Oh, you look like my sister. You can clearly see her eyes here.” he said, pressing his crooked finger to Akatän's flat nose. He tapped him on the shoulder with mutual laughter.
“Well, it was my mother, may her soul rest in peace! But… something else worries you."
“I…your subjects disagree with your decision.”
“I know it too, but a bloodbath will not allow us to stay in peace. Are you trying to change my mind?”
"It's not about that" Attül stood up at the same time as his leader to straighten their hoods between them "Until then, I was going there to carry the messages and negotiate the hunting grounds or the lakes with surrounding clans. You even came with me. But this is the Kamertoph clan. It has already swallowed up other small peoples to grow and it will do the same with us if we do not show strength. I know you can talk to their leader, though…” He turned to look down at the balcony near the House door. Other warriors, like them dressed in white and made up in black, awaited them in an excited rumour. The dawn glowed in the mountains, bathing them in bloody light.
“If no agreement is possible, you will have to protect the clan as your father Djäka and your grandmother Hanïel always did, may their souls rest in peace.”
Nobody suspected that Akatän left his village while he accompanied his troop, Attül and Herëld in the lead. His men and women soldiers, villagers like old warriors, wore the winter clothes of hunters on days when snow covered the ground, a white coat that enveloped them completely and hid their faces under a large hood. The latter was marked with black, a charcoal paint that made the cobalt eyes of the clan as petrifying as stone, to inspire fear in the prey but also to make each hunter unrecognizable.
That way, and the long blue hair tucked neatly under his coat, Akatän blended in perfectly. Taken into their confidence, his companions were protecting their young leader in the direction of the forest to reach the other side without incident, if there were any wild beasts or traps hidden under the powder. At the top of the Valley, children could be seen jumping and shouting good luck, while the few parents in the troop sent back signs of love.
Once they had crossed the white ridge, the one that bordered the birth of the Valley, they descended with careful short strides down the slope that separated their land from the forest. Far in the horizon, mist blanketed the frozen lake in thick iridescent clouds, where the sun's rays bounced off to hurt Akatän's narrowed eyes. No noise. Only the wind in the mountains, the snow sagging under the hunters' boots, the jerky breath of the hunters and the damp air from their throats blowing skyward. Anxiety stuck in his entrails, so Akatän concentrated on the hasty conversations of his companions, the rehashing of the last few weeks, the preparations for the wedding, the desire to leave for the other side of the mountains instead of staying to live in the hollow of the Valley…
“And what do you expect to find in the yellow lands of Kamlatesh, Mälik? said Herëld, who had stepped back towards the centre of the group, mockingly. "They're as acidic as the bile in your stomach, and I'm not talking about the natives!"
- What do you know? the boy cursed. Chtä chtä! Maybe those lands are better than those in the Valley, maybe it doesn't snow as much. I am also sure that one could see the sea!
@metallic-scaled-scarf @mellowstarscape I know you like to write and I've read your incredible fics and WIPs, eating them like fine biscuits.
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Sketches of characters for a future AO3 fic
Yes I'm alive
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Blue Fire
The first chapter of my original fic is out ! I'm so happy hehehehe, it's been years since I wanted to begin to write a story dear to me. This would not have happened without my dear @bougainvillea-and-saltwater who took interest in my story and was my beta reader. Thank you my friend !
The fire was burning his heart again.
His gloved hand rested against his chest in the hope of reducing the burning cold, but nothing helped: the pain increased with each breath. Lying in the snow, Akätan moaned, white steam escaping from his fangs. A slaughtered dog, that's what he was now! Herëld and Kamnä, First Goddess, where were they? The instant they were attacked, his companions scattered through the woods and began slashing their assailants with their blades. Where are they ? Akätan saw only the snow-covered tops of the pines. Snow, even through his thick bear fur cloak, seeped into his clothes and froze his bushy ears.
Ah! The pain was unbearable! She was tearing at her skin as if it were being cut open inside. He was panting. Ah! His teeth gritted from clenching them, his hands were clinging to his clothes now, he writhed.
And when he screamed, fire sprung up.
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Rage for tea
The following text expresses lots of hatred, sadness and childhood pain. Stay safe
How amazing a single phone call where you don't understand the one and only word you have to remember can bring you back to why you feel so miserable after ending the call. How little problems, so insignificant and ridiculous that everybody forgets about them, just become a source of shame and self-consciousness.
