Rosaline & Tulpa #3

Tell me,
can true love flee away
like those birds that fly away,
having a ditch from a tree of life
to another?
Tell me,
does giving in
to despondency
signify the fate you're opted for
is
not to be loved?

***

Once the blanket covered up my whole body, I fell asleep in an instant.

Rosaline was now sitting on a bench, somewhere in nowhere. The bench was actually dank but whatever. She kept sitting on it as she was trying to figure out where the dream brought her to this time.

Glimmer of hope to find out where she was never really came after some time--she wasn't so certain how long she'd been in there, it was like only minutes but probably coulod be hours--and therefore she began to amble up to wherever her feet heading to. Trees with bare branches were in her both right and left sides, fogs surrounded all over her, and the light was so dim she only could see something within 10 meters, despite the moonlight. She came to a halt for a second and fidgeted for a little while, shuddering, gasping. It occured to her it was just so bizzare that how cozy it was with the way the wing blew plenty of scattered leaves on the boulevard, with the clouds of obscurity in her mind, and with the emptiness she often felt in spite of the crowded world. A pang of pain pricked through her blood, rushing through each artery in her body. A dog was yelping in a far, far away, out of her sight.

She then continued ambling up, enjoying the odd icy dew on her skin.

That is actually pretty rare that I can be pulled away that easily from the reality to the hazy fuzziness, called dreamland, where Tulpa can never come in. And I am really happy, temporarily happy though, as I have waited for this moment to come for... I don't know, like 10 years? 5 years? Or a year, perhaps? I forget how long I've waited for what I thought was just a vain effort, and I also forget how that even feels.

It occurs to me that I terribly yearn to be dragged to this beautiful unconsciousness. And once I'm in it, I never want to be woken up. Ever since I suffer from this disorder, I barely can sleep. The insomnia always has my mind in tangle like it keeps running, working, over thinking regarding something either real or unreal, I can't really tell, because I have these high imaginations that the average teenagers surely don't have.

Imaginations that made my old friends give me weird look, followed by "what are you talking about, you must be joking since it can't be true" once they heard of it. I remember I laughed my ass off despite the agony, not that it was funny, it was awfully hurting instead. I was afwully hurt. The bitterness I felt was way too much I kept blaming myself for being so stupid telling such a personal privacy to them. Because they considered me as a weirdo afterwards.

Imaginations that made people rant about me being crazy and yap about how that can't possibly happen. I always assume those people just don't get it, I mean how come this impossibly happen when me, the sufferer, the real so-called victim does exist? Me, whom they thought was only another nut, standing and living and inhaling the same oxygen as they do? They only keep compressing each cell in their brain with silly statement that I'm just one with no commonsense, which--of course--isn't true. Or probably is true. Whatever.

And imaginations that made my dad, my own dad, behaves so awkwardly reluctant, distant, cold, and all that to me ever since doctor told him. I was literally aghast in the first month or so once he barely even talked to me. I don't have any siblings, and all I have now is only him. So what can I do? Average teenagers go out of their way to keep bringing up how sweet their dads allegedly are. I believe their stories after all since I also have ever felt them a couple years ago, but it's just no way for now. Oftentimes, I grumble how love can slip away that way, how life can be so unfair, and how everything goes sucks way too much.

Rosaline was now in the middle of the night, where the moon was exactly on top of her. It was downright murky. Her sight was only 10 meters away and yet she kept on wandering.

A wooden building considerably loomed as a haggard one, wedged in a darkening patch of shadow. The grove of trees seemed to be steadily disappearing as--apparently--a shack with a muddy water in front of its door came to her sight. The window, the only window in there, was really dust-frosted. The shack had seemingly not been cleaned up like in ages, and it was gross.

Rosaline knocked the door as though there were any ones living in it. But of course no answer came as a response, and therefore she then opened the door and found an old wooden chair as the only thing left in that shack.

