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apple-orchards-writings · 2 months

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(this is very much inspired by @/fauxyandere's self aware kylar, i've caught myself rereading it so often, its so good!)

Thinking about self aware Kylar, that one day gains sentience and realizes he's not meant to be alive, he's not meant to be anything past words on a screen. This is all fake, his parents aren't real, his world isn't real, his love isn't- Wait...

The person he knew as his love may not be real, but... Who is this, he can faintly see behind them, seemingly tied to his former obsession ? Who is this person, this ghost, this puppeteer ? He tries to ask PC who you are, but he's only met with a blank stare and silence. Is he the only one that can see you ?

What are you, anyway? Are you PC's guide, are you some sort of God ? He needs answers, now. He continues trailing PC, but with a different intention now, he needs to learn more about you, you obviously are more than a ghost. You seem so detached, so nonchalant. You're obviously not from his "world", no, you seem greater, much much greater. He's started to notice that, sometimes, the universe stops moving, and it seems like time completely stops, but only he is aware of it. Clearly, you're in control here, I mean, the world stops and starts at your command, doesn't it ? You're the one making the world go round, you're like a god !

He needs to make his way to you, he can't be trapped here forever in a facsimile of life, no, this isn't fair! No no no, he needs to get to you, I mean, you guided PC to him for his happiness back when he was still a fool, surely you only have his best intentions at heart. He's sure of it, and he starts giving you little hints as to his awakened state.

Instead of "Something is watching you", it's "Someone yearns for your gaze", instead of Kylar mainly staying at the park or the arcade (or the manor), you can find him pretty much anywhere in the game. Oh, you're getting a check-up with Dr.Harper? He's restocking on some meds and ready to escort you out. You're bartending at the strip club ? Guess who just decided he should start building up his tolerance ? (he's the lightest of weights let's be real, one flute of champagne and he's out like a light, he's so cute) Even Remy's farm isn't safe (or unsafe ?) from him, he's either becoming a hucow himself or just rescuing you by manipulating the code in his favor, something he had to learn to do because you kept ignoring him...

After what feel like days of trying to him but are probably only a few minutes to you, he reasons he has to get more aggressive, so he starts just leaving you "cute reminders" every two or three pages of text, like: "don't keep me waiting too long, my love" or "please get me out soon, i want to see you darling!"... He gets more and more impatient, surely you see his little notes ? What are you waiting for...

On your end, you're just thinking you downloaded the wrong update, and you wish the next one will fix all the weird bugs you've been getting, you're pretty sure your encounter rate isn't supposed to be his high... And man does Kylar take up so much of it, you're just trying to find Whitney in peace and it feels like he's just there at every corner. You're starting to think you should delete this save, but you have so many hours in it, it'd be kind of a shame, no?

Meanwhile, Kylar has gotten tired of waiting, and has just decided that if you won't try to get him out of this hell prison nightmare torment place, then he has no choice but to bring you in as well, so you can see how much he had to suffer, and surely this will bring you to see his side, right ? Then you can both leave and live happily together, never to see this fictitious town again. Won't that be nice, darling ? Be ready, you'll be with him soon.

#sorry this was all over the place but man i needed to get it out of my head #apple's writing #dol kylar #kylar the loner #self aware dol

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syharper · 6 years

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hangover headaches

waking up feels a little like dying that particular morning.

harper’s eyes open slowly, then close again because of the headache. she groans, lifts her hands to wipe her face and then tries again. this time it works a little bit better, but she’s still not entirely sure that any of this is a good idea. still, duty calls, and more importantly; her thirst does.

so she heaves herself up from her cot and walks over to the side, picking up her bottle of water. the next couple of minutes are spent on emptying the entirety of it, and she’s glad she had at least the sense to have drank some water before going to bed already as well. with all the alcohol she can remember pouring into her body the night before, her morning could have looked a lot different otherwise.

