TW: suicide, self-harm

Once, there were a group of friends who all went to the same school. The year that four of them left the other two, a new student joined the pair. The three became friends, eating lunch together, and were quite inseparable outside of class.

The girl who joined the pair had a secret, which she only told one friend in the pair that she met.

One day, she saw herself in another friend of hers. Perhaps she thought that helping him with his addiction could help save her too. However, her parents disapproved of any romantic relationship, so they pulled her out at the end of that year. And then there were two again.

The girl, who used to hurt herself and think about dying everyday, felt worse until she wanted to kill herself everyday. All they had to take was one year. She still talked to the pair, but shared more with the friend who knew her secret. The friend, of course, tried to be comforting, offering words she sometimes didn't believe in herself.

The girl couldn't take it anymore at her new school. It wasn't because of her new school. She attempted but lived, and told the friend who knew her old secret this new secret. The friend feared greatly for her friend's life, and told both their mothers.

It was a new year, but no one joined. No one left, except for the girl who completed the trio.

Having experienced so many partings, the pair came to rely on each other. One of the pair clung on tighter, fearing abandonment as she knew the other was more acquainted with their classmates. She spilt her thoughts, happy and sad, to her friend. The girl, who feared abandonment and eventually failure, hurt herself because she thought herself incapable of doing anything good. She told her friend this secret.

This girl who kept secrets from her friends did not feel guilty, but they still destroyed her.

~The End~

An agitated sigh, followed by a

Series of asymmetrical tapping.

It’s unrest that only such sounds betray;

At close, the arcs of shoulders sharpening.

All blank walls glare from all sides seething at

Incompetence ’till draught claws up the throat.

Dull colors almost dare to vomit and splat

Just to fill—feel, too—substance, any and all.

Revising those roots in reality:

Stale lifeless words littering the pages;

Though the soul remains unchained by the void,

The sense of unpaid debt in meaning crowds.

Fortuitously as the stars align,

Fresh ideas will reverse the decline.

#sonnet #poem

I actually found out about Prose after I joined my previous school’s writing club (I moved countries in the middle of the pandemic, hence me not being active at the end of 2020) but I don’t think I would’ve continued writing anything about my own ideas, my own worlds in my own words if it weren’t for Prose and its community. I may not ‘talk’ to many people often but from the few interactions I had, I recieved (and tried to give back) support for wishes/dreams that we all share to some extent. I’ve also seen this in comments under posts (by both myself and other Prosers) asking for advice/help with almost everything. This community really is unlike anything I've seen (not that I've seen much lol) and maybe because it's made up of writers/readers. Another one of the best things of this platform is that you get to read and write, which gave me the headspace I needed to do both (and of course the design of the platform also looks wayyyy better than Google Docs lol).

Some suggestions for the platform/community would be to promote the use of Portals more. Yeah I'm also hypocrite because I don't use them much either but I will try to use them more. I only found out about the Support portal recently as it has been brought to my attention through @Danceinsilence's post about the beta Prose (beta.theprose.com). I especially think that the publishing portal could and should be a huge help for those who have questions about publishing if more users were made aware of it.

Still and straight I lie, begging sleep to drag me into its depths. I have school tomorrow, I tell myself, I pressure myself. But that doesn’t stop the previously trickling thoughts from rushing like an open dam.

I glance over at my alarm as they clamber over each other like reporters, each demanding attention at maximum volume, except that they all had the same maximum volume. And underlying all that noise is a song I listened to before going to bed, which is steadily growing irritating.

The sight of the books by my bedside tire me further; it has gone past the point where reading would quiet it down, and tire the steady and endless production of thoughts. I try to end it by ignoring them, but there is nothing to distract myself with other than the steady gush of thoughts in my head.

I look out the window at the light polluted sky, and find it fuller of substance than of stars. Even the stars won’t humour me tonight, as the throbbing forces me to shut my eyes and turn my attention back. I beg thee, I half joke, to let me slumber in peace.

Squinting through the bluriness of my eyes, I calculate the time left before sleep will stop me from wallowing in self-pity. The emotional and mental exhaustion stack upon the physical exhaustion of the day as they mercilessly crush me under a wheel of emotions.

Within the first hour of the next day, I am dragged into slumber; the alarm that pierces my eardrums remind me that I did, after all, fall asleep.