She sat, thought of an absolute nothing, waiting to come down to earth and play another fun game with Tulpa in real life.

This is what I've learned about life: happiness and pain never go hand in hand. --ets281214

Rosaline & Tulpa #1

The girl fidgeted on her feet, then leaned forward and craned her neck out of the window.
The icy wind blew plenty of leaves across the yard, caressing her face. Glimmers of an eerie moonlight shone through the open window, it cast a wavering spectrum of colors both on her face and half of her body. The moonlight was the only light shining that room, no wonder since someone was on the way to come over.
That someone.
She loved darkness as she'd been growing with it since forever.
And she'd been living in it.
Shivering, the girl ground her teeth due to the friggin' icy wind. It was way too cold for spring. The Doomsday ain't probably lurking no more, it was probably about to happen in the next some years instead, as the world going to be fucked up much more and more every year. At least that was what she thought.
She stilled, waiting.
"M-may-y-be this ti-me we're b-better to be-e shone on-ly by-y moon-l-light!" She said more like to herself, 'cause no one was in the room yet, but her.
11:47 pm.
She breathed in and out, breathed in and out, breathed in again until compressing her lungs with the icy air. She reeked of her midnight breath. The night was getting later, but she was still totally awake despite the bloodshots of her eyes were getting worse.
Bummp. Bummp. Bummp.
Krieekk...
Something was coming. She was coming eventually. Each step creaked and groaned under her weight. Tulpa loomed as darker shadow, ambling up to her.
"Rosaline." The way she called the girl was more like whispering.
Rosaline startled, gasping. She finally snapped out of her shock. She then turned her body back, ready to see whatever-her, the Tulpa-behind her. She then glanced at Tulpa who was now right in front of her. Her face devoid of expression.
Tulpa's blond hair was cut long, cascading over her shirt; the same as Rosaline's. She has pale complexion; the same as Rosaline's. Her height was about 5'5 tall and her weight was about 94 pounds; the same as Rosaline's. She was as scraggy as klunk; the same as Rosaline. She has scratchy voice, almond-shaped eyes, a bit square jaw; the same as Rosaline's. Rosaline's voice actually still carried the high pitch of childhood though. And Rosaline's face was flabby and flushed.
"Tulpa!" Rosaline cried, her voice was chipper as though she just had discovered something never been found. "L-let's play-y Tulpa c'm-c'mon!"
Rosaline Matthews, usually called Rose by others, was an 14 year old teenage girl. She'd been suffering from "Skizofrenia Disorganized" and still in the process of recovery, though the theraphies she'd been taking actually hadn't seemed worked at all. The "Skizofrenia Disorganized" caused her to overimagine something and be out of the reality she lived in, be out of the real social life. One the most literal example was having bestfriend which was actually a tulpa.
Suffering from it made Rosaline suffer from insomnia as well. She could barely sleep every night despite her eyes grew bloodshot. Nah, she didn't give a fuck on her bloodshot eyes though. She didn't really give a fuck on anything. Everything in real life was solely adornment in her bluish green eyes. Solely adornment.
The actual misery of being in despair made her eyes bulged, darting back and forth. She was always in sort of daze and every now and then her face became such a porcelain face. She couldn't really express her feelings as though her face muscles once in a blue moon became paralyzed, exactly like someone suffered from "Mobius Syndrome".