still, she decides to go to the medic to get a hydrating shot, because there might be work to do today, things jaewon might require of her to do, and so she quickly gathers some clothes to put on so she can get on her way. shot first, shower second, then getting something to eat. the fact that no one has tried to come wake her yet tells her that there’s absolutely nothing she can do where her job’s concerned.

so she soon opens the door to her quarters and steps outside, foot kicking against something and sending it clattering over the ship’s metal floorboards. her eyes automatically search for the object, finding her comm, the one she’d given to yongsun, there on the floor in front of her. up till that point, she’d done a pretty good job ignoring the memories of the night before, pretending like nothing of the sort had happened in order to be able to keep her bearings. but as her eyes take in the sight of her comm, and all the possible meanings of its presence in front of her door, the memories come rushing in like a flood.

she moves carefully, trembling fingers picking up the device so she can go back inside with it. any thought of what her plans for the day were are forgotten for a while, attention solely on her comm device and the one person on the other side of it that really matters. it doesn’t take her long to hear that the device has been returned to her without being used, and it takes every ounce of self control she has to end the call in an appropriate manner.

unable to handle herself or any of the memories and repercussions just quite yet, harper decides to gather a new outfit and a few towels so she can head over to the showers first. the water cascading down her back, usually a relief of sorts, now is nothing more than yet another thing she needs to go through. another action to perform without really feeling like it. her eyes close automatically, her mind running off on a tangent of its own, and harper finds herself returning to reality almost an hour later, wrapping a towel around herself in the lingering steam of the shower.

the mirror reflects back a distorted image of herself, drops of water masking half of her face, her eyes emptier than she remembers they should be. her hand reaches out to wipe some of the water away, but that only forces her to look at the aftermath of the horrible night that lies behind her with even more clarity. her eyes take in the lines of her own face, somehow that of a stranger again after all these years, and then she breathes out a sigh.

as if having lost all strength, her fingers slide down the mirror until they rest on the sink and she just looks at herself. the people that pass by behind her don’t even really register in her mind, but if anyone would make an attempt on her life she probably wouldn’t even quite care right now. for the first time in a long time, she stops to take a breath and look at the person she has become. only to find that compared to the last time she did this - many, many years ago - there have been even more sins added to the list. her eyes close automatically and faces flash by behind her eyelids.

it’s a list, the same list she’s been keeping for a decade. it always starts with the same two faces. the first two people she ever killed.

her mother, with that gentle smile and caring hands. her mother with a patience that could outlast beaumondian’s haze. her mother who was willing to even wait out the sunlight on a permanently smog-covered planet. her mother, the woman she had always strived to be like, and whose likeness she had then so wholly left behind once that gentle smile had been swallowed by fire, by agony, by death.

and her father, good with machines, good with people, a leader but also a supporter, a man who could inspire people to try and move mountains even when they didn’t really feel like it. a man with a positive state of mind, a knack for adapting to whatever situation at hand. a man she had always thought her brother to be very alike to.

the only thing she has left to be grateful for now is that her brother’s face is not yet part of the list. a certainty she had started to doubt as well after years of no news or word from him, but that had been renewed because he had been part of this ragtag band of crewmembers and passengers alike. he had spent years breathing life into this very ship and even now harper feels like there might still be a part of him lodged into the quite inanimate heart of the engine, a part that is helping to keep the smuggling ship afloat.

none of it even remotely changes anything, however, because when her parents’ faces have passed the revue, her mind goes on. conjuring up the faces of all the ones she has destroyed. aside from her parents it’s a list she watches with a strong sense of detachment, no emotions paired with the sight of them because she never allowed herself to care about her targets. if she hadn’t killed them, someone else would have been sent to kill them instead. she is no more than what she is, no more than an executioner.

but whenever she makes herself watch their faces, she finds herself with a sour taste in her mouth and it wouldn’t be the first time she throws up, feeling physically sick to her stomach. like a repentance for all the lives taken,or the way they were taken in. a repentance for everything she has done since taking on a new name and a new face. a new life.

