07-07-18 ★ Our host will be updating the server, so any new posts from now may be affected. Please be sure to save them in a Word Doc like google documents. Will keep you updated until this is over, especially on Discord.

06-19-18 ★ We have updated our rules to match our host's update about inappropriate content. Anyone who goes against this will have their IP addresses banned by the host. If you've any questions, please contact a staff member.

06-14-18May OTM Nominations are up and ready to go, they will be open until the 28th of this month.

05-10-18 ★ OOC accounts are now automatically activated on their own once more!


  Summer, Year 3    Leviticus Era
The new Firstborn Vihaan is visiting the horses of Carinae in Viridian Fields!
The Lost One has appeared needing help of your characters in this site wide plot!
Congratulations to Ritsika, the new player of newly mortal firstborn, Cora!
Welcome new Empress Kashmir of Heretic!
The Red Wastes now has a sub-forum of its own! All Lyrus members can post there but outsiders beware!
The training battle between Gotham City and Caelian has been decided on a winner!

Cbox silent? We're in our Discord.

Users browsing this thread: 1 Guest(s)
Trigger Warning  Bruised | OPEN

 Adult, 11 yrs  Stallion
 18.3 hh  900 lbs
84 Posts 25 points
 Moseley Offline
Posted on Jun 18 2018, 9:58 AM.

- mentions of past self-harm, depression and suicidal thoughts - 
Time had blurred into one single, painful moment. There was no difference in what had been and what now was. The simple truth of it was the stallion was addicted to sadness. It dripped from every bone in his skeletal body, saturated the skin that was pulled too tight, so tight it was close to splitting open. There were scars now, where it had from not-so-accidental tumbles down the side of the mountains he dubbed home.

The second truth was almost worst than the first. Pain was also addicting. That physical feeling of skin being bruised, grazed or even cut open gave him relief. It released chemicals inside his body, the ones his brain had long forgotten how to make, the ones that gave pleasure. He could still remember the first time he discovered the release - not once had he ever considered himself to fall so low as to damage his own body, but once that taste of freedom had touched his tongue, the man knew he needed more.

What he can't remember is why it all began. When was it he first found himself lost in the darkest corners of his own mind? When did he first begin to find comfort in shrouding himself in the hateful whispers, burying himself in their embrace like they were his lover? Oh, but they were his lovers. The way their breath caressed his cheek, leaning in to spew dark ideas into his ears, running their claws over his body late at night until he forgot how her touch had felt when she cradled him through the darkest hours of the day.

Yes, she had held him while he sobbed silently at night. She had walked by his side when he needed to see the moon's light, just to remind himself that even in the dark there was a light. But now she is not there, she has not been there for so long now, and Byon was the only one to be blamed for that. He should have been there with her as the mountains lit aflame, he should have died with her in his embrace that night. Or maybe, he should never have met her at all. Then maybe she would still be alive, and he would have rotted away in a hole somewhere by now.

Ah, he could picture it now as he walked along the tops of the ridge, the sulphur filling his nostrils and sending his mind deeper into a haze. White bones glistening in the light of the night, picked clean by whatever scavengers had long since passed. At least then he would have been useful. He let his gaze slip to the deep ravine only a few feet from where he walked now. How much would it hurt when he fell down there? Would the height be enough to end it all? How much would he regret the choice when he first stepped beyond the edge, just too far away to save himself? He could picture it, he could feel it. That panic of realising that what he is feeling is only temporary, that there is still hope for him - but not being able to pull back. Knowing that is is only a matter of a few, painful seconds before his life is over.

So the stick-man pulled himself back onto the beaten path, praying that when the sun rose fully, it would bring with it a Good Day. One where he could manage a mouthful of grass without being swarmed by thoughts of not even being worthy enough to breathe. One where he could rest for more than a few elongated seconds without being plagued by nightmarish dreams. A Good Day was not being happy, but being able to function. Being able to see there would be a tomorrow for him, or even a next moment, was already a promising sign.

A glance to the sky revealed he had survived another restless night, the sun beginning to peak above the ridges, turning the sky a beautiful bruised purple, disturbed only by the few drifting clouds. In that moment, he was almost glad he'd survived long enough to see it. Maybe today would be better.
OOC| Sad boi ;3; but we shall make him better again!

Pixel by Dee

Forum Jump: