A Dream About A Maze
A Dream About A Maze
Tonight’s the night. It has to be–
I’ve been patient, biding my time, ignoring this urge in the name of an experiment but also because some part of me was hoping it’s all a lie I’ve convinced myself of. That I could break away.. I’ve always known what I am. At first it was easy, and I’d gotten hopeful. The dreams dulled to a myriad of eyes, a cacophony of screams. I got dms, offering to share memories and I politely held my resolve but then the ache began to grow steadily like a raw and aching wound in my chest.
Now that ache has developed into everything I’ve feared the most. This parasocial relationship has become my religion and way of life. So here I am, in another bedroom. In the end it’s no big surprise, I crossed the line a lifetime ago in a reality far from this one. Torturing myself with guilt isn’t enough to hold me back anymore. I want to know the feeling of touching that high again, even if the heart palpitations kill me. I think she understands that when I look at her.
Megan is watching me back, frightened, but I look through her all the same. Her eyes are dark, frantic and searching mine for any humanity. Yet she found none in any of them. This has become a methodical practice, and I was far too desperate to show any delay. I was beyond reasoning, and nothing more than a caged animal. The eyes are the gateway to her soul, and so my fingers stabbed down into the pupil of her eye, and again we meet in this same place that we always do.
Megan Awbrey was lost. I could feel that much, the stirring of dread like dead leaves in the wind reverberated through my chest. I had been in the mall with friends, this was just supposed to be a girl’s outing, not only a week away from my birthday. How had I found myself.. Here? It’s a long stretching room, painted a shade that seemed to be red or orange. The loud and bright coloring was miles away from the crisp white of the mini mall that I had been in only moments ago. The only way out was a vivid lilac door. “Erica..? Dana? Where the fuck are you?!” my voice comes out as the sound of an agitated young woman, in her 20s- 22 to be exact, her life had only just begun. I try to shake off the building anxiety and make a move towards the blue door with a huff, only to find the gap between the door and I pull. I was sure I had moved and yet the door remained the same distance away.
Something is terribly wrong here, I can feel it in the air. Something heavy that sends hot and cold flashes through my body, making my vision dip and swoon, my ears ringing- I am so terribly trapped. I zip open my purse, fishing out an old tube of chapstick. ‘If I really am going nowhere, this chapstick will stay in my line of sight as I’m making a dash for the door,’ I think to myself, dropping it down onto the old, thin carpeted floor and watching it roll slightly into the baseboard of the wall. Megan is congratulating herself for her forward thinking as she takes quick little steps down the ugly ashen hallway, she almost forgets the dire situation she has found herself in, until I look back and see that the chapstick is nowhere to be seen. More direly, I hear footsteps. Fast, quickly closing in footsteps, and so I- Megan, begins to run down the hallway, desperately trying to reach a door she cannot even remember the color of.
She had not gotten this far through nursing school, to ultimately be backrooms-ed to death. She thinks this under a litany of other frantic and half aborted thoughts- because you barely even have time to think, when you’re running for your life in high heels, mind you-
It was about the time that the hallway went awash in a creamy off putting shade of yellow, that I remembered that I am not Megan Awbrey. This thing I’m running from, at the end of the hallway is just a part of my dreams, and therefore a part of me. I slow to a jog and eventually a halt, refusing to look back at what is probably rapidly advancing. I can hear it’s footsteps on the walls, the ceiling–
“May I ask you a few questions? I feel like you have something to tell me.” And the voice is so terribly mine, that it catches me off guard. It is me, so suddenly that I feel off kilter, ripped from a dream. It’s quiet for a minute and then, “You can ask, but you’ll never find answers.”
..
What do you do, when you find yourself interrogating your own memories? Are you truly getting the answers you so desperately crave, or is my own subconscious feeding me my worst fears? Is it all an exercise in vanity?
