is anybody out there

tie a rope around your neck, and let me kick you off a bungee And through the Portal I went, given moments of vibrant colours indicating that a warm mass of body existed around me, that my family encompassed me and the Rift was overflowing with us - it was information I had grown dependent on, the process of my brain taking in the images, the blurred bodies and their distorted shapes and bright colours that registered as objects. I have remembered the shape of my mother, of apa, of Sikeax and Hobgoblin, I remember all of their figures, but now they are gone. I am reaching out, searching my memory for the way they look, for the colours that gave me a sense of what the world around me looked like - but it was washed in black, dripping fear and the sense of nothingness, back to square one. And this time, it's not the throb of information overload, the fullness that makes my head feel heavy and too small. It is thundering emptiness, it's the lack of something, reaching out for something that I'm never going to reach, that is beyond my capability. I return to the darkness I was not born into, but forced into with mangled hands and wild panic, with misfortune and crushed hope. I choke at the memory of Momma, of my world bathed in red as her teeth met my skin and I feel a sob rack my body, a sharp intake of breath as I remember the feeling of her kissing the wounds she had left, of telling me to go. Of her apologies, falling to deaf ears until the end was upon us and all I could hear was her pleading for my forgiveness, knowing that I could not give it because it still hurts. And her selfish act, her promise that I would find better days, that I would be better and now I'm choking, heaving against a tree because I am still not ready to accept that she is not there. She never was, but I knew that at the least, she was alive, she was alive and sometimes she would talk to me, sometimes they would talk to me - her company was never unwanted, but it riddled me with anxiety and uncertainty, and I could not stay for long. And I think I regret it now, which seems so fucked up, that now that she's dead my eyes are finally open (probably a bad expression to use) to the fact that I should've spent more time with her, that pushing her away was my mistake, but hurting me was hers. She pushed me away too, both of us afraid of what would come out of a sudden swing, a flick of the switch and then - would I lose something more? Something more than my sight, than my wings and my childhood, would I lose my life? Would I finally gain acceptance into Death's embrace, a gift I had longed for so desperately when the world was in darkness and I was the Damned child. But now that I have seen all that it can do, all that it means to die, I am hesitant to take Death's hand. I return to those depths, despairing and desolate because I cannot run from it, there is no hiding or escaping what will always be there. I am stranded in silence and misery, in black that eats away at the familiar and I am left to grasp distance on my own, to helplessly feel my way through the world, mangled wings twitching as though they may provide some sort of help despite being entirely numb. I am reaching forward with hesitance, feeling my gut churn at the sense of helplessness, the ground the only solid thing I know is there beneath me. Branches snag against skin, knees scrape against dirt and roots as I fall again, unable to recall just how many times I have tripped over something - I can feel the trickle of warm blood, soaking into my coat and running down my legs as I find myself on the ground again, giving a deep huff and a quiet "fasz," as I attempt to rise again. Then I am setting off once again, gingerly stepping forward, sliding my hooves out before committing to the step. It's a tedious process, and I do not know how long it will take me to get anywhere. And then from nearby, there is rustling, movement - I am stiff, rigid in the face of danger I have no chance against, I am defenseless, I have no way of knowing what they are, whether they are familiar or foreign, so I run. I seem to be doing a lot of that these days. I am panting and terrified, bolting through the damp, rainy forest and suddenly there is something in front of me - a tree, rough and sturdy, that takes the impact of my body and does not shudder or sway because I am petite compared to what I can only assume is it's hulking figure. So I crumble against in, the air in my lungs swept out from within and I gasp sharply, sides heaving and heart racing because "fasz! Kibaszott szar szar! Haszontalan fa! Fasz!" The spew of curses leaves my lips in loud, breathless syllables as I spit at the tree, too unsteady to stand as my head twirls atop my shoulders. Readjusting to blindness will be a blast.

don't mind val jumping in here