Cursive calligraphy generator |

“It’s good to be good for when you lose your place in reality” - you think at a theme park for adults called “Fun Etc” and as you lose your place in reality
“I’m good” you say
Pretty much right off the bat (whatever that means) you and a few others get stuck in the Tunnel of Love and have gone around so many times now
You’re the only one in the swan who begins freaking out at like the 50th revelation
Eventually you calm down and commence to wonder about the logistics of how the things around you worked and if there’s a way out
Some graffiti you spot reads:
“The phrase: “I would say” - no king has ever said
I have not today yet until tomorrow it becomes”
I’ve embraced my own weird way to fail that is very successful and fun and totally my own thing
It’s a long sandy lot of a lot of work that’s no fun for anyone but me
And you know
Sometimes you get athletes foot and you can’t even touch your toes but…
She’s a beaut
She’s of a generation that never wrote a check or bothered with cursive and she doesn’t know a thing about romance
The girl with the favorite laugh
The girl with the Swiss Army Knife
The girl that no one knows smokes cloves
The girl of licking Greek fire
And you can forget the word “no” in a moment with her and all you can say is: “yes” in every language
Yes in an echo chamber
Yes in a tunnel of love
Yes but only in theory
I should have said yes dear
I should have said:
“Whatever the lady wants”
For now I can’t carry this face that
wasn’t wronged by the world
but that did wrong by it to you
I want off this ride and me and a few others
Are busting or do you say “breaking” out?
I dispersed all the soil through a hole in my pocket already yesterday
I gently placed my thoughts in a blue bandana and went for it
But alas!
There was no purchase on the ravine wall to be had
Thus I stayed low as the water
Was as the ferns high on whatever they put in my body
Was drunk like a red-ass monkey that gorged on fermented red pears
Some folks buy a car and hope to pass 300,000 miles
But instead when I get one, I think:
“How soon can I get out of this thing?”
By about the 124th revelation I came around and resolved to no longer count
And we went around again and again more
And I laughed knee-slappin’ hard with the others at the same one joke each time around and the jump-scare near the end Golly-gosh gets me like literally E’ry time

As was (maybe) previously stated, Kyanah don't have distinct languages with specific labels, yet this does not mean that they all share a common language. The vernacular tends to differ slightly from city-state to city-state; in the next city-state over, there might only be a few small spelling and pronunciation changes or some differences in handling obscure grammatical edge cases, but as one goes further and further away, the differences quickly accumulate. In most regions of the world, it's possible to understand the language up to a few hundred kilometers away from one's home city-state without dedicated study, but there's no hard-and-fast boundary where one language "ends" and another "begins". For this reason, linguistic aptitude is not a function of how many languages a particular Kyanah knows, but how large of an area they can make themselves understood in. Many of the specific vocabulary and grammatical structures used in Ikun are understood by educated Kyanah in other parts of the world, and tend to be used in settings where packs from many different regions of the world, with few or no linguistic features in common, must communicate, such as science or diplomacy. Due to Ikun's soft power and large-scale internet footprint, this is especially common in Net Zone 1; most but not all online content from this region is at least somewhat understandable to Kyanah from Ikun.
Notably, Kyanah have a syrinx rather than a larynx, meaning that their spoken languages are not pronounceable by humans and they also generally cannot pronounce human languages. Their typical vocalizations tend to sound like a mixture of rapid-fire grunts, hisses and chirps or screeches, which can vary considerably in pitch and cadence--not too dissimilar from how small theropods are believed to have sounded. Various low-pitched bellows and roars appear to be used in the same manner as shouting, being used to be heard across long distances, draw attention, or express anger. Naturally, this has presented considerable difficulties in translating proper nouns. With nothing else to go on, they have been forced to simply do a one-to-one replacement of the characters in their proper nouns with those in the Latin alphabet that most closely resemble them; humans have altered the conversion charts slightly in order to produce more consistently coherent and pronounceable results. Thus, for instance, the label "Kyanah" is simply a human construct and sounds absolutely nothing like what they call their species in their (as in, the soldiers from Ikun city-state) own spoken language. Actual communication between species was initially done through ad hoc gesticulation and amalgamations of human and Kyanah sign languages, which was gradually formalized in the first few years of the invasion, as well as occasionally communicating through writing or drawing when practical. By the end of the war, reliable inter-species machine translation and text-to-speech software would be developed, and in the subsequent years, this would advance to BCI devices that could generate speech in real-time, although not particularly reliable. Interestingly, even Kyanah who have a high base vocabulary of human words seem to struggle significantly with things like modifiers and word ordering, as their own languages tend to handle them in a radically different fashion.
For instance, over 95% of Kyanah writing systems organize words into binary trees rather than linear sentences, with children being semantically related to parents (e.g. subject and object, modifier and modified etc.). Linear scripts, while not unheard of, tend to be rare and associated with more primitive cultures, regardless of whether they're left to right, right to left, or top to bottom. It generally is not particularly important which words are the parent, left child, and right child; the writer chooses in order to optimize the aesthetics of their sentence-trees or place emphasis on a particular word. The nature of the semantic relationship between parents and children in the sentence-trees is denoted not by words comprised of characters, but by special markings called decorators, which in spoken language are expressed using subtle variations in tone, cadence, and volume, while in written language, they take the form of different types of lines between parent and child words. In most languages, decorators are also used for such things as prepositions, conjunctions, and tenses instead of using actual words for such things, resulting in all words referring to specific things or concepts, instead of having glue words that tie together other words or word groups like many human languages do. For instance, "You are eating", "You ate", "You will eat", "Are you eating?", and "Eat" (as an imperative command) all use the exact same words, with the difference lying in the decorators (or the tone/cadence/volume variations if spoken). It gets wilder, in Ikun, "Are the nyrud or the tyukrud in the field?" and "The nyrud and the tyukrud are out of the field." also use the exact same words. It's thus possible, in some cases, to meaningfully answer a question, especially a yes-no question, by simply repeating it back! (Albeit with variations in how the words are said, and with the caveat that simply "False" would be a much more succinct and natural response in this context.) For obvious reasons, decorators are dreaded by any humans attempting to learn Kyanah writing, and explain why Kyanah have an odd tendency to drop glue words and struggle with tenses when using human writing systems. In general, having a syrinx instead of a less complicated larynx allows them to make their vocalizations more compact by expressing a broader range of sounds, making the use of decorators instead of full words to save time a practical option.
