Lunarangel777 - Bits Of Fiction

for 2024:

read a lot and read everything

film and art and music are what builds ur soul

be outside

love and romance will not come to you any quicker if you are focused on it constantly

possessions don't improve things

movement does improve things

university is <4 years of the rest of your life - make the most of it

find the pleasure in hard work

lose the pleasure in scrolling

creation is essential

joy, love & intelligence are the tenets of life

stagnation isn't inevitable. no person is in a fixed state. you can always change

Great. I was on my way from the capital and one of those clockwork soldiers stopped me.

"Where are you going?" it asked as it stopped me from going any further.

I've been warned that there's still one functional at all times. I didn't know what time it was, so it might not be that one.

"What hour are you?" Every clockwork soldier works only during the hour it was named after. There are some that I think are either decoys or meant to scare people, since they never work.

"I am hour thirteen," it answered me, its empty eyes boring into mine.

This one, number thirteen, people have named the liar. No matter what it says, it is never true. I've met it once before and it said that it was going to snow in the middle of summer.

"I'm going home," I replied to the soldier. It's the law for citizens to answer human and clockwork soldiers.

There was a sound of clicking gears before it cocked its head off to the side and said, "Long live the King."

"Yeah," I muttered, walking by once he let me pass, "long live the King of the Day."

Its cold metal hand grabbed my wrist.

"Yes, long live the King of the Day. But I originally meant his brother."

The King's brother is a myth, a legend, something that never has and never will happen.

The clockwork soldier numbered thirteen let me go.

I think it's so adorable that early humans took wild gourds - a tiny fruit that hollows out as it dries, making it float - and decided to make something out of it

they thought the tiny fruit was so good that they bred it for thousands of years, making it larger to form into bowls and cups, and different shapes to become bottles and spoons

and musical instruments

And then, people took the hollow gourds they farmed, and they turned them into houses for birds. We adapted them into the perfect houses for birds, and now there are specific breeds of birdhouse gourd just for making into birdhouses

And humans dedicated gardening space and time and thousands of years of breeding to make the gourds so absolutely perfect for birds, that there is a species of bird that lives almost exclusively in them

I am a mosaic of everyone I have ever known and loved and touched and I find fragments of them in my playlists and how I make my tea. we may not know each other any more but we will stay connected like this. I hope a fragment of me is with you too.

I looked down at the young boy my brother found in the streets with no one to care for him and I wondered how he could sleep through such an earth - shattering thunderstorm.

What had he been through for this to be peaceful?

Or is it the fact that he was finally safe that kept him calm?

The only thing I've seen about this kid is his autumnal colored hair.

since the gävlebocken didn't survive (bad luck) or get burned (good luck), i'm taking 'eaten by jackdaws' to mean 'secret third thing'

I came back to our little camp to find him with his head in his hands.

"What's wrong?" I asked as I set the gathered food down.

"I hurt you," he whispered.

"I'm sorry?" What was he talking about?

"I caused you physical pain." He clenched his fists tight.

I could still feel the burn every now and again. I sat down directly beside him.

"I do the same thing to some of the plants I watch over," I told him, staring into the fire. "Sometimes, the best thing I can do for them is to cut an infected part off and burn it because there's nothing else I can do," I explained before he could ask.

"Still doesn't justify my behavior," he muttered.

"Well, I don't like the pain and it sometimes bothers me," I started, referring to the injury he gave me earlier, "but I forgive you."

He met my gaze before he asked, "Why?"

"You're going to make mistakes some as me, granted different from mine. But life and time are just that way - unforgiving. I think it's easier to get through a day if people are more forgiving."

He stayed silent.

"You going to be okay?"

He rested his head on my shoulder and whispered, "Yeah. Just processing."

"You're going to be okay," I told him, letting him take however long he needs to figure it out.

"Okay, you looking at me for this long is scaring me. Why are you staring?" I asked, snapping him out of his daze.

He shook his head like a spring breeze. "Sorry but your eyes are a beautiful brown color," he replied, shy about his statement.

"They're brown but not beautiful," I grumbled. I liked my eyes but there were times that I wished that I had a livelier color like blue.

"I'm sorry you don't see what I see. In your eyes," he cupped my cheek, "I see the essence of life itself."

"That's green," I returned as I took my head out of his hold.

"No, brown. Plants need soil to grow, all animals need plants, sand and rocks and other formations hold the oceans and seas in place. I see canyons, mountains, valleys, fertile soil. I see the base of life in your eyes."

i dream of living within walking distance of a secondhand bookstore, a quiet café, and a river to sit at with my book and my coffee