“I need to know what you are. Please, what is your nature?” I sound frantic to my own ears, and I realize I have disregarded the questionnaire in feverish hope of something making sense. I have no script to rely on now. “I am the gaps in your mind, the fear of chaos. You are living on something concrete, but I am the in between,” The anomaly before me grins wide, drinking in my reaction. I shudder; suddenly this hallway seems so far from the warmth of the sun. Chaos incarnate is one way to look at them, and yet somehow I felt as though they were playing with their answer. “Have you always been force of the impossible coming into reality?” My fingers twitch, the nails clicking against each other in anticipation. At this vague and cryptic question, they cock their head in curiosity.
The question is at the tip of my tongue, ‘Were you always this, or was it something that was inflicted upon you?’ but I think better of it, instead choosing to ask, “Are there others like you?”
“Many! More than you could hope to find in your dreams. So many of them were hapless victims that found themselves taken over by an entity outside of human comprehension. Have you ever watched someone get chewed up in the mouth of fear and swallowed down until there was nothing left of the person you knew before? That is what they are! Victims have been fed to the fears countless times, and it will happen again.”
“Why do they do it though? What do they want?”
“Well, if you were a being that defined yourself off the fear of others for allll of your existence…what would you want, more than anything after being left in silence for as long as we have?”
“They want to be known.” I decided, because that had to be it, right? They wanted to be recognized and seen for the fearful creatures they once were- at least to inspire new fear just as they once had. Could it even be as simple as that? “Is that what you want? To be known?”
“Do I look like I do?”
I suppose not in the traditional sense. This was a being of complete chaos and contradiction, that much was readily apparent to me, and yet I think this entity would not be entertaining my inquiries if they didn't want to at least be recognized for the disorder and breaking of boundaries that they represent. They are a creature of many branching facets that wishes to be studied by inquisitive eyes- maybe I was just the man to bring them that.
“I think you have been left craving for a long time.” I finally settled on. “You would know about cravings, wouldn't you? How many memories have you strangled from people's subconscious?” There's a tone of teasing, light and airy and yet the bitter accusation underneath is digging into me deep. “This is my dream and you don't have power here,” I mutter, trying to focus on something so I could force myself awake. I desperately needed to ground myself.
“Oh don't be so coy, dear Jules. You haven't been perfecting your dream hunting because you want to help others.”
“I'm going to count backwards from 3, and then I'll wake up. Three,”
“All this pride, all this fight… oh, be honest with yourself. Yoouuu liked it~”
When the impossibly long, slender fingers of the entity ran along my chest, I couldn't help but let out a breathless gasp, a tremor running up my spine. It then became apparent to me that no matter how otherworldly I felt and looked in these dreams, there was still a part of me that felt vulnerable and human… and most of all, afraid. They could smell it on me, and I was mad at myself for giving in so easily.
“I'm nothing like you,”
“Oh no? You're not drinking in the fear? My, maybe he was wrong about you after all.”
And suddenly, the fingers stabbed deep into my chest, causing me to leap awake, grabbing at myself. As I work on catching my breath, I know when Megan finally found herself free from that monster, she never found her friends again. A sickening part of me is more focused on the possibilities our conversation has presented, rather than the guilt I should be feeling though.
.. And isn’t that just terrifying?
More Posts from Imitative-magpie and Others
🔪🫀🍳🔥🍔🍽️💁🏻♀️
(I'm sure you can figure out the story I told you in emoji format.)
Anyway, happy Ides of March, Julius
-Leyley 🩷🖤
As a lover of horror, I understand this was a sacrifice that had to be made
Also, at least throw a side dish in there you monster
A Dream About A Kindled Flame
He’s rough, glaring at me with brown eyes that are tawny and sharp. The burns encompass his entire being, his nose crooked and scarred, his neck licked by intricate scarring as he lays there, waiting for me. I won’t bore you with the details- we all know how this goes.