Pronouns are another key difference; Kyanah have a whole set between singular and plural pronouns that they use to refer to packs, leaving human translators to awkwardly bounce between them when trying to translate these pronouns. Pack pronouns are a cultural universal for Kyanah; every single known language has them. It is customary to use pack pronouns when speaking to or about a member of another pack, even when only referring to that specific individual; using singular pronouns is usually a faux pas as it implies a higher-than-accurate degree of familiarity and intimacy, similar to a human walking up to a stranger and calling their spouse babe; or in the case of first-person singular, implies that the speaker is in some way deviating from their pack, if they have one. "I like nyrud steaks", when said to someone outside the speaker's pack, would for example strongly imply that the speaker's packmates in fact dislike nyrud steaks, and the speaker is the only one who likes them; saying it to another packmate however would have the connotation that humans would expect. The natural human tendency is to refer to packs using the plural pronouns, as they do in fact consist of multiple distinct individuals, but Kyanah would interpret this as referring to some vague, unspecified group, rather than their own pack. Additionally, as packs are atomic units in Kyanah society, occupying a single role and a single occupation, and being treated as one entity by their legal system, using plurals can create awkward statements in human languages and some meaning can be lost in translation.
Because the Kyanah use sentence-trees rather than linear sentences, languages aren't categorized into subject-verb-object, object-verb-subject, etc. but rather but the method in which the trees are traversed. Around 50% of the homeworld's population uses in-order traversal (left-child parent right-child), while 30%, including Ikun city-state, use pre-order traversal (parent left-child right-child) and the remaining 20% use post-order traversal (left-child right-child parent). To preserve the binary tree structure and prevent sentence-trees from exploding in size when dealing with many subjects/objects/etc. at once, lists of words with the same role in the sentence are placed into containers so as to occupy a single node. Kyanah sentence-trees can go on indefinitely as long as they are focusing on a singular subject; if the primary subject changes, a new sentence-tree must be started. Traditional Kyanah writing involves ornate sentence-trees shaped into aesthetically pleasing or meaningful shapes and sentence-trees are arranged on the page in a visually significant way; this sort of writing is roughly analogous to human calligraphy. Such niceties are typically ignored when typing on computers, in the name of efficiency and ease of programming. Instead, sentence-trees are automatically configured into rigid, standardized shapes and arranged on the page in such a way as to minimize wasted space, while still allowing for the creation of multiple threads. Naturally, traditional-minded Kyanah have been complaining about this since the invention of the computer, saying that it strips away subtle meaning and emotion from the text. However, the desire for efficiency has generally overruled such concerns in mainstream society.
Sentence-trees can be placed anywhere on the page, rather than following a particular order, though there is usually a clearly defined starting and ending point to a sequence; when the next tree in the sequence is not obvious from the position and orientation of the previous one, there is usually some arrow or other marker to point the path. Written works usually contain multiple sequences, each of which will take its own individual path around the page, and each of which is (at least primarily) written by a particular pack member. For this reason, written works are generally meant to be read by a pack collectively, with each member following one thread and later switching threads or explaining relevant aspects to each other if needed. Written works can be read by a single individual, but this requires the reader to frequently context switch between disparate threads that may only be loosely related to each other at times. Single threaded works do exist, but they are considered a separate form of art from mainstream, multi-threaded Kyanah literature. Multi-threaded literature is a direct descendent of story-threads, an ancient Kyanah art form and pastime that likely predates recorded history by a long shot, where members of a pack will take turns speaking sentences to collaboratively build a story. Good ones are sometimes written down and published, allowing other packs to enjoy them (sometimes even hundreds or thousands of years later), with each member of a pack choosing a thread and taking turns reading aloud their part of the story-thread and reenacting it. Interestingly, it is not just literature that is written this way; even textbooks, manuals, and research papers are all written in the same multi-threaded manner, and are likewise designed to be read by an entire pack.
There are plenty of distinct quirks between the different linguistic practices (using the term "language" may be a misnomer as linguistic practices tend to be continuous instead of being divided into discrete languages) in different parts of the world. Other than sentence-tree traversal, some of the most important differences center around the structure of words themselves. In most northern hemisphere scripts, characters represent sounds and have no intrinsic meaning on their own, while words are created by chaining these characters together based on the chronological order that they are pronounced. In southern hemisphere scripts, characters usually represent a few hundred basic objects and concepts and words are created by combining them, either in a linear chain or a graph-like structure, and the graphs tend to have their own unique algorithms for traversing them when reading or speaking, making such linguistic practices among the hardest to learn. For instance, in Kanenhah, "nuke" can be written (or spoken) by combining the characters for "made" (as in, made by Kyanah, not natural), "sun", and "egg" into a graph where the first two connect to the third, while in Koranah, the same word created by linearly chaining characters for "place" and "destroy" plus decorators to make the literal meaning "place destroyer" (which are written and pronounced somewhat differently from Kanenhah's characters for "place" and "destroy"). As an aside--the explanation for why there are so many broad and sweeping changes in language style and culture in general between the northern and southern hemispheres (a divide similar in many ways to the Western and Eastern worlds on Earth) is that impact ranges tend to cluster around the equator, which historically made travel between hemispheres much more difficult than travel within hemispheres. (I totally thought that through ahead of time, and didn't just make it up to retroactively justify the north-south divide.)

YŪREI CHRONICLES [ 幽霊クロニクルズ ]
Tales of Japanese Horror [ 日本のホラーの物語 ]
By: Seph Cruz [ 投稿者: セフ・クルーズ ]
CONTENTS [ コンテンツ ]
Preface [ はじめに ]
Chapter 1: The Cursed Scroll [ 第 1 章: 呪われた巻物 ]
Chapter 2: The Shrine in the Shadows [ 第 2 章: 影の神殿 ]
Chapter 3: The Haunting of the Geisha [ 第 3 章: 芸者の幽霊 ]
Chapter 4: The Onryo's Revenge [ 第 4 章: 怨霊の復讐 ]
Chapter 5: The Dollmaker's Curse [ 第 5 章: 人形師の呪い ]
Chapter 6: The Shadow in the Forest [ 第 6 章: 森の影 ] Chapter 7: The Haunting of the Yūrei Inn [ 第 7 章: 幽霊旅館の幽霊 ]
Chapter 8: The Curse of the Haunted Kimono [ 第 8 章: 幽霊着物の呪い ]
Chapter 9: The Mirror's Malevolence [ 第 9 章: 鏡の悪意 ]
Chapter 10: The Bridge to the Beyond [ 第 10 章: 彼方への架け橋 ]

 "Yūrei Chronicles: Tales of Japanese Horror"

Chapter 1: "The Cursed Scroll"
In the heart of Kyoto, where history whispered through the ancient streets, there existed an antique bookstore known only to those who sought the rarest of tomes. Nestled among centuries-old texts and dusty manuscripts, a forbidden scroll lay hidden, waiting for an unwitting soul to stumble upon its chilling secrets.
