..eosophobia..
fear of dawn or daylight.
name chosen because i strongly
prefer the night to the day, and i'm usually a lot more awake at night. plus, daylight does actually scare
me,
i'm not comfortable in it at all.
..girl..
vienna. 22. norwegian. writer. eosophobic. quiet. dark.
random. tomboy, yet girly. a little crazed. fangirl. obsessive. cynical. awake at
night. stubborn.
odd one out. sarcastic. cryptic. survivor. rock chick. weird. contradictory.
..the concept..
the idea behind this site is that i want to keep
writing,
even when i don't really feel like it. so, every day, i will sit down and write for
15 minutes straight, without doing anything else, and then post it here, in it's original form.
..quote..
“I know what it's like to want to die. How it hurts to smile. How you try to fit
in but you can't. How you hurt yourself on the outside to try to kill the thing
on the inside.”
"When I was supposed to be awake, I was asleep; when I
was supposed to speak, I was silent; when a pleasure offered itself to me, I
avoided it. My hunger, my thirst, my loneliness and boredom and fear were all
weapons aimed at my enemy, the world."
"Razors pain you, rivers are damp, acids stains you, drugs cause cramp, guns
aren't lawful, nooses give, gas smells awful, you might as well live."
All from "Girl, Interrupted"
#2 -- Turned pro
He could barely even hear the music and the rhythm and the people talking all around him in the mood he's in right now. Nothing of it matters. Nothing matters at all, in fact. The only thing that matters is the heavy beat of the bass and his own movements to them, and the artificial peace and ignorant bliss flowing through his veins.
It wasn't happiness, but at least he was alive.
He could actually feel the eyes on him there he was, in the middle of the dance floor, dancing all alone with himself. He was used to that, had done it before many times. Usually he felt a pang of pride over knowing that people watched him, looked him over, assessed him and came to the conclusion that they wanted him, and wanted him badly. Now though, he couldn't care less, even though he knew that he'd end up leaving with one of the men staring at him, once they had finished arguing among themselves over which one who got to be with him tonight.
There was a system. He had his usual clients five nights a week, had one night off, and on the last night he set a prize, and then whoever wanted him had to agree among themselves. It was a fun game to play, because often, they tended to look to him for the decision, showering him with compliments, money and little treats. He felt like a highly prized slave. Which should probably have been a shitty feeling.
But no. He had actually grown to like it quite a bit. It was an okay job, really, at least with the heroin and the morphine and the whatever coursing his system, making him oblivious to anything and everything that should have felt oh, so wrong. It was just a job, just a simple career. The working hours were okay, he could decide pretty much everything himself, and he earned a hell of a lot of money. And he was getting quite the reputation.
"I'm insane to be proud of it..." He nearly grumbled to himself in the middle of the dance floor, annoyed with himself for feeling a kind of pride over his fame and status among the local whores. 'Cause yeah, no matter what name you gave it, what excuses you came up with, that was still what he was; a whore. He chose to sell his own body so he would get money to buy his drugs.
Quite honestly, it was fucking pathetic and then some.
But he wouldn't, couldn't stop it. Not yet, not now. This wasn't the time. He just couldn't do it. Not like this, not when he was alone. He wasn't ready for all the crap his brain told him when he was alone, and the guilt he felt over what he had done... It was too much for him to deal with on his own, with no one to help him through it. He had always sucked at this kind of stuff. He did the stupid things. Always. It was nothing new.
The heroin would keep him going all night, would drown out the pain and make it easier for him to just enjoy the caresses he didn't really want, not if he stopped to think about it. And then in the morning he'd get a new fix, and would be able to go to the studio and paint and draw all day, until he was ready to get dressed and go out again.
As always, he knew he could do this, no matter who it was he ended up with tonight. They all had their kinks, and he could always handle it. He prided himself on that. He'd do what most of the other prostitutes wouldn't do, which was also why he got a higher prize than most others. He did everything, and he usually enjoyed it. He kept his work to himself, always. He was a professional.
But at the moment, he was just another young man, dancing alone in the middle of some club in Tokyo, the bass still thundering around him, making everything else seem unimportant.
-- 692 words, again based on the Moving On RP ('cause that's the only thing I'm able to write at 1am with hardly any sleep), this time focusing on Taku and his whoring ways.
#1 -- Undeniable
There was no way she could get out of it anymore. She couldn't get away. She couldn't change her mind, not now. All of this were things that she knew, but it still hurt her head to think about them, and yet she found that she couldn't stop thinking about it.
Had it been the right choice? Did she do this for herself, or just for him, to make him happy? Would this mean that she had to really grow up and stop doing all the crazy things she usually did? Did she have to start wearing sesnible clothes and go to bed at normal hours and stop playing the guitar for hours and hours on end? Would this change her life so much that eventually she wouldn't even recognise it at all, nor the person she had become? Would she even be able to do this without ruining anything and everything? Was this right?
Of course, she knew he'd be there. That wasn't the problem at all. He was so happy about this, so incredibly happy and supportive and bouncy and full of joy and smiles and how could she even vocalise the doubts that kept churning around in her head, because that would make him stop smiling. She didn't want that. She wanted to make him keep smiling, to see him happy like this every time they saw each other, because god knew she had hurt him more than enough.
He had just left for the evening, to go back to his own apartment. They weren't together anymore, and yet she felt closer to him now than she ever had when they were actually a couple, save for the times they played together. Now they were able to just talk, openly and honestly in a very different way than before. They would discuss music and song writing and lyrics and rhythm -- absolutely everything that had to do with music. He would bring his guitar and they would play together, peacefully and without any pressure to be just a little better than they were. They would laugh together, and he would make her dinner and kiss her hair and tell her that he loved her, and that would never change, no matter what.
Yeah, things were good right now. Never mind the mood swings and the morning sickness and the exhaustion that made her all pale and shaky and tired. All that paled in comparison with his smiling, happy face and the way she knew that even with everything she had done, he still cared about her.
She sighed and got up from the chair, wandering aimlessly around her little apartment for a while. She liked it here, on her own. By now she was okay with just being alone, she didn't need anyone there 24/7 anymore, because she felt safe and good alone. She was comfortable in her own company now, which she had never ever been before. With her thoughts wandering just as aimlessly as her, she cleans up the place, making it nice and homey and cozy, as if trying to make it nice for someone who should be there all the time.
With another sigh she headed for the bathroom and inspected herself in the mirror. Her face looked happy, as a matter of fact. It had a sort of calm joy about it, at least when she hid the glimpse of pure fear in her eyes. Her gaze travelled down her body to her belly, and automatically, the train of long and complicated thoughts started again. As she stared at the undeniable bulge on her stomach, tears formed in her eyes and slowly ran down her cheeks.
-- 614 words, based on the Moving On RP, concerning Midori and her thoughts on her pregnancy and
Haru.