today she doesn’t throw up, however, nor does she even feel remotely sick to her stomach. instead she finds herself considering, and coming out disappointed with the person she has become. today she remembers her mother’s gentle smile and knows that who she has become would have turned the corners of those lips downwards, caused a frown to wrinkle that forehead, probably even would have caused tears to fall from those eyes. today she knows that if her father would have seen her the way she is now, he would have simply shaken his head in disapproval. it might have hurt more than anything else she’s ever had to go through - including their death.

today she wonders if maybe her little brother, her precious little brother, might look at her with eyes full of betrayal and words filled with disappointment if they met again. today she wonders if maybe her family might have been prouder of her if she had merely died along with them that day. it would only have hurt once, and she would never have had a chance to fuck up and become something they can’t accept.

and she almost comes apart. she almost frays at the edges and comes undone, incapable of bearing the weight of such a reality. of living on to honour a family that would not even want to know the person she is today. but she is no longer just her parents’ daughter. she is no longer just whitney lau.

she was trained, shaped, moulded. a woman honed into a weapon, taught to cut through people like they are but fabric. trained to destroy that what has been given as a target and move on, leaving no room for whatever insecurities she might still carry. and the alcohol had lowered her defences, had allowed her to feel the hurt of being faced with the reality of someone from her past meeting the her from the present and coming out disappointed. but that was yesterday.

today, another face follows the old list, a different face. a different list. one by one, the battered and bruised faces of her victims pass by. these she keeps in mind not because of a sense of guilt, or to try and retain a piece of humanity, but quite the opposite. she remembers them simply to feel the same satisfaction she felt when she ripped them out of their bodies. these faces, she keeps like trophies of a fruitful hunt. and the face of a woman whose skin she peeled off piece by piece is a part of it too. so are all the rest of those she exacted her revenge on, not under force or orders, but out of her own free will.

and this part of her does not know guilt, does not know shame. this part of her roars like a lioness; proud and strong and unapologetic of the blood she spilled to avenge her family. this part of her opens her eyes and makes her look at herself again, not to see strange features or tired lines, but to see strength, to see achievements, to see the last standing warrior of a proud bloodline, doing what she must to avenge the ones she’s lost.

this part of her shrugs the tension out of her shoulders, sends herself a small smile and then turns away from the mirror to get dressed.

this part of her keeps going no matter what.

#.solo #s: hangover headaches #(( i'm not sure what this is #(( but it exists #(( so here we are #(( lol

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taran42181 · 4 years

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Losing Sean to addiction and illness...one year ago......

I’m not sure why exactly I’m writing this. Maybe because there’s not a human on this earth, I can talk to the way I can to a blank page. It’s too many layers of things and just confusing to be honest. I’m writing this with limited editing. For an English major it’s not going to be my best work, but the only way for me to get my thoughts out raw and unfiltered is to not care about the silly nuances of grammar. Perhaps that is why I chose to call this blog “Ramblings” because essentially that is what it will be.

I’m sitting here alone, for the first time in weeks. I’m grateful for the chance to quarantine safely in my home with books, tv, food, water, heat, etc. I’m grateful for the extra family time and extra sleep. However, I need my me time. I can only take so much interaction before I need to retreat for a while.

So what is on my mind..what is on my mind..is that I’m missing my brother. Actually, I’m missing my childhood family as I once knew it. Two gone, One sick and one in another state. Such is life. I’m reminiscent. I cringe typing this, because so many people have it so much worse. So many people have so many more struggles and why should anyone give a damn about what I’m missing? We all have stuff do deal with in life. I feel, I post too much as it is, about my life on social media..but I’ll never stop acknowledging Sean or my dad. I’ll just keep the details of my feelings to this blog. I can write, which I love to do, without being a “Debbie Downer,” Sorry.

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Dear Sean, You are on my mind so much. I got to text with Paul and Eric out in Colorado and damnit, I’m thankful for them. I’m thankful for Rich, too. I’m glad you had friends that loved you for you. Friends that chose you as family. It means the world to me.