The story really begins in a bar. My name is Jim Navy, and I’m a wanted man. There’s just so many criminals in downtown Chicago, I never stood out, and so I was never caught for my heinous actions. So long as you keep your head down, you can live as a ghost during the day and a monster during the night. I remember when I was young and romanticised this lifestyle, how I thought that it would grant me respect and protection, but these people out here are nothing more but rabid dogs, willing to throw you under the bus for a moment's notice. I found no loyalty in Chicago, but I made sure I always came out on top. Whether it be a crook trying to con me, or a late night lover threatening to go to the cops, I got my last word in. There was nothing more to it than that.
‘Sometimes I still think about her face, after I cut her throat.’ This was the thought in his mind that allowed me to disconnect from him in the dream. As he remembered the woman he killed and mugged, I too could feel her face burning the backs of my eyes. ‘This man is a monster,’ and still he takes a long fluid swig off his beer. He’s haunted by the actions he took that night, is how he tries to ration it with himself, but it doesn’t stop him from sauntering over to the pretty redhead who's been staring him down across the bar since the moment he walked in and making the same mistakes he did that night. She’s so pretty though, you can’t hold him accountable for his actions when the woman looks like that, right? Is what he tells himself, and I find myself wanting to gag.
He is right though, she is beautiful. Long dark red hair that's impossibly straight, and wild amber eyes. She smirks as he takes a seat across from her at her table, and purrs out a simple, “Took you long enough,” and from there, he drunkenly stumbles into the same mistakes. Sharing too much, asking to take her back to his place, telling her all the things he expects will happen should she go home with him, and she’s all smiles in agreement, but since I’m not Jim, I can see the steady calculation in her eyes. This is a trap where the hunter will soon find out he’s prey.
She pushes me against the wall in a passionate kiss, trapping my arms above my head in a pose that leaves all my vital organs open for attack. It’s passionate, and I can feel the heat sweltering around us in the back alley. There’s something chemical fueled in her perfume that’s making me dizzy. It permeates the cool night air along with the heat that exudes off our bodies.
This girl is taking over.
I never got this sort of attention before, not really. It’s rare that attractive women pay me any mind, so my head is still floating when she roughly sinks her hand into the back pocket of Jim, and fishes out his wallet. It’s then that she abruptly pulls away, looking through the mementos of drivers licences he keeps, of all his victims. “What’re you doing, angel face?” He slurs, making a reach for hands. “If you’re smart, you’ll stay the hell back.” The charm has been forgone, and her voice is hot with venom. “How many people have you killed?”
“What the fuck?” His voice is slurred as sweat drips down his temple. The heat comes off of her in waves, like when you first open an oven on a cold winter night. You can see the steam, as she begins to ignite, flames fragmenting off her frame.
“Wait!” She pauses when it’s my voice that comes through, and not Jim’s. This isn’t how the story goes, afterall. Curiously, the fire engulfed entity that now stands before me cocks her head to the side.. Imploring me to continue. “Does your abnormally high body temperature have any any affect on your neurological function? Because I read-” She cuts men off with a stunned cackle, and in the absurdity of the situation, I can’t help but timidly join her laughter. After all, it’s not every day that you find yourself about to be killed by the human torch.
Set me ablaze, she did. It was horrific, the fire crackling and searing away layers of flesh. I desperately grabbed at her, only to find her body the consistency of half melted wax. A cruel and horrible death, but I found myself wishing I hadn’t wasted my question on something so stupid.. I was intrigued by her.
i stalk my mutuals like they are specimen in a lab
damn, still no TMA on the kinsidering list? ;P - steph
Ah, you've noticed I don't have it categorized under complete, revised and/or a possible match. I understand why this might come as a surprise given the high number of source suggestions for this particular media, so maybe this might be a good time to break down my method in categorizing and researching different sources.
In order for me to feel comfortable organizing it under any one group, I try to at the very least get through at least one full watch through, read through, et cetera. From there, I will mark the source as completed, and look over the notes I have taken on what felt familiar to me or stood out.
This is where I revise my notes and go through a second watch through comparing my previous notes with what I have written about my own experiences. Then and only then, will I categorize a source revised, or even possible match. Of course there are outliers to this method. Namely a certain famously long webcomic I had to make a special exemption for this rule.
