#murrain

MURRAIN, an OC from a friend - @/bug-mode

Nigel Kneale - Against The Crowd : Murrain (1975)

Wonderland is such a mischievous place. Causing trouble and worry, ways to drive one mad in just one day. Nonsensical common sense twisting ones rights and wrongs into a web of lies marked with truth. At the end of the day deeming it to be a prison, and far to much. Despite her experiences with its ruthless ways the nameless girl continues to stay. Peril after peril she takes the scars and continues onward. When she is asked why, she says, "I have made many friends here, I help them and myself, why would I leave?" She's taken many falls for her friends of the land. She wants their chance at life to mean something, for them to have all the time they can to do as they wish with it. Death, fortunately, was easy to delay here. No one simply died of old age, after all, skeletons and monsters may not live by rules accepted by mortals, especially since most of these creatures have already been dead. So the land is tricky. It makes a concoction of curses and tricks to take people away from their chance at life. One was writhing vines that took lost folks who spent too long in the woods, loosing hope, loosing life, loosing themselves. Their numb spirits then forced to be scattered among tree roots and dead fall leaves. She surrendered herself to the curse, allowing it to take her mind as a friend fought to keep her grounded, and found. She lost her memories, for but a moment. But no one was lost for many months after that. Reapers and death himself soon played a role, however no one simply dies on accident. If one looses their ways, themselves, succumbs to the land they say. That person is considered dead, very soon. To each it affects differently, some like a sickness, others like a drug. Either way their graves have already been dug. Their fates sealed the second they forget. No one would forget the nameless girl, she'd think to herself. Her name is unknown to most, her life to unknown to even more. She believes no one will remember the unarmed face behind the covers of everyone's life. Yet her own and ink, her gentle heart which ticks the seconds of life, has touched the lives of all she whom she's met. No one would forget her if she left, yet she feels as if they would. Yet she finds herself unable to want to leave them. Perhaps it is because she finds solitude in giving them life. Learning about the lives of others and telling their stories is such a pleasant idea, a dream she can make reality. But time and time again, she'll find herself sick in bed, loosing herself, cracking her doll like perfection with the weight of what and why. Her colors fade to dull, her light scorched by warmth rapidly leaving her body. She is like the ever lasting summer surrendering to an early winter. Helpless to its change, and not yet accepting to its embrace. Until she hears a familiar name, few words not often said twist into her mind and untie webs in her brain. Her world slowly unravels and makes sense yet again. Spring will come, her colors will return, slowly starting with the not yet blossomed petals of a lily, or a rose. Warmth will melt the snow that's kept her so cold, as the sun yet rises again, giving life to the land. As one, or many, perhaps, give life to their sun in return. By whispering a name, saying a few words, they bring her back yet again. "Welcome home."

The Plague Universes 

“I know you don’t believe me, but I’m trying to protect you!”