#isolation
MyGod I am tired of the fight it takes just to exist
For once, I’m not the only one of my friends who hasn’t gone out to party this week. We’re all at home, terrified of what might happen if we go out. Living through a pandemic is no joke, and we’re all just trying to stay safe. That’s common sense, really… but we have to keep busy.
It’s hard to have ideas when you haven’t got outside influences to inspire you. The Romantic poets had the glory of…
I hope some find this offensive
Heres a comic I did for a quarantine anthology that u can read 4 free. i found those stories of neighbors signing to eachother from different apartment windows (near the start of quarantine) really interesting. stay safe homies
Post link
June 12th- Loneliness
Cw: tortureish—isolation, starvation, captivity, cold whump, kidnapping, uhhhhh sensory deprivation ish??? Loneliness. That’s for sure.
It was quiet.
The silence that filled the cramped little cell was heavy and cold, an eerie kind of hushed that seemed to weigh down the atmosphere, swallowing any wisps of sounds.
Whumpee let out a shaky breath, curling in on themself and drawing the ratty blanket a bit tighter around their trembling shoulders.
The steel door stood strong just across the room from them, metal bolts keeping it closed shut tight.
A small vent in the corner was their only connection with the world outside their cell, cold air silently seeping into the room. Whumpee had tried everything to try and get it to stop, even going as far as to shove one of their precious blankets into the metal grate.
It barely helped.
They didn’t know how long they had been there, stuck in the bare room. It felt like years, maybe even longer, but Whumpee had no way of telling.
At first, they had tried to measure time through meals. It had seemed like the most efficient and reliable way, but they had soon realized just how wrong they were.
Sometimes meals would come back to back. They would barely be finished eating the first, then the little latch at the bottom of the door would open, and in would slide another wyatt er loaf of bread and a measly portion of meat—typically chicken or some sort of beef. Then sometimes what felt like days would pass, where the hunger got so bad Whumpee felt like they would never feel full again before the meal would finally be delivered.
For a while, Whumpee had resorted to camping out right in front of the door, screaming and crying for help whenever the little latch would open, desperate for even a shred of human contact.
The most they had ever received was a quick glimpse at the toe of some stranger’s boot, before they were cut off from the world again.
They longed for the touch of another, to hear a voice other than their own. They could feel themself slowly slipping, the desperation for contact growing and growing until it was eating away at them from the inside.
There was nothing they could do except shiver and huddle a bit further into the corner, waiting.
Just waiting.
