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Recollections, part 1: Darja

My chair is too soft and words have lost their meaning a long time ago. Her knees are muddy and I can smell it in the room. The man in green is talking, a monologue unraveling what’s been going on, but I don’t remember a word. I only have eyes for her. It must be a minute, maybe a bit more, but neither of us looks away.

I remember her eyes like she was a 17-year-old murdered in the desert, but she’s not.

Ding dong, the graveyard blooms, and the dove loves her poppy so dearly, ding dong.

There’s just the wasteland, little Darja.

——
A/N: A series of short non-fiction on memorable moments. Darja happened late April 2014, during a showing of a play called “The dove and the poppy” at a festival.

posted 5 hours ago

silohouettes:

The difference between period pains and getting kicked in the balls is that one is a compulsory monthly event and the other one is probably because you were being a dick.



deepwithinthedeadliestdarkness:

equalistsfuckshitup:

story time when i was 16 my mom and i were watching ellen and my mom says 

‘oh look my favorite lesbian!’

and i said ‘i thought i was your favorite lesbian?’

and she just stared at me for a moment and said 

‘oh ok. ‘

and we just continued watching 

and thats how i came out to my mother

Fucking A Star.


ourghoststories:

When you have a connection with someone, it never really goes away. You snap back to being important to each other because you still are. 



Maybe it was wrong of me to wish thunder, because even though nothing interrupted the sunshine in my area, areas close by have massive storm damage includinc casualties.

Four shifts left. Two 8-hour days, one 6-hour day and one 4.5-hour day. That is 26.5 hours. I can do that I think.

My feet are dying. I can’t walk at all without horrid pain. But you know, can’t avoid it, can I?

posted 9 hours ago

tecmessa:

In which later era Buffy gets a thing Very Right.


5 shifts left. Today was long, but somewhat rewarding. I was able to overcome most of my anxiety about the ride of doom merely by getting back on the saddle and using it.

My feet are so swollen that I don’t recognize them as my own. A daddy-longlegs just ran by my head and I nearly died. It’s so hot in here I feel like I can’t breathe.

It should thunder tomorrow and right now that is what will get me through another night in this heat.


In one week, my job will be done for the summer. On the 2nd of August at 7:01pm I will finally get to start my summer holiday. I am thrilled beyond belief. I still have one day off before that, so six days of work. I can do this.

But crikey, does six days feel so long. I am physically ill from the heat. I’m anxious about a certain ride I still have two shifts on and my bad ankle is starting to act up again. Six days and I am a weak, sweaty, limping ball of nerves.

People have pointed out my tanlines. My uniform is a t-shirt. It’s been really hot for a while now and I’ve been outside 8 hours a day 5 days a week. How the fuck are they surprised that I have tanned quite a lot? And I wear spf 50+.

I think this will be my last summer, but who knows. That’s what I said last summer too.

posted 2 days ago