Chapter 1: "The Cursed Scroll"
The quaint, dimly lit bookstore was a treasure trove of the past. Intricate calligraphy adorned scrolls, while faded ink whispered stories of long-forgotten samurai and mystical creatures. Among these relics of history, one scroll remained elusive, concealed behind a glass case. Its dark, ornate cover bore no title, and its presence seemed to beckon.
Haruki, a young scholar with a fascination for the occult, visited the bookstore one rainy afternoon. His curiosity led him to inquire about the enigmatic scroll. The elderly shopkeeper, Mr. Tanaka, peered at him with a knowing look, cautioning him about the scroll's malevolent reputation.
"Many have sought to uncover its secrets," Mr. Tanaka said, his voice trembling with age, "but few have lived to tell the tale."
Haruki, undeterred by the ominous warning, insisted on examining the scroll. Mr. Tanaka, sensing the scholar's determination, reluctantly unlocked the glass case. As Haruki unrolled the ancient parchment, he saw that it was filled with intricate symbols and incantations, written in a language he could barely comprehend.
For days, Haruki delved into the scroll's mysteries. His sleepless nights were filled with whispers from unseen forces, and chilling drafts seemed to haunt his small apartment. Yet, he pressed on, believing that the scroll held untold knowledge and power.
One fateful night, as a full moon cast eerie shadows across his cluttered study, Haruki recited an incantation from the scroll. The room grew icy cold, and an otherworldly presence enveloped him. A mournful wail echoed through the room, and Haruki's heart raced as he beheld the apparition before him.
A yūrei, its long, disheveled hair obscuring its gaunt face, hovered in the air, its eyes filled with anguish and rage. It reached out bony, pale fingers toward Haruki, its spectral form translucent yet undeniably real.
In that moment, Haruki realized the scroll's true nature – a curse that summoned vengeful spirits to torment the living. He had unwittingly invited the yūrei into his world, and now, it sought retribution for its suffering.
The scholar's life turned into a nightmare as the vengeful spirit haunted his every waking moment. His research became an obsession to find a way to pacify the yūrei and lift the curse. With each passing day, Haruki's health deteriorated, his body and mind succumbing to the relentless torment.
Desperate, he sought the guidance of a renowned exorcist, who revealed a grim truth. The only way to break the curse was to discover the scroll's origins and offer the yūrei the peace it so desperately sought.
As Haruki ventured deeper into the scroll's history, he uncovered a tale of betrayal and tragedy that spanned centuries. With newfound knowledge and a heavy heart, he prepared to confront the vengeful yūrei and set things right.
In a chilling confrontation between the living and the dead, Haruki faced the spirit, offering it the closure it craved. As the yūrei dissipated into the ether, its mournful wail echoed one last time, fading into the night.
Haruki emerged from the ordeal forever changed, carrying the weight of the scroll's curse as a cautionary tale. The forbidden knowledge he had sought had come at a great cost, a reminder that some mysteries should remain hidden, and some curses should never be invoked.
As the sun rose over Kyoto, the antique bookstore remained shrouded in an eerie silence, and the cursed scroll returned to its cryptic slumber, waiting for the next unwitting soul to unlock its dreadful secrets.
End of Chapter 1: "The Cursed Scroll"
Chapter 2: "The Shrine in the Shadows"
In the heart of a tranquil Japanese village, nestled among ancient forests, stood a centuries-old Shinto shrine, known to few but revered by all. This sacred place held an eerie secret, hidden in the shadows of its past.
Chapter 2: "The Shrine in the Shadows"
The village of Mizuki was picturesque, surrounded by dense woods and the whispers of rustling leaves. Its most treasured gem was the Shōrin Shrine, a sanctuary dedicated to the worship of the kami, where the villagers paid homage with heartfelt prayers and offerings.
On a bright spring morning, the Hayashi family moved into a charming house near the shrine. Yuko, a spirited young girl with inquisitive eyes, was enchanted by the quaint beauty of Mizuki and the mystique of the Shōrin Shrine. Her parents, Masato and Yuki, hoped the peaceful village would offer respite from the bustling city.
Their first evening in Mizuki was serene, and the family felt blessed to live in such an idyllic place. As night descended, they heard a faint melody echoing through the forest—a haunting tune played on a traditional shamisen. Yuko, drawn by curiosity, followed the eerie melody to the shrine.
At the shrine's entrance, she saw a flicker of movement among the trees and bushes. As her eyes adjusted to the dim moonlight, she gasped in awe and terror. There, bathed in an ethereal glow, stood a beautiful woman dressed in a white kimono, her long hair cascading like an ebony waterfall.
The woman's face bore an expression of immense sorrow, and her eyes seemed to pierce Yuko's very soul. In her delicate, spectral hands, she held a shamisen, its strings plucked by fingers that had long since turned to mist.
"Who are you?" Yuko asked, her voice quivering.
The apparition gazed at Yuko with an inscrutable sadness and whispered, "My name is Hana. I have been bound to this shrine for centuries, waiting for someone to hear my song."
Hana's story unraveled like a tragic tapestry before Yuko. She had once been a young woman in love with a humble fisherman from Mizuki. Their love was forbidden, and when their secret was discovered, they met a tragic end at the hands of the villagers.
As she spoke, the melody of her shamisen became more mournful, and the trees seemed to weep in sympathy. Hana's spirit, bound to the shrine, could only find solace by sharing her story with the living.
Yuko, moved by Hana's tale, felt a deep connection to the ghostly figure. She promised to help Hana find peace and bring her story to light. Together, they would uncover the truth behind the tragic love story that had ensnared the shrine for centuries.
As Yuko delved into the village's history, she uncovered hidden documents and ancient scrolls that confirmed Hana's story. The injustice done to Hana and her beloved was a blot on the village's past, a truth that had been concealed for generations.
With newfound determination, Yuko rallied the villagers to acknowledge the village's dark history and to seek forgiveness for the sins of the past. In a moving ceremony at the Shōrin Shrine, the villagers offered their prayers, and Hana's spirit was finally set free.
As the first rays of dawn bathed Mizuki in golden light, Hana's ethereal form dissolved into a wisp of gratitude and serenity. The shrine, once shadowed by sorrow, now radiated with newfound peace.
"The Shrine in the Shadows" became a tale passed down through generations, a reminder that love and forgiveness could transcend even the darkest of curses. Mizuki continued to flourish, its shrine standing as a testament to the enduring power of redemption.
End of Chapter 2: "The Shrine in the Shadows"
Chapter 3: "The Haunting of the Geisha"
In the vibrant streets of 19th-century Tokyo, beneath the shimmering lanterns and behind the delicate allure of geisha, a haunting presence lurked—a presence that would forever change the life of a celebrated geisha named Kaede.
Chapter 3: "The Haunting of the Geisha"
In the heart of Tokyo's historic Yoshiwara district, Kaede was renowned as one of the most captivating and skilled geisha. Her beauty was ethereal, her dances mesmerizing, and her laughter like the tinkling of wind chimes. But beneath her porcelain makeup and the grace of her performances lay a heart heavy with secrets.
One cool autumn evening, as the lanterns cast their warm glow on the district, a newcomer arrived at the teahouse where Kaede performed. His name was Kaito, a handsome and enigmatic man with piercing eyes that seemed to see beyond the facade of the geisha. Kaede's heart quickened as their eyes met, and she felt a connection she had never experienced before.
As weeks turned into months, Kaede and Kaito's bond deepened, their love blossoming like the cherry blossoms in spring. But their love was a forbidden one, as Kaito was a samurai, and their worlds were as different as night and day.
One fateful night, Kaito revealed a dangerous secret to Kaede—he was involved in a plot against a powerful daimyo who ruled with cruelty and oppression. Kaito believed that by exposing the daimyo's corruption, he could bring justice to the people. He asked for Kaede's assistance in gathering information from the teahouse's influential patrons.
Reluctantly, Kaede agreed, and together, they embarked on a treacherous path filled with deceit and danger. As the days passed, they uncovered dark secrets that could expose the daimyo's crimes. However, their actions did not go unnoticed.
One evening, as Kaede performed for a gathering of influential men, a sinister figure appeared in the shadows. It was the vengeful spirit of a geisha named Akiko, who had perished in Yoshiwara under tragic circumstances. Her ghostly form was veiled in a blood-red kimono, and her eyes burned with malevolence.
Akiko's haunting began subtly—a chill in the air, whispers of despair, and a feeling of dread that hung over the teahouse like a shroud. Kaede, sensing the supernatural presence, knew that they had awakened a vengeful spirit.
Desperate to protect Kaede, Kaito sought the guidance of a local exorcist, who revealed the tragic story of Akiko. She had been a geisha in love with a samurai, but their forbidden love had led to betrayal and death. Her restless spirit sought vengeance on those who dared to love across societal boundaries.
With the exorcist's help, Kaito and Kaede embarked on a perilous journey to confront Akiko's spirit and offer her the peace she so desperately sought. In a climactic showdown, they faced the vengeful geisha, revealing the truth behind her betrayal and death.
As the first light of dawn bathed the Yoshiwara district, Akiko's spirit dissipated, her eyes filled with sorrow and resignation. The curse she had cast upon the teahouse lifted, and peace returned to the district.
Kaede and Kaito's love story continued, forever marked by the supernatural forces they had encountered. The teahouse thrived once more, its lanterns casting their warm glow over the enchanting district, where love knew no boundaries and forgiveness transcended even death.
"The Haunting of the Geisha" became a legend whispered among geisha in Yoshiwara, a testament to the enduring power of love and the consequences of forbidden desires in the mysterious world of Edo-era Tokyo.
End of Chapter 3: "The Haunting of the Geisha"
Chapter 4: "The Onryo's Revenge"
In the heart of a decaying city, where abandoned buildings stood as silent witnesses to forgotten tragedies, a group of urban explorers would stumble upon a place where the restless dead held their sinister dominion.
Chapter 4: "The Onryo's Revenge"
The city of Kurayami had fallen into disrepair, its once-thriving industries crumbling, and its streets echoing with the memories of better days. Among its many derelict structures was the forsaken Kurayami Hospital, a place whispered about only in fearful tales.
Rumors spoke of a curse that had befallen the hospital after a gruesome series of medical experiments in the early 20th century. Patients had been subjected to horrific procedures, and their agonized cries still seemed to reverberate through the corridors.
A group of urban explorers, lured by the thrill of the forbidden and the allure of the macabre, set their sights on Kurayami Hospital. Among them was Hiroshi, the group's leader, and Yumi, a budding photographer with an affinity for capturing the eerie beauty of abandoned places.
As the explorers entered the hospital's crumbling entrance, they were greeted by the musty scent of decay and the eerie silence of long-abandoned hallways. Shadows danced in the dim light as they ventured deeper into the forsaken building, their footsteps echoing like distant whispers.
The group's excitement turned to unease as they encountered signs of the hospital's dark past—rusty surgical instruments, bloodstained gurneys, and cryptic medical notes. Yumi's camera captured it all, each photograph revealing more about the hospital's gruesome history.
As night fell, the explorers gathered in the hospital's decrepit lobby, their flashlights casting trembling beams into the darkness. It was then that they heard it—a faint, mournful wail, like the keening of a soul in torment.
Hiroshi, the group's fearless leader, brushed off their concerns, attributing the sound to the wind or their imagination. But the cries grew louder and more anguished, echoing through the halls.
The group became separated as they navigated the labyrinthine corridors. Yumi, camera in hand, wandered into the hospital's disused psychiatric ward. There, in a shadowed corner, she saw her camera's flash reveal a horrifying apparition—an onryo, a vengeful spirit with long, disheveled hair and eyes filled with hatred.
The onryo's spectral form contorted with rage as it approached Yumi. Its icy fingers reached out, and she felt an otherworldly coldness pierce her very soul. She knew that this was the spirit of a patient who had suffered unimaginable horrors in the hospital.
As Yumi's companions searched for her, they stumbled upon the onryo's lair and witnessed the terrifying encounter. In a desperate bid to save Yumi, they searched for a way to pacify the vengeful spirit.
Through a combination of research and communication with a local historian, they learned the full extent of the hospital's atrocities. Armed with this knowledge, they returned to the onryo's domain to confront the spirit and offer it the peace it had been denied for so long.
In a climactic showdown, the group faced the onryo, revealing the hospital's dark secrets and acknowledging the suffering of the tormented souls within. With profound remorse, they begged for forgiveness on behalf of those who had perpetrated the atrocities.
As the first rays of dawn broke over Kurayami, the onryo's anguished wails transformed into a mournful sigh. The spirit, its wrath finally quelled, dissipated into the ether, leaving behind a sense of profound sadness and closure.
The group of urban explorers emerged from Kurayami Hospital, forever changed by their encounter with the supernatural. They had confronted the past and offered redemption to the restless dead, leaving the decaying city with a newfound sense of hope.
"The Onryo's Revenge" became a cautionary tale among urban explorers, a reminder that some places are best left undisturbed, and that the past, no matter how dark, can be confronted and reconciled.
End of Chapter 4: "The Onryo's Revenge"
Chapter 5: "The Dollmaker's Curse"
In a remote mountain village, nestled among mist-shrouded peaks, a master dollmaker crafted exquisite creations that captured the hearts of collectors worldwide. Yet, within her secluded workshop, a malevolent force lurked—one that would ensnare a curious journalist in a nightmarish world of living dolls and dark secrets.
Chapter 5: "The Dollmaker's Curse"
Hidden away in the secluded village of Ichiban, known only to those who ventured deep into the mountains, lived a master dollmaker named Ai. Her dolls were celebrated for their lifelike beauty and craftsmanship, with collectors from distant lands coveting her creations.
One brisk autumn morning, a journalist named Keiko received a cryptic letter from a source in Ichiban, hinting at a sinister mystery surrounding Ai's dolls. Intrigued by the enigmatic message, Keiko embarked on a journey to the remote village, determined to uncover the truth.
Ichiban was a place untouched by time, its cobblestone streets winding through dense forests and past centuries-old homes. The village exuded an eerie tranquility, and the locals spoke in hushed tones about Ai's dolls, rumored to be infused with a piece of the human soul.
Upon reaching Ai's workshop, Keiko was greeted by the dollmaker herself, a woman of grace and poise. The workshop was a treasure trove of exquisite dolls, their eyes seeming to follow Keiko's every move. Among them, a particular doll known as Hikari stood out—a hauntingly beautiful creation with ebony hair and obsidian eyes.
As Keiko delved deeper into the village's mysteries, she discovered that Hikari was believed to house the soul of a deceased child, a belief held by both Ai and the villagers. The doll's unsettling presence and the uncanny resemblance it bore to a girl named Mei, who had died tragically years ago, sent shivers down Keiko's spine.
Keiko's nights in Ichiban were filled with restless dreams of porcelain dolls that came to life. In these dreams, Hikari beckoned her to uncover the truth behind the dollmaker's creations. Guided by an inexplicable compulsion, Keiko embarked on a quest to unearth the dark secrets hidden within Ai's workshop.
As Keiko investigated further, she uncovered Ai's own tragic past—a story of unrequited love, loss, and a desperate desire to capture the essence of the human soul in her dolls. With each revelation, the line between the living and the lifeless blurred, and Keiko felt herself becoming entangled in a nightmarish world.
The dolls that had once been works of art now seemed to harbor malevolence. They moved of their own accord, their eyes filled with an eerie, lifelike intensity. Keiko realized that Ai's obsession had bound her to a sinister force, and her creations hungered for more than just existence.
In a chilling climax, Keiko confronted Ai and the curse that had gripped her creations. Together, they sought to break the curse's hold and release the trapped souls within the dolls.
As the moon hung low in the night sky, Ai performed a solemn ritual, guided by the spirit of Mei, whose essence had been captured in Hikari. The dolls, imbued with a restless energy, gathered around, their haunting eyes watching as the curse was lifted.
With a mournful sigh, the dolls' porcelain features softened, and their malevolence dissipated. The spirit of Mei was set free, and the dolls became lifeless once more, their beauty preserved in eternal stillness.
Ichiban returned to its peaceful slumber, and Keiko departed with a newfound appreciation for the power of art and the depths of human longing. The village's haunting tale of the dollmaker's curse served as a reminder that some obsessions could lead to the creation of something far more sinister than art itself.
End of Chapter 5: "The Dollmaker's Curse"
Chapter 6: "The Shadow in the Forest"
In a land steeped in history and tradition, the Aokigahara Forest, known as the "Suicide Forest," concealed a dark secret. Within its dense, ancient foliage, a group of hikers would embark on a journey that would lead them into the heart of a malevolent force.
Chapter 6: "The Shadow in the Forest"
Deep within the prefecture of Yamanashi, shrouded in a perpetual mist, lay the infamous Aokigahara Forest—an expanse of ancient woodland that held a dark reputation. Known as the "Suicide Forest," it had been a site of countless tragic deaths throughout the centuries.
A group of adventurous hikers, seeking to conquer the wilderness and challenge the forest's ominous legends, gathered on a chilly autumn morning. Among them was Akira, an experienced guide with a deep respect for the forest's history, and Yumi, a young woman in search of adventure and solace from her own troubled past.
The hikers ventured deep into the forest, their footsteps muffled by the thick blanket of moss and fallen leaves. The dense canopy above cast eerie shadows, and the trees seemed to whisper secrets of sorrow and despair.
As they trekked further into the woods, they began to notice strange occurrences—a disconcerting sense of being watched, distant whispers on the wind, and ghostly apparitions that flickered at the edge of their vision. Akira, the guide, attributed these phenomena to the forest's ominous reputation and urged the group to press on.
Yet, the forest's grip on their minds and senses tightened. Yumi, in particular, felt a strange connection to the haunting forces that seemed to lurk behind every tree. Inexplicable visions of tragedy and despair flashed before her eyes, and a sense of overwhelming dread enveloped her.
Night descended on the forest, and the hikers set up camp, their flickering campfire offering the only semblance of comfort in the oppressive darkness. It was then that Yumi encountered a spectral figure—a yūrei, her kimono tattered and her eyes empty voids.
The yūrei beckoned to Yumi, her voice a mournful echo. Unable to resist, Yumi followed the apparition into the depths of the forest, her companions unaware of her disappearance. The yūrei led her to a clearing where an ancient tree stood, its gnarled roots forming a grotesque face.
As Yumi approached the tree, she felt a malevolent presence—an ancient spirit of the forest itself. It spoke to her, revealing the tragic history of Aokigahara—the place where those who had lost hope sought refuge in death.
Yumi learned of the forest's vengeful guardian, a yūrei born of countless lost souls, whose suffering fueled its malevolence. It was the embodiment of the forest's sorrow, forever bound to torment those who ventured within.
Realizing that Yumi was now connected to the yūrei, her companions embarked on a desperate search to rescue her from the forest's clutches. With the guidance of Akira's knowledge and determination, they confronted the vengeful spirit, revealing the pain of their own pasts and the impact of their actions on the world around them.
As the first rays of dawn bathed Aokigahara in a pale light, the yūrei's malevolence waned, and its grip on Yumi loosened. With a final sigh, it dissipated into the morning mist, its haunting presence released from the forest.