In these moments I feel sad and ashamed. And when you feel very sad you feel small enough to crawl inside a snail shell and sleep for a long time inside. Feeling silly again, feeling like a child again.
How tiring is that ? I want to be angry and destroy everything, to crack ribs with my own fingers and just to run a lot. Scream at the people who hurt me, scream at my parents. This morning I woke up and for some reason thought about how my middle and high school years went, I thought about how I was grounded just because I had a hard time understanding maths or when I got slapped because I couldn't answer at a question in the car, at a time where I just wanted to belong and understand slowly how the world around me worked and breathed. But the world doesn't want the slow ones, or the quiet ones, or the sensitive ones, or the stupidest ones, anything that doesn't belong.
I still envy my best friend. She was never practically grounded. Maybe she got into a fight with her parents once, but she never had trauma or self-consciousness about herself. Her parents never physically or verbally harmed her, always talking to her in a mature way because she was a damn person learning about the world. She even talked about video games, artists, and school and shared her music with them ! I couldn't share my music, it was either idiotic or loud.
And what have we got at the end ? A very confident person, who may have problems like anybody but who isn't feeling awful just because they didn't catch a specific word during a phone call. A person who isn't afraid of their parents, who aren't hating themselves, who doesn't have anxiety or anything else. How much good would be this world if every child had parents like my best friend's ? Both of them had difficult childhoods yet they never wanted to give the same treatment to their child.
My parents are complicated, like every parent I guess. But right now I'm angry at them for the unnecessary pain, the incomprehension, the lack of patience. I cannot change anything about the past. Of course, there's still the future, where I can save myself like I saved myself before in art and fiction.
I wish they could enter my head and stop saying I'm lazy and ungrateful. I wish they could see. How much you can be blinded by unconditional love and yet scar forever what you've promised to take care of.
Children aren't stupid or mini-adults, they're new. They're experiencing. And I'll be forever angry to the adults who dare, just because they have the power, to scream at their children because they fail at something. Let them fail in silence. Let them learn. Be compassionate and patient. Or then, they'll never call back once they leave the house and you'll have the audacity to ask yourself "Why?"
#blizi writing#rage#sadness#how can you say all of this you had such happy moments and trips and wonderful-- shut up just chut up#maybe I wouldn't be that anxious and self-conscious if I never had these moments#I never wanted them I was too little#how can parents say they love you and protect you when they verbally abuse you ?#how can you grow stable for new relationships and to become a stable adult ?#yeah that's right you can't#and you have to work alone to bring back the pieces
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Letter for a friend
Whenever I think of you, I always tend to lead my mind toward an old forest full of light and noisy animals. It’s the forest you see in childhood movies about teenagers living in houses lost in the woods, this kind of place where you feel the loss of warm memories, of lost innocence and simple youth. It’s here that I find you.
I imagine a little house made of wood, up in a big old tree where squirrels and mouses squeak and leave nuts around. In this house, very simple with one room only, there is a bookshelf where we read our favorite books ; there is a carpet, ancient but well preserved, orned with intricate floral symbols where we could lay together ; there is a little desk where we draw the things we like and whenever we finish our work we show it to each other. Maybe we could even have a tea service. I would share my favorite herbs with you, the ones with either spice or dried flowers, leaves from my own garden. And when we’ll have tea on these lazy afternoons, laying on that dusty old carpet, I’ll know that your lips will taste what brought me peace for many years.
I love talking to you, whenever I come with my big and dark and clumsy hands, with my ink-dripping dress and my chaotic ghost hair. I am terrifying, I am sad, I made too many mistakes. But talking to you makes me feel pure again. With you I am the child that sees good in the world, I am the hopeful fool that thinks “I can do anything, I’ll love everything”, I no longer fear the uncertain future that kept me awake too many nights.
Like an ancient being, an elf, a wizard or a dragon, you like to talk. And these conversations are always filled with wisdom, not necessarily because you’re all wise but because it is genuine conversation, you want to talk and you want, as I do, something genuine to talk about. Because where you come from, where you live, you cannot have these conversations. They’re aren’t true and behind that neutral mask you wear, it drives you mad every day. As for me, I feel the need to heal the burns you had, burns identical to mine, I want to heal you through my words and presence without the need to bring out medicine and bandages. The latter could never have healed me, but I never heard the right words until very recently. And so I want to give you the same right words, those you've never heard, maybe even less than I, so you can begin to heal these scars in your heart and your dry eyes. Feeling old so young maybe is wisdom. I wish we could have become wise only as old people though.