Link to song with translation: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=n3yyfZNHTls

This song resonates with me because it sings about everything I want to say without the words sounding meaningless and for nought. As the artist's name suggests, it's a non-English song sung by Hatsune Miku, a Vocaloid (a digital voice synthesizer). I know that the translation doesn’t do the Japanese lyrics justice, but I still teared up because it was honest in the way that I couldn't be. I don't think I will ever be able to explain what this song is about, so I'll just let the lyrics speak for me and write a conclusion. (lyrics are written in the format presented in the video)

Lyrics:

'Who the heck really thinks a song like this can fill up your oozing,

corroded scars... Even if I held you close and screamed out, nothing, in reality would change.

Songs sung screaming recklessly, all they

really do is clear my own mind for a moment.

I think what I really wanted was sympathy, but I did want to save you too...

I am powerless, I am powerless, I am powerless, I am powerless, I am powerless.'

'"I was saved by you" or "I started to think I wanted to live after all"

...Ah, I see. But it's yourself you should be thanking for changing. Good for you.'

'I, of living flesh, wanted to be your god.'

'Even if I hold you close, and scream, it won't change the fact that you're in pain.

Songs screamed sloppily, I don't actually like them either

I think what I really wanted was sympathy, but I can't save anyone with that'

'I just want to sing a song that will save someone.

I want to sing a song that will protect someone.

I want to sing a song that will save you.

But it's impossible,

I know you can be happy, of your own accord, through your own means'

'... I want to scream for you, of your scars your pain, everything.

But you know, in the end you are strong. Surely you can

face forward all on your own... and that's fine by me

But maybe, where there comes a time where you start to cry,

let me sing all your pain, your hardships, your weaknesses,

your heart -- with my powerless, incompetent, dirtied song.

I am powerless, I am powerless, I could not become god.

I am powerless, I am powerless.

With this powerless song I want to save you, but'

'I want to be your god'

That was the last line of the song. I guess the reason why this made me tear up was because it was very honest and relatable. As a user here on Prose, I had hoped that my writing would help someone and anyone who's suffering. I guess I was also looking for sympathy, someone who shares the same pain, or simply trying to sympathise with the people who share the same troubles with posts that weren't based on my experiences; 'but I did want to save you too'. What I'm trying to say is, I hoped to give someone else the will to live even while I myself was in pain, even though I know that it won't change anything or anyone. I can't relief them of their pain, I can't solve their problems and I definitely can't save anyone. 'I am powerless' because I can't make anyone happier; you have your own ways of making yourself happier, but if you fall into a slump again, I'd like to do anything in my power to console you even if it doesn't solve anything.

A soft crunch could be heard above the gentle sound of the wind, tousling their hair as they stepped off the path into the wheatfield. It has been a long time since they’d found silence calming and not dreadful and tense.

They’d rushed here after seeing that post on their brother’s Instagram. The first slide was a daytime photo of a wheatfield against an unsuspecting pale blue sky, and was followed by a photo of the same wheatfield, but with delicate flakes of dark grey drifting across the sky. The third, and last slide, was the exact same as the first. But wait— upon closer inspection, each wheat leaned in a slightly different direction. Below, the caption tagged #beautifulgoodbye.

They strolled through the field, letting the soft wheats brush against their clothes. It was impossible to find the exact spot where the photo was taken, they knew that. But they couldn’t help but seek confirmation that what was gone was gone forever. Further away from the path they strayed, idly thinking about how ironic it was that wheat symbolised resurrection.

There was nothing about the reason why they came that was beautiful; rather, it was the ambience of the post, the simplicity of caption. They told themself that they didn’t come for him. No, they only wanted to experience what was beyond the borders of the photo. They wanted to see what had drawn their brother here, scattering the remains of someone they’d both rather not have history with.

Looking around the vast field of wheats, they were hit with a realisation. It was a painting. A painting that was believed by many to be the artist’s last piece. They were suddenly overwhelmed with the urge look up to the sky, though they knew that the crows in the painting wouldn’t reflect in the sky they were under, but was still filled with relief when they found the sky clear.

Perhaps this was the best place. The best place to lay years of waiting in fear and resentment to rest, and to feel gratitude for the brother who finally managed to let go.

Full image: https://unsplash.com/photos/Zy7kT8tZj-U

Edit: also guess the painting mentioned (yes it's real and quite famous), there's symbolism in there ^^

~

Since it’s my “real” post of 2021, I’d like to thank everyone who’s supported and helped me since I joined Prose. Seriously, thank you for being such a great community to be part of. Take care of yourself as best you can even if it’s hard sometimes.

(- -) (_ _) (- -)

A looking for something behind B: You're blocking the view.

B: I am the view.

A: Then I'd like a full refund (for that 5 seconds of my life I spent moving my head around trying to look behind you).

Or

B: Looking for me? *poses*

A: Sorry, I wasn't aware that there was a trash can in front of me.