Stories and other writings by Ophelia

@yourlocalIKEA

Yep its a long write so take your time 👍

@calmmoon2104 wow deep stuff. so much to say about this...

1. Sending hugs and healing beams if alr 💗💗 ik u said a while ago but still, a bit of hugs wont hurt :P Hope ur ok now, I'm here if u need ^^

2. Cooked. Absolutely ate, devoured, left no crumbs! This is another piece of extraordinary writing. U srsly surprise me everytime i see sth new. From the thought process to the words that are written down, the questions, punctuation. omg this is awesome. I am drinking in the language hahaaa

3. Prose? Did i mention i love prose as well? Don't matter what as long as its writing i loveeee. I personally think that prose suits this topic more as well :)

Anywayss im reading this in my room and literally feeling the writing! So glad u shared it with me, I'm gonna head off and read it again!

@Questionnaireman

@nyxariaaa

@Macylou82

@Ch3rry98

The Machine

It's really quiet.. I am not able to hear any thing, not even being able to feel the presence of a living being. The only thing that I hear is just a machine going on, doing it's work all the time, tirelessly and just going on and on. It doesn't need to stop, it's only programmed to keep on going and going, working and working, and complete the tasks. That's what it is made for. It's been like this always.. Until one day, it will stop working. It might need to be charged or might get broken, so it won't work anymore.

It's really silent right now, though normally I would be hearing a sound, a machine sound, going on and on. There is always this sound, really faint, but if you listen closely, you will hear it. The dib-dab, dib-dab...and so on. It goes on with a rhythm, not so unique one, but it would be lifeless. It's just programmed to work, not to feel anything, it doesn't need to have any feelings.

But, somehow.. it does feel broken, from the inside, it doesn't know how, but it feels like there's a crack inside of it. I think, maybe it's the conscience, the inner voice, the Soul of the machine, which isn't lifeless, it has feelings somehow.

Oh no! The machine isn't working correctly, the sound is getting fainter and fainter.. It's.. Broken, scattered, really hurt, in inconsiderable pain, which no one can explain, it can't even understand it. It feels so empty, deep inside. It feels the parts are slowly stopping..slowly dying.

The machine doesn't know what is even happening, what is it even feeling, it is just programmed, made to work and complete the job. It's creator didn't programmed it to feel this way, it doesn't have a reason to be broken. It has been working non stop and getting charged when needed, then what happened?! It is just a machine, like its fellow machines, just made to function, complete tasks and everything is fine then.

Oh.. The machine has stopped working, what happened?.. Let's see, oh the core part is really broken, it needs to be fixed and charged too. It does get charged always, what happened that it's so low on charge that it's dead?

Hm.. Where is it, where is the charger, the tools.. Oh! I forgot, silly me, how can I? It is not here, it is somewhere else, it has been left somewhere, far away.. I don't know where, or maybe it's here, but I can't find or see it,

Maybe it's because the charger or the charge the machine needs is happiness, peace, the true one, not the fake..and for the machine is Me.

© Ophelia 

@DarkerPlaces

@yourlocalIKEA

@Questionnaireman

@nyxariaaa

@Macylou82

@Ch3rry98

(TW - Severe Abuse and Insanity )

(Continuation of another post named "Prisoner")

Remember Me?

Greetings,

or so is the word for greeting somebody. I dont know myself what is it to greet someone or to be truly greeted. After I escaped the prison, I was greeted by a blazing and blinding "light" or so they named it.

It was burning my skin yet my skin not getting affected. After some time my eyes became set to the "light". Being in the darkness, akin to believing there never was a flicker of torch, I was overwhelmed. It was so hot outside, as if the air had become boiled.

I crawled for at least ten steps and thats when I met "It".

Its voice was like a soft tune, yet with a force I couldn't really understand. A musical instrument, or so it described as. It was wearing a frilly and long piece of "skin" with some perkes up objects with small holes in them and some other soft material. The hair was like mine, like mud but with a hue, a little like that "light". It started approaching me, while trying to be very cautious. I was scared as it kept coming my way so I scurried near a big bin around the farthest corner of the path.

Why was It coming towards me? Am I not dangerous? I do not know if I was able to hide well. But I think that "It" has been lead somewhere esle, It is not coming this way. I have escaped. But I hear some faint noise near the corner.

What was It wearing? I never wore "anything" like that but I dont really trust my memory so I dont know if I had ever. But for the longest of time or maybe forever, I havent ever felt or seen a texture as such.. Was it It's skin? But it was a different color than It's face. It was lighter, like that "light" but a little different. My skin is more darker than It's , but it us just the same color, just must be very dirty. I was given "water" only once a "month" or in my view after very very long times to wash my skin. My skin hurts when I scrub and crawl but I have been told to scrub it rough and steady to clean all of the dirt. I am never given anything to wipe off the liquid with, so I make use of those thin flat coarse white things thrown through a gap in the wall. My hair reaches till my feet. It's hair comes down the waist and Its skin doesn't have small and long red lines on it and blood dropping wherever it goes, nor has it dried up. I wonder if It breathes through those holes in those perked up objects on her skin.

I dont have "those" objects, just smoth and a jittery texture here and there on the skin. I breath though the "nose" or so I was told.

I dont know why, but It looks... pretty.

But I dont know what is pretty either, just like what is skin or nose. I have just been told, by that "voice" coming from behind the wall in the dark tunnel I lived in. I had told you before , but its ok if you have forgotten. I also dont remember who I am, or how I ended up there. At least you haven't forgotten "that", have you?

