Triffins' Blog

* Hiiiii ^^

* I'm . It's. .....

* My name is Triffins, I hope I can continue to make friends

* That's everything.

* where the hell did- why the beverages??

* that's your first- .ok.

* where the hell did- why the beverages??

* that's your first- .ok.

(you've certainly interrupted his train of thought. Seems he's ready to talk now. Properly)

(that's what's running through his mind right now.)

("it wasn't real. I .chose.it was a dream. Why did it-am i .aWasn't. was n't.")

(when he was young, he asked if he was a bad person because he couldn't work like the others, they didn't get him and he didn't get them)

(he asked if he was a bad person after he left his friend there)

(he thought about the pain he left his parents with and asked if that made him evil)

(he got an answer when he left his teacher in that house)

(he hopes it didn't hurt)

(he knows it did)

(he asked if he was a bad person when he lied, stole, ran. Again and again, it was thrilling)

(he asked if he was awful when he took that booklet from his friend, saw what he needed to win)

(he asked if he was unforgivable when he sat alone in his room after work on set)

(he asked if he was good)

(he)

(he never meant to be bad, never meant to truly hurt anyone, never meant to make any kind of impact at all, just survive. He was taught to be good, he unlearned how. Maybe he left those lessons in that old bedroom)

(all his worst nightmares of confirmation)

* .. uh

(he expects someone to be around the corner in wait)

(nobodies home...well besides him, but that's debatable)

(he feels like... He can last a while with what he has. He's already sort of prepped for this)

(there's a ghost sensation. Many, actually)

(it was right there, in his hands, in his reach. The strings burned. His head still aches with every beat of his heart. His arms feel weaker than they should have ..if...it wasn't real)

(worst of all is what should be in his hands. He used to trace the wounds to soothe himself but there's nothing there but an itch)

(he refuses to scratch but he clamps his fingers down where it needs the pressure, till it hurts)

* yeah just. A.

* ....

* really bad dream.

*

* that was just..

(he checks his hands, wringing his wrists, feeling for his palms)

(everything is hazy. He doesn't remember when he spaced out or even why the room is suddenly so bright)

(the smell of burning is absent)

(the smell of decay is absent)

(the smell of the universe is absent)

(he blinks, looking around at his apartment? Was it? It's the same as it just barely was)

(he's in his kitchen, table in front of him)

(there sits a small box with a pink and yellow stamp on it)

(panic sets in as he realizes where he is and what that box is)

(he backs away. Quick. Like it'll bite him)

(he catches his breath and stands up properly, holding his head, holding the back of his head, holding it together)

(the walls are clean, the paint unchipped, not even the whisper of a painting hung, or worse)

(he leans against his wall and slumps to the ground, head still in his hands, a migraine splitting his head apart)

(it's so awfully quiet)

(he slowly stands, arm pressed over his eyes, hiding from his lights. He walks over to the light switch and turns it off, then sits down on his couch right nearby and lies down, staring at the ceiling)

You know what this is ✨

(Orbweaver has received the gift of a punch to the gut!)

* OH FOR FUCKS SAKE-