Oftentimes, in spite of the beautiful face she had, people disdained her existence and see herself in contempt. Then again, she didn't give a damn instead of being hurt. Tulpa was always by her side and cheered her up (if though she ain't sad like literally) and muttered, "Don't fucking listen to them, Rose. Those saps ain't doing any good. They don't even know what they are doing for fuck's sake. I'll ensure they all are gonna get the freaking impressing reward... hopefully soon. Very soon." Tulpa usually grinned after saying that, then creased in scowl. Rosaline only gawked at her. "Can't wait to play another more thrilling games! Wonder how'll ya feel, sweetie. There'll be bloody red ink... those shanks will be as pale as klunk, writhing in agony, as we're laughing our fucking ass off, Rose."
Rosaline honestly never understood what Tulpa either meant or planned. She got a bit the "red ink" part though. "R-red ink? Is-s it b-bloo-d, Tulpa?"
But she always got nothing of reply.
00:14 am.
Tulpa ambled up to the table, then sat down next to it, motioning to Rosaline to do the same. Rosaline did, felt her eyes widen. Her breathing stopped for a moment. The light was too dim to scan her expression.
"Brr... T-Tulpa, aren't-n't you free-eezing? This-s is so-o cold." Rosaline said.
"Nope, and nah it's not."
"Can-can I clo-se the w-wind-d-ow?"
"Just let it open, you shank, and feel the warmth, will ya."
"But I a-am f-freezi-ing..." Rosaline said.
"Just ignore. Don't give a bloody fuck on how you getting goose bumps. Don't give a bloody fuck on how this be like icy dew on your skin. Ya get me, sweetie? Don't you wanna play games with me huh?"
"I do! I d-do!"
Rosaline shrieked tinnily, her voice was downright chipper as knowing they were going to play very soon. Tulpa leaned against the wall. "Better not to play those fucking freaking dolls again okay, I'm sick of them!"
"O-okay, so wh-at about th-this?" Rosaline showed her car toys.
"Nope."
Rosaline winced her brow, then tried to find another toys. "What ab-bout this?" She showing her books.
"I'm not a nerd for God's sake. Nope."
"Hmm, th-this?"
"I thought I've told you I was sick of dolls, haven't I?!" Tulpa snarled.
"Oh r-right! I for-g-got hahahaha,"
Tulpa rolled her eyes. "Haha. Funny." Then she stood up. "What about another toys that are not here?" She said each words she could into the syllable. "I mean, we can go outside of this bloody room and find another... toys."
Rosaline's expression turned into disappointment. "You d-don't wan-nt to play-y with me-e?"
"Urgh, come on just go with me!" Tulpa jerked Rosaline's sleeve and headed to the kitchen.
"W-what are we-e search-ch-ing for, Tulp-pa?"
"A razor blade. It's in the kitchen, isn't it?"
Rosaline didn't answer. She was too excited to do this new kind of games until she realized what the razor blade was actually for. Her brow wrinkled up and she felt her eyes widen of curiousity. "For wh-what?"
But again, she got nothing of reply.
"Ah! It's ab-about the "r-red ink-k" r-right-t!?"
Tulpa glanced at her, amazed. "Whoa! Never thought that you're actually smart, sweetie."
00:40 am.
They were now in the kitchen, opening every food cupboard, intented on finding the razor blade. No, of course Rosaline never knew where the razor blade was.
They found nothing.
"No razor blade. What about knife? It's more thrilling I swear!" Tulpa suggested and Rosaline nodded as the answer.
Tulpa reached and pulled one of the knives lying on its place, then gave it to Rosaline. Rosaline sneezed, shivering due to the friggin' icy wind. Her teeth rattling.
Out of the blue, the lamp on the kitchen then turned on. Rosaline's eyes moved as the very light shone through the lamp. Her eyes tried to set to it. She turned around, seeing a heavily muscled figure wearing tight shirtsleeves standing about 9 feet away from her.
"Rosaline?"
"Da-ddy!"
Innocently, Rosaline ran to her Dad excitedly with a knive clutched in her right hand. Her Dad just realized it when the knive stabbed his arm, made the blood of his cascaded over his arm and trickled the floor down. The floor was flooded by the blood. The "red ink".
Dad's jaw persisted. He was seemingly both shocked and angry with what just happened a few minutes ago, with what just happened to him.
Tulpa secretly grinned in satisfaction, whispered to herself, "This is how the real game begun, sweetie." before finally she was gone.
No, Rosaline's Dad could never see Tulpa.
Only Rosaline who could. --ets280614