I wonder, what is "music"? How do you listen to it? I one-day heard a voice, not saying a word, but still saying something pleasant to hear though the gap in the wall. I couldnt see what it is becaue it was very dark there, but I remember sleeping without feeling like I was burning that day. But I felt like I was drowning, yet not suffocating. What was I drowing in that it felt so good and nice? Like something warm covering me when I never had been ever covered by anything but those cold coarse things. I had never experienced what I felt that day but I never felt it ever again. It was an.... alien feeling, that I never felt it before. I dont know why but it felt like comfort to me. I without realising keep longing for that experience again, that feeling again, of someone holding me as I drift into unconsciousness. Weird, isnt it? I wonder what is it really like to be held and "comforted " . 

It's not cold here anymore, I think that "light" above makes everything warm and I have been feeling that something warm is surrounding me too. It hurt my eyes when I first came out of the tunnel and my skin felt like it was burning, but it has been soothed now and I dont know how, but it just stopped burning. I dont hurt anymore, no longer in my eyes too. Just that my skin is itching on the red lines as it always does. Its normal..at least something is normal in this alien world that I came out to see.

I have to return soon or that voice will shout in that shrill tune again. I hate that so so much. I wish I never was able to hear it again.

I feel sleepy.. who knows why. But I can't find anything to cover myself with. I search for for coarse things but find nothing but some kind of liquid here and there. Oh! that greyish thing will do. But its a bit heavy and smelly, but its all right anyways. Its flat but a little mounted. But it works. I drag that grey thing towards myself and cover myself with it. It doesnt really cover but blocked that bright "light" very well. Its like I am back in the tunnel. 

I feel so sleepy..I should close my eyes and sleep a little. Sleep for a little time wont hurt, I like the darkness that comes with it right now, I feel like I am back there. I will start going towards that light again after I wake up. But I wonder if that light's source "the sun" will still be there or not. The voice talked about it vanishing and the world becoming dark like that tunnel when it did. 

I wanna see that, I wanna see how dark it will be after I wake up.

Maybe I wont be able to see anything after I wake up, just like inside the tunnel. All "tunnel" black.

As I drift off I feel someone is trying to get me up but I dont have the strength to open my eyes again. I feel a warm touch to my skin and its soft and "comforting" just like the music I heard. Oh..must be a so called "dream" that I never had. So music induces dreams? 

An alien world of course does alien things and brings alien feelings to me for sure....

© Ophelia 

@DarkerPlaces

@yourlocalIKEA

@Questionnaireman

@nyxariaaa

@Macylou82

@Ch3rry98

Ophemo's Logbooks (1st Entry)

24th November, XXXX

A day for those storms that bring in not rain nor hail. 

Not even the purple and white lines across the skies on the black canvas like the shooting stars but with sound of a thousand missiles.

Today was the day for only storms. Nothing more yet nothing less. The flow of the wind, like the thousand soldiers on a battlefield, felt like a march being carried to the enemy front. But why is the weather so vicious on such a mid november day? Why is it storming yet none a sign of such, except blasting wind?

The storm that came forth on a mid November day of calm skies and eastern breeze felt as if the seas have been crying for a thousand years for a single ounce of rain so that they don't get reduced to masses of salt,

like those of those who cried for the storm to stop.

The white grains of salt like tiny bits of snow of a soft night on the first day of winter. How cold yet warm on blushed palms held by nothing more than the cold warmth that surrounds them. 

They all say that a child who couldn't be loved would burn down the entire village to feel its warmth, oh how true yet wrong they were! A village so cold that it even shames the winters of the Poles can't be burned even with the heat of a thousand flames, no matter blue or orange.

Like embers burns the heart of the child who stands lone and cold in the meadows ravaged by the flames of the unburned village amidst the storm, burned by the warmth of the water that flows to wash its tears only to wet the child's eyes more and more.

© Ophelia 

@azureKite5765

@DarkerPlaces

@yourlocalIKEA

@Questionnaireman

@nyxariaaa

@Macylou82

@Ch3rry98

Ophemo's Logbooks (2nd Entry)

27th November, XXXX 

What a day, for a beautiful ray!

Walking on the trampled leaves, coloring the road a grassless green, I trod on. The storm ended some days ago. The water is still boiling hot and dead fishes have jumped out of the river, or should I say, the muddy river of remains.

Who's remains? quite a question. But your quest will not be rewarded, you got to find the gold on your own. I wonder if there's even a speck of gold in that river, or maybe there is? 

Rings, bracelets, necklaces and earrings ; beautiful accessories they wore. I say they, because I am not included with them. A horse of grey is not a part of a pack of black and white. Who even likes a mixture, let alone of such a gloomy and taciturn shade.

It's just like the cards : there are Hearts, Diamonds, Spades, and Clubs, each ruled by their Kings and Queens. And there is another, like a sore thumb, the Joker.

Everybody with a bit of common sense loves the Joker, a colorful and funny being of so many hands. I wonder how did a joker end up a villain.

Did laughter kill the mass? Or did the mass kill the laughter? Both are wrong, for each one was killed by the thunder that struck three days ago. Now the ashes flow down the mud filled river of blood invisible to the eyes which no longer count the cards. 

I walked down the forest road, with a pack of cards in my hands, shuffling on. I wonder how did the thunder only burn and painted the village purple but not this forest of spades, and the rain drowned every card which now exist only in abyss, except the single pack in my hands. 

The greens cover my skin, reaching from head to toe, to cover the dirt from the river I crossed, and now the green is turning grey. 

Beautiful. 

The diamonds have been shattered by the clubs, the hearts have been buried in the river on which dead fishes swim and the rain no longer irrigates, only waiting to be dug out by the spades which has been snaped into a toy.

What a day, for a beautiful ray!

Now it rains chances and surprises!

© Ophelia