Sometimes when we talk, you talk about your family and the love you've lost, and the dreams you keep dear in your heart, and the desire to leave that home, and the need to cleanse the past, and the want to be brave. In these moments, I imagine I respond to you with my deep and big eyes, with all the tenderest love I’m capable of. Oh, you feel so unsure, you think of yourself so badly, you think you’re a bad person. Then why I am with you ? I look at you and listen to your stories and your life, and believe me, brave friend, because you are indeed brave, I always listen to the ones that show empathy or vulnerability towards others. I know that where you live you have been taught that you were nothing, but it’s untrue and I’ll keep telling you that it is untrue. It is untrue.
When you’re about to cry because of that heavy pain you carry every day, I imagine caressing softly your face to wipe the tears away and bringing you in my arms, close to my heart. Oh, tired soldier, you were never a burden to me, neither in the future you’ll be. I’ll stroke your hair if you allow me, and let you grip my clothes to hold on. The blood of your soul needs to go out : you can cry.
And I’ll hold on too, I’ll say that everything’s alright, because as long as I live you’ll be okay, even if I’m far away, even if you cannot see me in days, even if you think that nothing is right. Leave these thoughts about these mindless and ignorant people, trying to steal more of your youth. Leave, whenever you can, these oh-so-good people that like to see others suffer. I love you. You deserve the clarity they took away from you, always had. I love you.
After calming down, I’ll offer you my best cup of tea and keep you close to me, or if you prefer I’ll leave you some space. If you want to talk again, I’ll be near. And I'll continue to listen like you listen to me. Always. Always.
#blizi writing#blizi art#letter#writing#friendship#and else#I hope you'll see this#I happy to have met you#it's my birthday yall
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Very bad day
I'm at work right now and so angry at myself today. I didn't complete what I wanted in work, it's not what I wanted it to be and when I'm so invested in these works and love the subject so much I want it to be well done, it upsets me incredibly to not have it finished. And I'm afraid of not having done good work, I just feel way too much, and it bobbles up until I just explode in front of people. Unfair.
And then I want to explain the problem, but if I ever speak I just begin an ugly sobbing. It's just embarrassing for the other, you understand. Wanting to help but seeing the other not be able to speak up to you and making you lose your damn time. Can't she speak up ? I have matters to attempt to, but if she can't speak I can't help her. How frustrating, it's really not their fault. They want to help. I just can't.
Maybe family influences performances. Maybe riots do that too, although they're not near your house. But you love your work ! Why would you give up or not go to work (tiredness isn't an excuse) ?
I feel miserable. Not be able to give back complete work. Feeling like it shows a lack of good work from me, laziness, stupidity. Like me in middle school, like a child giving back an almost empty math or Spanish test to the teacher because DAMN IT. DAMN IT.
Unworthy. Because I never found my place in maths or physics or other languages than English. I remember the little uninteresting things rather than my country's whole history, I remember the ugly ceiling rather than the numbers on the whiteboard. All I have is art. I live through it, I savour it, I want to throw myself in it like I would jump alone into a gigantic swimming pool and explore every shape of it. I want something beautiful, something extraordinary and maybe so sad I would cry for days because of it.
If I'm not good at it, if I even fail it, then what I am good at ?
I just fucking cry
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𝑮𝒓𝒆𝒆𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔 !
Welcome to my blog, I'm B-Lizi and here I post regularly my art/writing and others' art as well.
There are a few things that you'll need to know if you are interested in my work :
I don't do commissions for now
You can find my art with #bliziart and my writing with #bliziwriting
If you like a post, reblog it as well ! Not only for me but with other artists : on Tumblr, it's the best way to share our work, to be seen and be motivated to create art again.
I like questions ! Stay respectful and I shall answer ! Otherwise, I shall not ;)
Bots shall be deleted from the questions box.
I have another blog where I repost what I like : Skyrim/ESO posts, witchy posts, other artists' works -> @blizi-reblogs
Do not repost my art unless you mention me
You can find me on Instagram as well : b.liz.i
That is all ! Take care ^^
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The other side
An idea of speech I had to work on for my late high school eloquence contest. It had to last 5 min so it's a bit long.
