this regret machine

  🥹✨🦄  ❗❗🗽💮🆗🆗🆗🆗🆗🆗 🆗🆗 🥹✨🦄 🥹✨🦄 

    Their body chose to wake up. From billions of shattered and fleeting fragments, consciousness came back to her like liquid honey, sticking to her gums, spilling through their throat, sickening in her stomach. Their skin became aware of itself, the sweat and the quiet and the space they all filled. Breathing came next, a slow, needed exchange between the body and the bedroom. The air was heavy wet velvet on her tongue. She was awake, breathing, and real.  This year was the first year I started working. Properly working. Full time, seven days a week, zero hour contract work. I’m living the student experience, tossed between three jobs. The hours are nonsensical and shifting. From January to June, I would have a 05:00 start, 06:00 walk, to make it for a 07:30 start. On the same day, my shift could end at 16:00, and I’d start another shift at another job at 17:00, until 20:00 before walking home.     Too, fitting seminars, lectures and reading into this lab...

    How did you get in contact with me?                                                                                             We built a radio from parts of the old ship. Nobody pays it much attention, but I like playing with the frequencies. Why are you here? Bored. The mountain is melting, and the sun is setting, but this is all I like doing, really. What else do you do? I cycle from home to here, on somebody’s bike. It gets me up to the hill nicely. Where is your ship? Frankly, I'm not allowed to say. Though, I'm not clos...

  (content warning for sexual assault, described. Posting uni work. I'm happy with how I've been doing, but I know I can do a lot better ) My friends have no idea where I am. I left them too long ago. I sit on a vinyl floor, my legs half spread, my fishnets caught in my boots. My back is arched against the wall, my abdomen creased forward, my shoulder blades sharp and pressed. I look ugly against the orange wall, underneath the yellow bulb. Something about the bulb burns my skin.The window is ajar, the floor is cold. My eyes are blue ketteled bubbles, boiling off hot confusion.  I watch her crawl towards me from the other side of the room. In our halved height, we are equal. Her legs are longer and shaved. Her voice is northern, and I can’t understand where it’s from. I hear her speak from somewhere else, like it sounds off the walls, like I’m hearing her through my skin. It’s layered and sinking slow, a boiling molasses of noise. It hurts all through me, but I don’t know ...