I’m thinking of you Sean, because this time last year, you were dying. You were laying in a bed at CMC, struggling to breath. I’m scared of the coronavirus and devastated and anxious for the patients laying in ccu beds on vents and their helpless families. I watched what irreversible ARDS can do to someone and its downright terrifying. It’s ironic that I’m hearing what it does, when just a year ago, I was watching it happen to you.

I tried for years to shield people from your less redeeming qualities; the severity of your mental illness and addiction. It’s so easy for people to judge without knowing the person behind it all. Some people are unforgiving and I wanted to protect you from them. I didn’t see things through rose colored filters. I was tough on you a lot. I was embarrassed and sometimes even afraid for you. I prayed you wouldn’t hurt or kill yourself or accidentally hurt someone else when you were using.

You started out in life as the funniest, happiest little guy I ever knew. You were my best, and for several years, only friend. You never minded hitting record on the cassette player and being my audience when I wanted to sing Mariah Carey and Whitney Houston songs. We walked home from school together every day, and we started neighborhood clubs together. You let me boss you around and played every game I ever asked. You always thought of me when you did things and included me. We both had trouble finding our place in the world at times, but had each other.

It broke my heart when you were 16 and I was 18, and I started noticing you had been acting weird. I had never lived with an addict, and I think it took all of us a little longer than some, to notice the signs. I’m sorry I couldn’t protect you from a bad choice. You made a choice, and honestly I know it was for the sake of peer acceptance, to try heroin. I’ll never forget the day I confronted you and made you call mom at work and tell her you had been using heroin and couldn’t stop. In hindsight that was a terrible decision on my part towards mom.

It would take days, months even, if I were to write about the years between this day in 1999 and April 1, 2019- the day you died. So, I won’t recount all of it. In short, you suffered all those years. We suffered as a family. We discovered you had many physical health issues, some irreparable. We discovered you had more severe mental health issues than the current mental health system was prepared for, and we saw your addiction spiral to an honestly impressive tolerance. I’ve yet to see anyone else compare. I’m not saying that as a good thing, just the reality. You were hurting, you hurt others and it was a vicious cycle. I won’t sugar coat it. You kept your distance and I tried to protect what I could of your reputation when people asked about you. The truth is your mental illness led you to some dark places and with that, you lost many friends and acquaintances. I know some people never knew you enough to form an opinion, other than a bad one. For their lack of insight into your issues, I don’t hold anything against them. I understand why people would judge harshly and detach from someone who was self destructing. However, I’m so grateful for the people that saw past the bad and remembered that there was a kind, compassionate guy in you somewhere. I’m thankful for the relatives that would ask about you, remember you at holidays and not take your isolation personal. They forgave your mistakes. They loved you and that never waivered. I hope you know that. I know you felt shame, Sean. You felt guilty and hated. I also know you just wanted to be accepted. It saddens me that some family chose to not come out here when you died. They chose to NOT be here for mom when you died. They chose to not honor you as a human being. This doesn’t refer to all of them. Only a couple. Some didn’t acknowledge your death at all! I understand and I know you do too. It’s hard with families and jobs and I hold no ill will. It’s hard, especially coming from out of state. Some of themy expressed their condolences and I was grateful. Some though, judged you and didn’t like what you had become. Maybe you had done or said things to them, and weren’t on good terms with them. Maybe because you didn’t bother to visit them or engage in their lives. Ha! If they only know what your life had become. Alas though, your death wasn’t important to them. Mom’s loss wasn’t significant. They couldn’t be inconvenienced to be here one day for mom, unless it fit their schedule. You didn’t have cancer, you didn’t commit suicide. I’m sure they were surprised it took this long. It makes me sad, but it’s their fears and ignorance that kept them away. I forgive and move on. Guess what though? your true friends and family showed up. I saw Mike and Lem and some other of your childhood friends. Eric, Paul and Rich. My friends from CMC and so many others. I’m forever grateful for each and every person who came to your service or called. Sean, the bottom line is that your life was complicated. My feelings on everything are complicated. ((sigh))).