In the middle of summer vacation, I looked up at the sky and a too big and too strange emotion came over me in its entirety. I was in my room one sunny afternoon, probably a Sunday, because I remember the silence. The birds were singing, the clouds were spinning like cotton threads, the sun was warming my icy hands by this sudden, this unexpected that fell on me without warning. Why come and disturb my peace? It's all over, there's no need to keep thinking about it. Yet I still think about it.
I don't realize that seven years have disappeared behind me. I don't realize that time has flown by so quickly, so hurried like the crowd in the city on a Monday morning, so arduous and vicious, to come this far, to us in this other side, this world which does not resemble nothing like the one before. The 18s of summer didn't really affect me, like the somewhat strong breeze that whips your face when we swim in the sea. But the wave rose in the following weeks and burst above of me. I hadn't prepared myself to realize that leaving high school was so brutal. Seven years, it passes, it is nothing at all.
And yet here it is: if I think about it, it is precisely because it was not nothing at all. I left my first world, the ideal, the regretted, the praised childhood which bears our sweetest memories, and I fell into the second, the unfortunate, the ungrateful, the cruel, a world which prepared me like a soldier on the battlefield who after the fights always had to repair her armor. Then the world of high school came. A free world, a world within my reach, at last! My most beautiful memories (and the hardest too) will remain attached to it.
It was there that I discovered that there were still good people out there and it was okay to be different. Because everyone is different. Because the world, by its history, its stories, by its currents of music or painting, by its crises, by its victories, by each incident and each birth, by all this has made people as they are today. We are not all powerful, we cannot change the whole world and I have come to understand that. I then learned things, so many things through school, people and the Internet, I gradually forgot and started again. I felt better, more confident, taller. I loved this world, so big, so free, I no longer had to fear the previous world.
Crisis. Lockdown. The dead. Fear again. Repeatedly, smothered under a mask, smothered at home, homework required, vague and important expectations, speaking in front of a tired class, friends, night, sleep, waiting, boredom, anxiety. The fear. The void. I wanted to leave.
And here is the summer of my 18 years. No more school, no more exams, no more boring Monday morning classes, no more noise and blocked hallways with students. None of this is going to come back. But the memories linger. Not the painful ones, not the embarrassing ones. My first theater performance, the first trip to England which forged many friendships, the hum of the early morning bus, the crackle of my alarm clock, the night perfumed by chimney smoke, the scraping of my fingernails on the walls of the high school and college radiators to create noise, the plastic smell of the gymnasium, the smell of sewage in the locker rooms, the sniggering in class, the card games, the noise of the hall, the rain that fascinates the class, the annoyance of the teachers, their patience and benevolence, the eyes which observe others while imagining an illusory love affair, the mist on my spectacle lenses which provoked pleasant snickers, the relief of Friday evening, the sunset through the window.
In the middle of summer vacation, I looked up at the sky and a too big and too strange emotion came over me in its entirety. I was in my room, one sunny afternoon, and I realized.
Even if this last year has turned everything upside down, even if a thousand things have been missed, shifted, forgotten, I must remember that before existed and that after, the next world, the other side, will be as rich and as big than all the previous worlds I have visited. It's not bad, it's not good either. In any case, it was not nothing at all.
I lived.
#bliziart#blizi writing#the other side#writing#eloquence#eloquence speech#eloquence contest#life#memories#lockdown#middle school#high school#trauma#sunset#clouds#emotions#coming of age#philosophy
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Sadness
It was in the middle of the night.
In the middle of nothingness, my emotions wandered in my memories. I saw no face, no landscape, neither the cold nor the heat existed. I couldn't see the future, too far, too uncertain, but the past continued to whisper its wickedness in my prisoner mind.
I felt nothing but sadness.
It had seeped through my veins like an icy poison, flowing through my arms and legs to blast my heart.
Once
Two times
Ten times
A hundred times
Sadness is a snake that nobody wants to see, that nobody bears because its bite weakens the powerful predators that we are. But I don't care! On this night which will be devoured by the other nights, I ask for the presence of this serpent. I don't know why, for what cause, for what fear or misfortune, but I want it: for it to smother me in its rings, for it to take me away, I just want to sink.
A moment. A little moment.
#dream#nightmare#dreamcore#traumacore#weirdcore#surrealism#dafuck#writing#bliziart#blizi writing#my writing#sadness
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Dreams
I'll write about my dreams and nightmares here.