Yumi was reunited with her companions, forever changed by her encounter with the malevolent spirit of Aokigahara. The forest's ominous reputation remained, a reminder of the darkness that could consume those who dared to venture too close to its heart.
"The Shadow in the Forest" served as a chilling testament to the mysteries of Aokigahara, where the past and the present intertwined, and the boundaries between life and death blurred beneath the ancient canopy.
End of Chapter 6: "The Shadow in the Forest"
Chapter 7: "The Haunting of the Yurei Inn"
In a remote village nestled among mist-covered mountains, a centuries-old inn held a sinister secret. When a weary traveler seeks refuge within its ancient walls, she becomes entangled in a web of supernatural mysteries that threaten to consume her soul.
Chapter 7: "The Haunting of the Yurei Inn"
The village of Okuyama was a hidden gem, nestled among towering peaks and blanketed in mist. Within this secluded haven stood the Yurei Inn, a centuries-old establishment steeped in history and whispered legends. Its age-old charm masked a sinister truth—a haunting presence that had plagued the inn for generations.
Amidst a dense fog, a lone traveler named Rei arrived in Okuyama, weary and seeking shelter from the elements. The Yurei Inn, with its rustic charm and flickering lanterns, seemed like the perfect refuge. Little did Rei know that her stay at the inn would unravel the mysteries hidden within its ancient walls.
Upon her arrival, Rei was greeted by the inn's elderly proprietress, Eiko, a woman whose weathered features and deep knowledge of the village's history hinted at a deeper connection to the inn's haunting past.
As Rei settled into her room, the oppressive atmosphere within the inn became palpable. Shadows seemed to dance in the corners of her vision, and strange, ghostly whispers echoed in the corridors. Unbeknownst to her, Rei had become a pawn in a centuries-old battle between the inn and the vengeful spirits that resided within.
In the dead of night, Rei awoke to a chilling presence at her bedside—an ethereal yurei, her white burial kimono flowing like a spectral river. The vengeful spirit's eyes held an insatiable hunger, and she reached out to Rei, her fingers icy and skeletal.
Rei's nights became torment as she encountered more yurei within the inn, each with their own tragic stories of betrayal, injustice, and unfulfilled desires. The spirits sought vengeance, and Rei's presence within the inn had awakened their malevolence.
Desperate to uncover the inn's secrets and free herself from the spirits' relentless pursuit, Rei sought the guidance of Eiko. The elderly proprietress revealed the tragic history of the inn—an establishment built on the suffering of countless souls who had met their demise within its walls.
Eiko's own family had been entangled in the inn's dark legacy, and she bore the weight of their deeds. Together, Rei and Eiko embarked on a journey to confront the yurei and offer them redemption, hoping to break the cycle of suffering that had plagued the inn for centuries.
In a harrowing confrontation with the vengeful spirits, Rei and Eiko unveiled the truth behind the inn's cursed history and acknowledged the pain of the souls that had been wronged. With heartfelt apologies and rituals of atonement, they sought to release the spirits from their torment.
As the first rays of dawn bathed Okuyama in a golden light, the yurei's spectral forms dissolved into the ether, their eyes filled with a mix of sorrow and gratitude. The Yurei Inn, once a place of darkness, now held the promise of redemption.
Rei departed from Okuyama, forever marked by her encounter with the supernatural. The Yurei Inn, now cleansed of its malevolent spirits, stood as a testament to the power of reconciliation and the hope of breaking the chains of the past.
"The Haunting of the Yurei Inn" became a cautionary tale among villagers, a reminder that the sins of the past could be confronted and forgiven, even in the face of vengeful spirits.
End of Chapter 7: "The Haunting of the Yurei Inn"
Chapter 8: "The Curse of the Haunted Kimono"
In the heart of Kyoto, where tradition and modernity intertwined, a family heirloom, an ancient kimono, carried a chilling curse that had plagued generations. A woman must delve into her family's history to uncover the origins of the curse and find a way to break it before it consumes her and her loved ones.
Chapter 8: "The Curse of the Haunted Kimono"
Kyoto, the city of a thousand temples, was a place where time seemed to stand still. Among the historic districts, the Nakamura family had passed down a treasured heirloom for generations—an exquisite silk kimono adorned with intricate embroidery, a relic of a bygone era.
The kimono had always been a source of fascination and reverence within the Nakamura family. It was said to be imbued with mystical powers, protecting its wearer from harm and misfortune. But beneath its ornate beauty lay a dark secret—a curse that had haunted the family for centuries.
Emi, the youngest of the Nakamura family, had grown up hearing stories of the kimono's mystical properties and the curse that clung to it. When her grandmother passed away, leaving the kimono in her care, Emi became the latest custodian of this fabled garment.
As the years passed, strange occurrences began to plague Emi and her family. The kimono seemed to have a malevolent presence, causing nightmares, unexplained accidents, and a growing sense of dread. Emi's husband, Toshiro, and their young daughter, Yuki, bore the brunt of the curse's effects.
Desperate to protect her loved ones, Emi embarked on a quest to uncover the origins of the curse and find a way to break it. She delved into her family's history, poring over ancient scrolls and consulting with local priests and scholars.
Through her research, Emi learned of a tragic love story that had been concealed for generations—a forbidden romance between a Nakamura ancestor and a woman from a rival clan. The lovers had been torn apart by a vengeful spirit, and their love had been sealed within the cursed kimono.
With newfound determination, Emi sought out the help of a renowned exorcist, who revealed that the curse could only be broken by reconciling the spirits of the star-crossed lovers and offering them a chance at eternal peace.
Emi, Toshiro, and Yuki embarked on a journey to the ancestral shrine of the Nakamura family, where they conducted a solemn ritual to appease the vengeful spirits. As they offered their prayers and made heartfelt apologies on behalf of their ancestors, a profound sense of forgiveness washed over them.
In a climactic moment, the cursed kimono transformed, its once malevolent aura dissipating into the ether. The spirits of the star-crossed lovers, now free from their torment, appeared before Emi and her family, their eyes filled with gratitude.
As the cherry blossoms rained down upon Kyoto, Emi, Toshiro, and Yuki returned home with a newfound sense of peace and closure. The kimono, no longer cursed, became a symbol of their family's resilience and the enduring power of love and forgiveness.
"The Curse of the Haunted Kimono" served as a reminder that the sins of the past could be atoned for and that the bonds of love and family could transcend even the darkest of curses.
End of Chapter 8: "The Curse of the Haunted Kimono"
Chapter 9: "The Mirror's Malevolence"
In a quiet suburban neighborhood, an antique mirror with a sinister past found its way into the home of a young couple. As they unwittingly unleashed the malevolent spirit trapped within, they must confront the mirror's dark history to save themselves and their family.