So, having touched on all the negative stuff, I want to tell you how much you meant to me and still do. I know you knew. I told you all the time I loved you and you told me. We had so much fun together. I wish more of the world saw the Sean that I did. You were kind, funny and loving. You only showed yourself at your best to your nieces and nephews. Somehow despite it all, you managed to be a positive in their lives. It breaks my heart how much the kids miss you, especially your buddy James. When you were doing well, you were amazing. Those times in between, when I know you tried harder than anyone has tried at anything, I cherished. You had so many positive qualities. I’ve still yet to meet someone that compares to your intelligence and quick wit. You are one of a the best writers I know and could play the best pranks.

Watching you die was the hardest things I’ve ever experienced. Even harder than watching dad die. Ryan and I have talked about the comfort we find in knowing you and dad are together. Maybe dad had to die first, to be there to bring you home.

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For those of you still reading that don’t know what happened when Sean died.. I’ll tell you. A quick side story though... My mother has a neuroendocrine malignancy and parkinsonism. A tiring and frustrating combination of mysterious symptoms. Anyway, much of the last few years she has been in and out of the hospital. Thankfully, we are closer to a more accurate diagnosis and treatments, but her quality of life has diminished. She was a healthy, vibrant healthcare administrator and an active board member for various community organizations in Denver. Approximately 7 years ago, was the beginning of her decline. She still lives life to the fullest though, does not look for help or sympathy, and does her best each day. She amazes me and on her best days you wouldn’t know anything was wrong!

Anyway, about two weeks before Sean died, she had a bad episode in the middle of the night. Paramedics took her to the hospital. It was awful. The next morning, I called Sean to check on him. No answer. A couple of hours later, my mom now stable at the hospital, asked me if I’d talked to him. I told her I’d keep trying. I called and called. I went over to Sean’s apartment and although I had a key, I had to break the chain lock. When I got to his room, he was in bed. He had vomit all over him and was unresponsive. I called 911 and luckily was able to get him to wake up by screaming directly into his hear. When he came to, he was lethargic and disoriented. I wasn’t able to ascertain exactly what he had taken. My only regret that day is that I didn’t go to the hospital with him. Sean’s had many overdoses. I was frustrated and relieved he woke up and thought this would be another one of his hospital admissions. My mom and Ryan have resuscitated him in the past. He overdosed and was intubated several times over the years, before the days of getting Narcan at home. (And yes, he did get lots of “tough” love too. He was in treatment many, many, many times) Sometimes treatment was hard to get because of his co-existing mental and physical issues, but my angel of a mother never gave up on him. She was scammed out of money by a “recovery coach” and hit a lot of roadblocks through the years, but she always tried to keep him alive. She never gave up hope for him. She has been judged for this, but you find out what you would do when your in situations. Anyway, enough sidetracking.

Sean was taken from his room with paramedics and police to the hospital. I fully believed he would be ok. I had to work that evening and called the hospital to check on him. I wasn’t able to find out where he was or what was happening. My mom found out he had gone into respiratory distress and had been intubated. Sean, having been intubated previously on several occasions, had repeatedly told my mom he did not want vented ever again. I’m glad we weren’t there for them to ask us, because his honest feeling was that he didn’t want to be saved but we didn’t have a written dnr and we didn’t want to lose him. In any case, he was intubated and admitted. I went to see him the next day and when I spoke quietly to him, but he woke up and started trying to talk over the vent. I told him I loved him but I was leaving because he needed to rest. I reminded the staff of his high tolerance for sedatives and told them I’d try to stay away as to not agitate him. The nurse was very sweet and understanding.