The zeppelin
Dominique
The wave
The flour
The barn
The milk
The invisible ones
It isn't him
The beast
The void
The flayed ones
Sadness
The guardian angel
#dream#nightmare#dreamcore#traumacore#weirdcore#surrealism#dafuck#writing#bliziart#blizi writing#my writing
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It isn't him
I run on a beach. Evening is falling and the sunset is beautiful. Friends are chasing me for fun. I don't know why, yet appreciating them in my unconscious, I fear them and run away from them. As I head out to sea and sink into the water, the waves turn into the walls of a hallway.
I am in a huge house, two stories high. All the windows are boarded up, it is terribly dark, and with me are my father and my brother. We are all afraid, but of what? Low light? The fish rotting in the kitchen sink?
Hoarse noises come from everywhere, sometimes weak, sometimes loud. There are little creatures sneaking between our legs and biting our calves. I think they look like tomatoes that also rot in the sink, we manage to drive them away without difficulty.
It's a bit blurry there. We start climbing the stairs and my brother, who had the candle, disappears. My father takes me in his arms to protect me, the two of us falling prey to the monsters of darkness. His big body is warm and reassuring. I blindly bring my hand to his face, I don't know why. My fingers touch a third eye on an icy forehead. From where… ?
The body loses its heat. My father's hands linger on my neck. It is not him. I feel a growl near my ear. Other arms tighten around me and choke me.
In the darkness of the stairs, a claw is planted in my neck.
#dream#nightmare#dreamcore#traumacore#weirdcore#surrealism#dafuck#writing#bliziart#blizi writing#my writing
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The invisible ones
CW : gore
I didn't quite understand the dream. At first I know it was nice then slowly it turned into a nightmare.
Everything led to believe that I was fleeing something (probably an argument), I was running down the stairs of a beautiful and large municipal garden. For a moment, I stop at a portal that blocks the rest of my path and that I cannot open. I then decide to climb the low wall, a little high but passable. I find myself in balance and I see the other side.
A field of green grass as far as the eye can see, in the distance another low wall and another gate. Confident, I jump into the garden. The grass is high and I can't see the creatures that creep between them. They growl, they let out filthy hisses and I hurry to run, but the ground suddenly becomes muddy. They don't jump on me.
An elephant passes a few meters from me, peaceful and enjoying the Sun. He doesn't see me and he doesn't see them either. Her trunk rises in a strange way and suddenly, it is with horror that I see her being cut up little by little up to the head, the neck, the body, the legs. As the creatures I couldn't see tugged at his skin, his flesh disappeared until his existence was reduced to nothing.
#dream#nightmare#dreamcore#traumacore#weirdcore#surrealism#dafuck#writing#bliziart#blizi writing#my writing#gore
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Dominique
A child, after being mistreated by their foster family, flees to calmer and more distant lands.
We follow the daily life of Dominique, a 19-year-old young person living with a grandmother with nine cats, in a small house near the city by the sea that looks like Venice. Dominique is special: in addition to being able to levitate their body beyond 10 m, they have yellow eyes similar to cats'. But that doesn't bother anyone because supernatural is respected.
They are a new student in the university who will allow them to have a job later. They homeroom teacher, a little clumsy with newcomers, won't like them at first. Their comrades will be curious about this strange person then appreciate them like anyone else and Dominique will get away with it. They even manage to spot a girl they like and who curiously looks a bit like Rihanna.
The city looks like a medieval Venice and has some of our technology from different decades of the 20th century with a little steampunk edge. The city is known all over the world and is subject to many tourists. Dominique once disrupted a gondola cruise of a vizier and his six wives, which required a squirt of water and insults in their face. Magic exists but it only affects objects and people with magic.
When they go to town, Dominique enjoys spending time at the local ice cream parlor whose niece is a friend of theirs. Sometimes, their best friend Cristal joins them to tell them about her exploits in chemistry and spread her theories on the paranormal (Dominique's eyes intrigue her a lot). One day, the two of them see a girl on the terrace of the glacier who has been waiting for her future boyfriend for far too long: Dominique tells her that he has stood her up. Both disappointed and grateful, she leaves, taking Dominique's number.
One evening, Dominique returns from their university after a long day of work. They pass through streets buzzing with people: bright restaurants are open, parties are in full swing, colors are popping from balconies. It's one of the many traditions of the city to celebrate the arrival of summer and our friend loves this moment.
But as they walk home, Dominique feels watched. Evil triplets follow them, they don't know them. They try to sow them but these rascals pursue them through the roofs. Dominique finds themselves in a restaurant, where a waiter tries to catch them (he is one of the bad guys). They manage to sow them but they fall from a roof and are knocked out in the garbage cans below.
#lucid dreaming#dream#nightmare#dreamcore#traumacore#weirdcore#surrealism#dafuck#writing#bliziart#blizi writing#my writing
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Old texts that I will never use again
When I was in school, I was sometimes so bored I would write on my computer stories and crumbs of them to pass time. I found them again in my files and even though their stories will never be told because they're not as crucial to me as before, they're still important. Ideas follow themselves and in the end, I got one final story that I'm currently writing, and that pleases me, thanks to the beta texts I've written before.
Enjoy !
Flo's Journal (technically this one isn't beta but I won't use it in my story)
Chapter 1 : Skin
Flo's Journal part 2
The other side
Chapter ? : Twilight
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Oh God, I just wrote ≈2200 words of a story that is absolutely not Blue Fire related and I think that some themes of BF are better in this stuff I just wrote in four hours at night. I think I'm finally going somewhere. Please stay that way.
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Some heart's arrangement
An idea for a chapter of a story I'm writing.
TW depression, emotional frustration
There was the desert, there was nothing. Unique emptiness that still lies in an extraordinary work of nature. Here, nothing can hear us. Nothing can come to meet us and ask us uncomfortable questions. Nothing can look at us with these ugly pitiful eyes. Nothing can speak in front of us with irritation, disdain, or fake compassion. Who could understand ? Or rather, who could let us express the rawest and most dreadful of our emotions in front of them without judging ? Who could let us let go of the chaos that holds our hearts without asking us to be quieter ?
Noa glanced at the desert, Flo behind him. And Noa is worried but also thrilled. Such emptiness, but in a soothing way, not the dull emptiness of the heart, it was this kind of emptiness that could allow you to throw away atrocities and curses and even blessings. You couldn’t find such emptiness in your own house, your city or the park that you loved to walk in. People could hear, people could judge. Call you crazy, attention-seeking. Noa could never do whatever he needed to do these days.
Here he was, Flo still behind. The want stung his heart, but the words couldn’t leave his throat. The nervous fingers, legs and flicking eyelids permitted him to catch his attention, because Flo, unlike all the others before, knew about these imperceptible movements.
- Are you alright ?
This question has been asked so many times before too. But from the sweet mouth of Flo, it felt like it wanted to help, a pomade for old scars.
- I want to do something that will maybe be unconventional. Something I think was necessary for a long time. But I’m afraid it would unsettle you.
- Would it make you feel better at ease ?, asked gently Flo, his face softened by the morning sun.
Noa couldn’t answer. Maybe because of the realisation, because that action will be possible because Flo trusted him, even if it meant jumping foolishly around or cursing any known deity or spitting on his own feet. Flo wouldn’t care because Flo understood. He needed this and wouldn’t do anything to stop him because he would have wanted the same thing back when he was Noa’s age. Flo, before Noa’s silence, bowed his head in comprehension.
The eyes of the young one glimmered in relief, his mouth twitching the shadow of a smile; it was his silent way of gratefulness. And here he was, before the grand desert known by no one, no one in this deafening silence, in the late morning of a tranquil warm new day, but by this tall long-haired magician and this little child.
And this little child screamed.
Desperate at sudden, in disbelief, he let the most horrifying scream out of his chest, long, unstoppable. An old fury contained that froze his heart for years and years and so many years, shame that held on tight to his young mind like a small creature caught in a trap. It deformed his small eyes, open mouth and chubby cheeks, and the tears came afterwards, rushing out like a hot rain on his face. He couldn’t believe it, again ! He could do this, at last, in peace ! And there was no echo.
So then the screams turned into cries, and he fell to the ground, clutching the sand in full hands, whimpering and gasping until he extended a hand behind him to hold on to someone. It was taken and held, and Flo sat down next to Noa to offer him the space between his arms. Chest rising hard, head both numb and painful, he fell into an embrace of whose he couldn’t remember the warmth. As Flo held carefully the young one, he brushed his hair with the end of his fingers, letting him weep in the crook of his chest. There was nothing left to do, only waiting. Flo knew about it too well.
#bliziart#blizi writing#my writing#it seems that I write a lot about trauma and other angsty stuff#well if it doesn't ring a bell#trauma#sadness#depression#relief#compassion#writing
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