Chapter 9: "The Mirror's Malevolence"
In a serene suburban neighborhood, where cherry blossoms bloomed with each passing spring, lived a young couple, Hiroshi and Aiko, who were enamored with the charm of their new home. They had recently moved into a quaint, old-fashioned house that came with a peculiar antique mirror.
The mirror was ornate and beautiful, its frame adorned with delicate carvings of cherry blossoms. It had been left behind by the previous owner, a recluse who had passed away under mysterious circumstances. Little did Hiroshi and Aiko know that this mirror carried a malevolent secret.
As they settled into their new home, strange occurrences began to unfold. Reflections in the mirror seemed to distort, showing glimpses of eerie, shadowy figures lurking in the background. At night, whispers filled the room as if unseen voices murmured from within the glass.
Aiko, with her fascination for the occult, was the first to sense the mirror's sinister aura. She delved into research, uncovering tales of a cursed mirror that had plagued the previous owner's family for generations.
The mirror had once belonged to a vengeful spirit, a yūrei who had perished in despair. Its malevolence was bound to the glass, and those who possessed it were tormented by the spirit's relentless anger and sorrow.
Desperate to free themselves from the mirror's curse, Hiroshi and Aiko sought the guidance of a spiritual medium. Through a series of rituals and séances, they made contact with the vengeful spirit trapped within the mirror.
The spirit's story unfolded like a tragic drama—the yūrei had been a young woman in love with a man from a rival clan. Their love was forbidden, and when their secret was discovered, they had both met a grisly end. Her spirit had been bound to the mirror as punishment for her defiance of societal norms.
With the medium's help, Hiroshi and Aiko offered prayers and apologies on behalf of the mirror's original owner, seeking forgiveness for the wrongs committed against the vengeful spirit. They vowed to help the spirit find peace and redemption.
In a chilling climax, they conducted a final ritual, allowing the yūrei to pass on and find the solace she had been denied for centuries. As they gazed into the mirror one last time, they saw the spirit's reflection fade into the distance, her eyes filled with a mix of gratitude and farewell.
The mirror, now cleansed of its malevolence, became a symbol of hope and renewal for Hiroshi and Aiko. Their family flourished, and the cherry blossoms in their garden bloomed with newfound vibrancy, a testament to the enduring power of love and forgiveness.
"The Mirror's Malevolence" served as a chilling reminder that even the most innocuous objects could carry dark secrets, and that confronting the past and seeking redemption could break the bonds of even the most malevolent curses.
End of Chapter 9: "The Mirror's Malevolence"
Chapter 10: "The Bridge to the Beyond"
In a remote mountain village, isolated from the modern world, a historic bridge served as a link between the living and the dead. When a group of travelers crossed its ancient planks, they would discover the chilling truth behind the bridge's supernatural origins.
Chapter 10: "The Bridge to the Beyond"
Deep within the heart of the Japanese mountains, nestled among ancient forests and shrouded in mist, lay the village of Yamanokawa. It was a place where tradition and superstition still held sway, and the bridge that spanned the river was both a lifeline and a gateway to the unknown.
A group of adventurous travelers, drawn by the allure of Yamanokawa's untouched beauty, embarked on a journey to explore the village's remote reaches. Among them were Kaito, a historian with an insatiable curiosity, and Mia, a photographer who sought to capture the essence of this secluded world.
The village's centerpiece was the Akane Bridge, a weathered structure made of ancient wood and adorned with centuries-old lanterns. Its planks creaked with the weight of history, and the river below whispered tales of lives long gone.
As the travelers ventured deeper into Yamanokawa, they discovered that the villagers held a profound reverence for the bridge. It was said to be a link between the living and the dead, a place where offerings were made to appease the spirits that dwelled in the surrounding forest.
As night descended, the travelers set up camp near the Akane Bridge, its lanterns casting an eerie, flickering glow on the river's surface. It was then that they heard the sound—a mournful melody that seemed to emanate from the bridge itself.
Mia, driven by curiosity, followed the haunting tune to the bridge's edge. There, bathed in an otherworldly light, she saw a figure—a woman in a white kimono, her long hair flowing like an ebony waterfall.
The woman, whose name was Hikari, revealed herself to be a yūrei, a spirit bound to the Akane Bridge for centuries. She had once been a young bride whose love had been torn apart by a tragic accident on her wedding day. Her spirit was eternally linked to the bridge, where she waited for her beloved to return.
Kaito, the historian, delved into the village's archives and uncovered the tragic story of Hikari's past. It was a tale of love and loss, of a bride whose life had been cut short, and a groom whose heart had been forever scarred by grief.
With newfound determination, the travelers sought to reunite the spirits of Hikari and her beloved. They embarked on a journey deep into the forest, following a path laden with offerings and prayers.
At the heart of the forest, they discovered an ancient shrine dedicated to love and reconciliation. There, in a poignant ceremony, they offered heartfelt prayers and apologies on behalf of the villagers and the groom who had never returned.
As the first light of dawn broke over Yamanokawa, a sense of serenity washed over the Akane Bridge. Hikari's spectral form dissolved into the river's mist, her eyes filled with a mix of longing and gratitude.
The travelers departed from Yamanokawa, forever changed by their encounter with the supernatural. The Akane Bridge, now freed from its haunting past, stood as a testament to the enduring power of love and the hope of reuniting even in the afterlife.
"The Bridge to the Beyond" became a legend whispered among villagers, a reminder that some bonds could transcend time and that the spirit of love endured even in the face of eternity.
End of Chapter 10: "The Bridge to the Beyond"

Asian parents love spanking their kids. Now as an adult considering kids myself, I realized that my mom and her generation just got fed up and acted out when they hit me. It'll be for not doing tasks that they assigned to me good enough.
Those tasks were boring, dumb repetitibe things such as reading a book out loud from cover to cover. If I pronounced a word wrong, it'll be a spank. Or copying text from a book to paper by hand in a cursive font that they got from the computer's font library (which isn't even a real human's handwriting). If my penmanship wasn't like that artificial font, I'd get spanked.
My mom believed in spanking so much, that she even hired our family's roommate to spank me for her. He'd assign tasks for me and inspect it once a week. If it wasn't to his liking, he'll spank me. He was an inspector at the factory and came up with this system. Now as an adult, I think it was him coping with factory life and giving himself power. He also bullied me at home and no one said anything to support me. He didn't even want to stop hitting me, even after my mom asked him to stop.
