ℕᵒ 𝓑𝕠𝔡𝐘.

#ABSENSIA. EST. SPRING 2017 ORIGINAL HORROR / CRIME CHARACTER. CARRD. PINTEREST.

WRITTEN BY IVY ( 29, SHE/HER, CANADIAN, GMT-7 ). PLEASE READ RULES AND CHARACTER INFO BEFORE FOLLOWING. THIS BLOG IS PLOT-ORIENTATED; THE MAJORITY OF REPLIES ARE MULTI - PARA TO NOVELLA LENGTH. TAGS, METAS, AND ADDITIONAL INFORMATION BELOW CUT. PLEASE EXPECT LOW, VERY SLOW, AND SPORADIC ACTIVITY.

it begins with a call home,  something she doesn’t always do,  even if she did happen to be missing his voice.   what follows is a voicemail left,  bereft of anything useful   — like what time she’ll be at the house or whether she needs him to call back.   instead,  there is only her voice,  softened by the static that pervades all technological lines connecting Charlotte to the rest of the world,  telling him that it is,  in fact,  her calling and she’ll see him when she sees him.   it’s a picture made from the more harmless of the obvious,  hoping to hide what would otherwise also be plain yet in the painful sort of way.   she calls ahead to get something of a head start on her detective and yet the ironic way it goes is this:  he still sees her before she sees him.   she,  who has left herself vulnerable still  ( always,  perhaps )  to the unexpected.   hers,  being a nature inclined to move faster than a pattern can form..   now pressed up and intertwined strangely with his,  one that she thinks could never allow him to be outpaced,

no matter what,  no matter who; Charlotte should’ve seen this coming. / @hystare

amongst the flood of travellers pouring out of the dimly lit mouth of the greyhound terminal,  wearied by the liminality of a too - long bus ride packed shoulder to shoulder with indifferent strangers,  she appears like a bright spot of sun gliding along the murky surface of water.   the uncanny creature emerges from the spaces between here and there with steps lively,  not sluggish;   her face refreshed,  marred not by a single line of strain,  free to showcase in its unabashed entirety of her pleasurable surprise at spotting him off to the side   —   and the quick realization that he was already looking at her.   the body follows the head,  whipped into a slight dizziness from her double - take.     “  you’re not here waiting for me,  are you?  ”

all in all,  this was the best possible outcome out of a slew of other not - so - bad,  non - disastrous,  nigh favourable outcomes.   still,  it meant several jammed finger - joints,  a hand that would scream out in its pain in being newly stone come morning,  tears welling plain and practically fresh in their taste. . . for there was nothing to flavour the thin,  iridescent sap:  no fear,  no heartbreak,  no madness.   just the blooming,  booming bruise that busied itself pressing,  in every possible direction,  into the soft flesh around her eye - sockets.   oh,  and the trickle of blood that would not,  could not ( ! ) quit its winding of a delicate thread about the vessel’s lower face,  from nostril to a marred cupid’s bow,  off the smooth cliff - edge of the jaw,  into the hollow at the base of the throat,  then slow - slow - slow..   below - below - below.

“Invention, it must be humbly admitted, does not consist in creating out of void, but out of chaos; the materials must, in the first place, be afforded: it can give form to dark, shapeless substances, but cannot bring into being the substance itself.”

— Mary Shelley, from the introduction to Frankenstein

“It turns out that an eerie type of chaos can lurk just behind a facade of order — and yet, deep inside the chaos lurks an even eerier type of order.”

— Douglas Hofstadter,  Metamagical Themas: Questing for the Essence of Mind and Pattern

"Chaos mixes the orbits in state space in precisely the same way as a baker mixes bread dough by kneading it. One can imagine what happens to nearby trajectories on a chaotic attractor by placing a drop of blue food coloring in the dough. The kneading is a combination of [...] rolling out the dough [...] and folding the dough over. At first the blob of food coloring simply gets longer, but eventually it is folded, and after considerable time the blob is stretched and refolded many times. On close inspection the dough consists of many layers of alternating blue and white. After only twenty steps the [thickness of the initial blog] has shrunk to the molecular level. The blue dye is thoroughly mixed with the dough. Chaos works the same way..."

— James Crutchfield et al., "Chaos," ( Scientific American, vol. 255, Dec 1986 )

"Here the principle of alterity finds its most awe-inspiring application. This so - called evil observed in chaos, however, possesses no independent existence; it subsists only in proportion as it participates of good. For matter and an infinite variety of forms, how ever poorly or well commingled, are necessary for the creation of the mutable world. This chaos, therefore, while it is sharply distinguished from the organized beauties of the cosmos, is in no sense preternatural to nature. It is a necessary material in Nature's workshop. And the accidental evil of chaos, according with the eternal processes of Nature as a whole, may be called good."

— Walter Clyde Curry, "Milton's Chaos and Old Night," ( The Journal of English and Germanic Philology, vol. 46, Jan 1947 )

"The graves [...] mimed the most ancient religious symbol of all: diminishing circles indicating a spiral leading down, not to a point, but to infinity; order from chaos or chaos from order, depending on which way your mind worked."