That being said, The Magnus Archives is still uncategorized in my source list because while I have gotten to know a couple of wonderful fictionkin/fictives from said source, I regret to say that I have not yet viewed the content. I do plan to remedy this however, in short time.
hello hello, i hope you're doing well !! i'm a tim stoker fictionkin who's only kinda ?? recently been kinfirmed, and just so happened to stumble across your blog !! gotta say, love your posts, especially about exploring kin identities since i'm... honestly still a bit new to alot of it (including working out stuff about my own identity) and i'd be very willing to share some experiences regarding anything !! it can be a learning moment for both of us haha xD
I don't have much experience in questioning those who have so recently discovered their fictionkin identities, so I'd be pleased to hear anything regarding your memories or experiences that you're willing to share. Perhaps you could allow me some unique insight on what you remember or your feelings in the discovery of your identity.Also.. I'd like to apologize for the delay in responding back to you, I was on a brief and unexpected hiatus due to health reasons, but I'm back now for the foreseeable future, I genuinely appreciate your patience
Your Earliest Experienced Memories As Alterhuman, Fictionkin, etc!
I have admittedly been bogged down to my work, so I apologize for the silence. I'm married to my job and academic courses first and foremost...
After having so many wonderful conversations with you all, I would like to open a conversation to any and all who see this post. Recall your earliest memory that you experienced. Was it when interacting with something that triggered your memories? Was it when viewing a television program, or reading a chapter from a book in a dark corner of the library? Perhaps it came to you in a dream. However it came to you, I would like to hear all the details that you are willing to provide because you all have such remarkable stories, some that have been left unsaid. You deserve it to yourselves to share your stories, to let yourselves be known.
Does Your Fear Guide You in Your Discovery of Identity?
I find the neurobiological response to fear so incredibly intriguing, especially seeing what things affect individuals versus others. There's such a wide variety to choose from- just search up any old list of phobias on the internet and you'll clearly see that.
It’s fundamental, a deeply wired reaction in our bodies, evolved over the history of life as we know it in order to protect organisms against perceived threat to their integrity of existence.
The amygdala and hippocampus are mostly responsible– the hippocampus processing the perceived threat, and the amygdala givinging that adrenaline rush that we all crave so desperately. This high arousal state can be both from fear or excitement. I don't think it's that much of a leap to suggest that fear and excitement are both connected and therefore can both derive satisfaction.
More importantly, fear can actually help aid your memory. This is of course only to a certain extent, as prolonged distress of high quantities can actually lead to memory loss in self protection, but I would like to theorize for a moment that the reason that so many of those that have contacted me so far, have had memories after viewing the more high tension scenes from their source material is because of the stress neurotransmitter norepinephrine, promoting the formation of fear based memories by stimulating inhibitory neurons in the amygdala while we are so engrossed in the content.
The fear feels familiar because it is. It's been living dormant inside you all along. That being said, I would like to inquire about the most distressing moment for you when viewing your own source material? How did it relate to your identity, and did it lead to memories related to said scene afterwards?
And of course, my dms are always open..
If I may also give a recommendation for sources; the SCP Foundation, and a bunch of its canons, have a ton of 'doomed timeline' stories. I am specifically more versed in the Church of the Broken God and Sarkicism groups of interests, but I would also recommend looking into the O5 Council as what you have described may align more with them.
-@sssssaarn
I apologize for the late reply, I wanted to take a proper amount of time answering this one because truth be told, I had a bit of SCP phase back in the early 2010s, and of course I happened to take a peek into the fandom once again when liminal space aesthetics and ‘The Backrooms’ rose to prominence. I remember back yesteryear, how my peers would all sit around one kid while they played the game and desperately wishing for that kind of kinship, but I digress. There is something that certainly allures me about the SCP fandom as a whole. The aesthetic, but also the anomaly classification system.The idea of bringing order to something so naturally chaotic really intrigues me. All you need to do is just look at one symbol in the classification system and you immediately know what source material you’re interacting with.. Thank you for the recommendation, I certainly will consider it.
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