make it work

I am Robin, a student. This is my attempt at both an asthetic blog and a way for me to keep track of attempted recipes, crafts, significant progress made on an activity, and oftentime coded locations for myself.

Although i am aware of the rules of internet safety, many of the rules applied to an internet that was not constantly monitoring and consuming itself. I will not post my face, but i will occasionally post landscape photos.

I will try to sort my activities into tags for convenience, and will add them as they come.

For now, i will use:

#robin’s recipes for recipes

#robin’s eyes / #birds eye view for photos

#robin’s excursions for impromptu trips

i reached the front. He asked me if i would be bit. I recalled my previous dream- the one with the vanpire i have hence dubbed Ash, for his hair- and again hesitated. I spoke to the others on the cobbled ground. They said it was painless, though they were limp on the ground in pain or exhaustion or ectasy.

something happened. I do not remember what, but a fight broke out, and awoman lunged at me. I only remember ending up on my back, the rough stones jutting into my spine, the pressure of knees on my chest and fingers scrabbling for my throat. I turned my head left to guard my neck, and there the vampire sat, staring at me with wide eyes, as if waiting for instruction.

i kicked out my ankle and shouted for him to bite. he sank his teeth in. i dont remember it hurting.

ash asked me weeks ago if i was ready to make a choice. He knew i was “waking up” and asked me if i would become a vampire and claim immortality. I said i would think about it, and then i woke up. He knew i would not say yes. He knew i had too much to watch die.

things have changed. I spend time with my grandmother, who says shes lucky if she makes it two more years, but still buys yearly passes to the theatre. She waits for my father to visit before deleting the contact of dead friends. I cry into my fathers shirt after waking up from dreams of him dying. I cant enjoy events without imagining my head lowered at a friends funeral.

its temporary. Its so temporary. Give me the deal, so i can at least mourn them. I would claim immortality and go through the agony of living heyond them, because i love them now, and i will mourn them when theyre gone. i sont want to think abou mt my last words. I often wonder what they will be, or if it matters, because ill never remember them.

i am so scared of dying. about the idea of my mind shuttering off completely, things that are so me and have always been me disappearing just like that, i am still so afraid of it. i cried on my seventh birthday as i woke up realizing i would never be six or five or four again. i cried when i was sixteen, almost disowned and kicked out, ten pounds underweight, sobbing into my pillow after watching my grandfather die. i cried a lot this year. i am so alone now, as a new adult with no goals, that it feels like i am drifting like a sunfish, gnawed on, pieces missing, barely breathing. but i want to live longer than my dad now. i thought we would die at the same time. i do not want to live in a world without him. i cannot stand that idea. but he says again adn again as i cry into his shirt that there is still time, and that he wants to be certain he dies before me. i love him, so maybe when the day comes and i see his absense in the small things, i can look forward to missing him. but until then ill be a sanctuary like he has been for me. i will graduate, get a job, a home i can call my own, and when he is struggling i can offer him space, too, and we can eat shitty diner food together again just like we used to.

i am afraid of dying, but im afraid of him dying more. i think, i hope, the last thing to go when i die will be my memories. so i want to make sure i have the heart to keep making them. i am so tired of being in the middle of an event and my heart sinking as i realize, its all going to end. one day ill never see them again. one day, ill be another head at their funearal.

i want to live forever. i want taht when they die, i can remember them until i go into madness, a silent, gradual death that i can relish in. i want to live forever.

The doors were closed.

Had the man been too messy? Why are the doors closed? Are they experimenting? The doors are closed.

i wont be here much longer, but it is worrying that the doors are closed.

One was in his car, old, white, bald and eating. He looked up at my passing gaze and held my eyes with accusation.

The other, asian, sat on the curb, utterly relaxed. He spoke into his phone and did not acknowledge me.

The other guy had not gotten here before me. I got a lot. Today is tuesday, which probably means something for their schedule.

Most likely i will not be back this year, because i saw a popped condom in a corner. That does mean the area is safe enough that someone considered that a good location, but also, ew.

That other guy got there before me. There was nothing there, and theres always something. He also didnt close the door.

No late excursions on sunday, then. Dont know if ill do another one before the school year ends, though.

My first memory of that place is a man with dark skin and off shoulder ruffle shirt greeting me at a door with a smile. He knew me because i used to tutor him in third grade.

A race was beginning in the pool, “king” overseeijg. Ten people. Orchestrated ahead ofntime, The winner got their sentence cut short, the man told me as i watched from the bars, and everyone else died where they stood.

Why participate? I asked

I do not eemember exactly what he said, but he told me that they had organized this ahead of time, ten people to participate so everyone else wouldnt have to. There was an insinuation that, was the man not entertained for this voluentaey sport, the punishment would be so much worse than nine dead.

He joined. I remmeber cheering and crowds snd a faceles man siting in a tall chair.

He did not win. Nine people dropped at the same time on the pool deck, red spilling into the gutters. I remember screaming.

I learned thst i had one months sentece. Whatever i did had not been particularly bad. I went to the villas information desk, and was told i had to get a job and meet a quota each day to get a dentenfe reduced. Fail and i got fined.

There was another unspoken way to get your sentence reduced. You could kill people.

I was lead there with two other people. Our leader was a girl who kept wanderint off into the bushes. there was another girl, who i remember just as acting stupid and drooly right up until she endd up next to me and asked me if i thought we should kill that girl.

I said that i hadnt evene thought about it like that.

She suggwsted it again. I agreed.

One other person showed up. I had “memory” of trying to kill this newcomer two other times. I went for it anyways, and the first girl went for our leader.

I remember my opponents tied brown hair. I remember trying to get close enough with a knife without being cut. She was a better fighter than me, and i was certain she was going to kill i , who initiated the fight. I remember her flailing and trying to stab me, and me wrapping my hand around the blade and ripping it out of her hands. I remember that i still couldnt get close enough to her, so i threw the two knives on the ground so i could grab her arm and her head and snap her onto the ground. I climbed on top of her, and for a moment i thought that she would buck me off and that i would die here instead, and that it would be funny. I beat her head against the ground until she stopped moving, and then i cut her throat. I screamed the whole time i beat her, im sorry, im sorry, because the death was inhumanly slow.

It was her and me laying on the cobbled floor of a villa pathway, my facr and hands bloody, the corpse of a woman who had just been alive seconds ago still beneath me. I didnt feel like throwing up. I knew i should. The girl who had killed our leader was puking in a trash can. I only felt adrenaline, enough that my entire body was shaking, and i think i understood that my emotikns were being put on pause.