The next few days I was there in between kids activities, school and work. I tried to visit him and my mom as much as I could. Fast forward, each day Sean got sicker and sicker. I left my phone in my car one day to get coffee at wawa and when I came back I saw the hospital had called. Sean had coded, but they got him back. I went over to the hospital. I took my mom from her hospital room to ICU to see him. They did a TEE but it was negative. They told me he was septic. He had a very bad infection in his lungs. He had what you may be hearing about now on the news, called ARDS. He was so hot that I could have literally cooked breakfast on his skin. He was on a cocktail of antibiotics. Sean had pre-existing lung issues and the night before I found him, Sean had taken drugs. Which ones and what kind, I’m not sure of exactly. He had sedated himself so much, that he went to bed, drank something in his sleep (he had a bottle of orange juice with him) and he aspirated. Had he not taken too much of whatever he did that night, he wouldn’t have been lethargic and under the influence. Had he not brought orange juice to bed, he wouldn’t have aspirated. Laying in bed for a day, after choking, and his breathing diminished, made for him too become too sick to recover.

He continued to deteriorate until they could not longer keep him vented. (side tracking again, if your family member is intubated for any reason I strongly suggest you research what you can and know your rights and options). It came to a point where we had to make a decision. Sean was “out of it’ for most of the time, but he would wake up at times. It was agony because we knew he didn’t want to be vented but he needed it to live. The Palliative care doctor decided we could slowly wean him off things that made his judgement cloudy. Not immediately, but when and if, he was coherent enough, she would talk with him directly. We ask him and he communicated with head nods and pointing. He even tried writing and then he tried and pointed at letters on a keyboard. The day came around and Ryan, mom, me and the Palliative care doctor spoke with Sean. His intensivist told us his lungs would “never recover.” If he were to be take off the vent, the only way he could live was to have a permanent trach. My mom having health issues, and at the time, still a patient herself, wouldn’t be able to care for him full time. He would be likely left to live out years and years, in a nursing home on a trach. If he was healthier and this was reversible for him, it would've been a no brainer. Unfortunately, he had a lot stacked against him. The doctor explained to Sean what happens if we take the tube out. He kept motioning for us to take it out. She explained without the trach he would stop breathing eventually. He indicated in several ways, he clearly understood. For Sean, living each day was a struggle. I think even if he had a better chance at recovery, he still wouldn’t have wanted it. She asked him if that's what he wanted several times and each time, he indicated yes. I had to leave the room to not lose it and break down. So it took a while but they slowly weaned him off of the vent. He asked for Mountain Dew, his favorite. He couldn’t swallow or drink so we put the smallest amount on a one of those little mouth sponges, and gave him a taste. He coughed and coughed, but smiled. He wanted his music, so we played his favorites for him. Frank Turner, Billy Brag, mainly. (much of the music he introduced me too is now stuff I listen to regularly) The three of us spent the next several days with Sean, watching him die. We told him stories, he listened. He tried to laugh. He cried. We cried. He slowly and painfully left the world after three or four days. I can’t even remember how long it took. I told him I would get a tattoo to match one of his. He pointed to one on his arm, that he wanted me to get. The day after his death, I got the tattoo. His breathing became more difficult. His skin burned and burned and even with cooling packs, they couldn’t help him. It devastated me to see him suffering at the end of his life, even though the nurses tried their best to keep him comfortable. Each time he had what I now know is called “Cheyne-stokes” respirations, we would think the time was near, but he kept on. We told him it was ok to go and that dad was waiting. My angel mother prayed over him, with him. She sang to him and I’m damn positive she delivered him to God herself and helped him transition peacefully between the two worlds. I don’t know where she got the strength. She never left his side until the last day. I wasn’t as strong. I couldn’t handle hearing his breath sounds without crying. I’m glad my mom and Ryan could, but I know it wasn’t easy. So, if you’re still reading this long story. wow. and thank you . I feel better for having wrote it out. It’s so much to talk about. I have some really great friends that let me vent to them during it all and have been there for me still. More angels that walk this Earth. <3

I know this is jumbled and all over the place. Half talking to Sean, half talking to whomever is reading. I apologize, but it has been cathartic for me to get it out.

Sean, in the end, I love you. Your life mattered. You had many positive impacts on people. You are missed. We are grateful for having had you for 35 years and I won’t ever forget you!!

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