deadly scholars

▬ race to the streetlights

RACE TO THE STREETLIGHTS.
（best viewed dark!）

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synopsis!

seven minutes before the world stops, you’re left at a standstill, on the verge of waiting for something. by the sixth tick of the clock 一 you’re still there, eyes glued to the figure on the surface of the whirring earth; she’s thin, and you don’t think it’s your distance that makes her so little. from where you stand, you see how her body angles slightly to the side, almost as if she was roadless, loveless in her own skin. her fingers are full with silver rings a size too big, rings that your eyes only noticed for they glare when the light catches. and it’s odd, you mused, to see someone so small in the midst of the earth’s fall.

(you think, in your addled mind, that she did not fit.)

and it’s four minutes now before the world stops. you’re still there. she’s still there, too, the shade of her hair so arrestingly black that it almost blends into the night sky seemingly hung behind her figure, almost as if the heavens were an extension of herself. (almost as if she has blanketed the constellations in her psyche alone.) and ah. it’s odd, you mused, to see someone who clearly didn’t fit in this world to be so seamlessly blended in the woes of nature. it made you feel like a liar so lovelorn, thinking that she did not fit, just because you didn’t yourself.

(and now you think, in your mind that’s half gone to waste by the minute the world turns its gear, that you did not know what to think of her now.)

it’s two minutes before the world stops. you’re still there. she’s still there. the streetlights flicker. they dim the moment you see the traces of ink on her fingertips, and you decide 一 as it’s two minutes until the world ends, counting, that it did not matter how much you create stories from things that are barely even there, chasing ghosts of jerusalem 一 that she’s a writer. maybe she does art. maybe she pours out her soul into whatever she does like her hair flows on the backdrop of the sky.

a minute before the world stops, the streetlights flicker a second more, a second once. before you fall and skid to a halt by the last tick of the clock, you glance at the figure — again, for the last time — and ash drops on your whiskey-laden tongue, for she’s already gone by the time the streetlights went out.

(you think now, and wonder,
as you fall, what her name was.)

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

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entp-a. slytherin. chaotic neutral.
taurus. 4w5. she/they.

mainly a writer & a designer. draws occasionally, sings when bored. coca-cola loyalist.

✧ !

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note! … this is a writing challenge for writers, of course, to describe themselves as they would their own ocs! you’re required to type out at least one to two paragraphs and list down a few facts/tidbits. this was arranged by two lovely people, chloe (TDOROKI) and raita (BalladPhoenix)! there’s also a discord server called the writer’s hub, feel free to ask the two of them or any of the members to give you an invite link.

+1 had so much fun w this challenge!! mayhaps my synopsis was,,, too raw,, but yes my brain is fried as always.