He only stopped, when my mom thought he was trying to indocitrinate me into buddhism. She wanted to indoctrinate me into the Jehovah's Witnesses and stopped it. Then I was told to go to the Jehovah's Witness church, where they told me if I had sex or question the religion, they'll all shun me. I was so afraid of them rejecting me and I was doubly afraid that my mom would hire hieu to hit me again.
Aparently, Hieu did hit me againa few years later when I was in high school. I don't even remember that time. I had aboslutely no self esteem growing up and was ashamed of who I was. When I left the house, I was totally lost in the world and picked on and abused.
Now I suffer from fear of punishment for doing any mistake, due to how I was raised. I've cut them off from my life. I'm slowly getting better.
So, how were you spanked? What did it do to you? How did you feel? For me, I felt afraid.

[First] [Previous] [Next]
After a little ruminating, I divided the book in three parts using pink washi tape: the Rune section is the main meat of the book, full of untranslatable symbols; the Transcription section, which I think converts those symbols to their phonetics; and finally the Epilogue, which was the final chapter of the book, written entirely in some strange language I’ve learned is Hesperian.
It was almost eight in the night when I finally gave up trying to find any coincidence in Gaggle from any of the words I could catch in the Transcription section of the book. Nothing, not a single clue. With a heart full of frustration and a growing need to engage in self destructive gaming, I decided to start working with what I could understand: the Epilogue.
The translator was limited on the amount of words I could do at the same time so, I had to improvise and do several batches. In the end, this is the result I got:
A long and winding road opens before you. From the moment you pick up this book, you have three options: You can ignore this challenge and give it to someone who wants to take it; You may destroy this book and be content to destroy another line that connects us with the Tree of Origin; or dare to read and seek the meaning of these symbols. This post is for you, the brave, who want to translate the untranslatable and understand the unintelligible. It is very likely that the person destined to translate this book will not be blessed with the Arcane Infection (if we can really call it such a blessing), so here are a few words of caution.
1.- Once your mind connects signifier and signified, don't read these words aloud unless you want to confront their effects. 2.- Do not comment on this book to any uninitiated. They wouldn't believe you anyway. 3.- Your perception of reality will slowly change with each new word you identify. Don't worry, it's natural to see the colors of magic once you wake up to it. 4.- Look for the gold sign in your city, probably in libraries and hospitals. If you can't find it, you're safe to practice in your own home. If you find it, dig around and find the Elysium before experimenting. 5.- Avoid the Black Cloaks at all costs.
I don't recommend taking this book to public places, much less to the Elysée. Study him in the safety of your home, quietly, eating snacks. Take your time, this is a task that can take years, but I assure you that it is worth it.
Once you reach the end, I'll wait for you at the point where it all begins...
A couple of hints before I go:
The title means "The Butterflies of Creation." A circle means a single word combined. Follow the arrows. You'll get used to the pace of reading eventually.
I wish you the best of luck.
Please survive. Humiko
Once the process of transcribing, which was honestly quite an ordeal considering this Epilogue was written in cursive by a shaky hand, translating and recording in my notebook was done, I am left staring at this nonsense for a while.
The worst part of all this? I can’t even promise the translation is faithful, Gaggle Translate is still in its baby phases…
My eyes turn to the clock on my laptop. Already thirty past ten… it’s getting a little late for this.
“Not that it ever mattered to you. What time have you been going to sleep these days anyway? Three in the morning? Maybe four?”
Sigh. The voice is getting harder to ignore, but I make an effort to just bite my lower lip and keep my focus.
There’s a lot to unpack here. Magic being the most prominent deal, this seems to be implying that magic is real? The insensitive skeptic in me wants to disregard that entirely, after all I am a person of science! But the rest of my body can’t help but want it to be real… after all, what’s the worst that could imply?
At best, hell yeah, magic is real! Neat!
At worst… there’s a lot more power in the hands of a mysterious, underground government that keeps tabs on us at all times not only with technological means but now with magical means too.
I shudder for a moment there. My head has not exploded instantaneously upon the thought so, at least I can either assume they can’t read my mind or there is no little microchip in my brain just waiting to destroy me for learning ‘The Truth’.
Then again, is that technology even possible? I–
“Focus, Tav.”
Yes. Yes, I need to focus. What other concepts are introduced here that this Humiko just assumes I know what she’s talking about?
‘The Tree of Origin’. Okay that’s easy, it’s probably some ‘Tree of Knowledge’ kind of allegory in the mythology I am getting my nose into. Probably an equal to God with a capital G… or maybe Yggdrasil? The tree of the world? That’s another possibility they could be referencing. No idea what this goes into, but apparently it is connected to the contents of this book.
‘Arcane Infection’. Does she mean magic? Or something else? Why call it a “blessing” and then backpedal a bit? Should I be worried about my health now? I have asthma so another infection in my body wouldn’t really be welcome…
‘Signifier and Signified’. She must be talking about the runes. No idea what she’s going on about though. Maybe I have to connect each word in my mind or something? Like a huge riddle… and then, only then, something magical will happen.
“This sounds like you are entering into a cult or something…”
Look, if they start trying to convert me into a cult I will run away as fast as I can.
“If you ever realize that. It’s not like the people making cults are experts brainwashing losers and outcasts like you.”
Moving on.
‘The Uninitiated’, clearly not-mages. So there is a separation between them and us, probably some sort of magical cloak to keep entire sections of the city hidden or something like that. Like in the Wizard Boy books! I wonder if there are magical schools and such too…
“Focus.”
Yeah, yeah.
The whole ‘Golden sign’ is pretty straightforward. I have to find some symbol hidden in the frameworks of our society. No idea what symbol, the internet is not exactly useful when I put something as vague as “golden sign” in it, but I guess I can leave that for later.
What is ‘The Elysium’ though? I mean, it probably doesn’t mean the fields from greek mythology, right? It is not telling me to go die, right?
Finally, the Black Cloaks. That’s vague, too vague. I have to avoid emo kids now? It probably will make much more sense when I get to work with deeper concepts but, it’s something to look out for…
‘The point where it all begins’. Another vague note, nonsense really.
“Most of this, if not all of it, is nonsense. You should be used to it by now… why do you pay so much attention to this when you could be studying something actually useful?”
Guilt pierces my heart like a frozen dagger. Saints damn it. It’s true. Why can’t I muster all this intense attention and initiative when it comes to my studies? It used to be so easy!
“It was never easy. You always struggled paying attention.”
And yet in highschool it was all so easy… I was the first of my generation. The most promising child to ever graduate from there, and now… look at me.
Look at all I’ve accomplished.
“You wasted your future. Now you can only do your best to pick up the pieces and beg for mercy from your parents and the world at large. Squandered your potential to the worst result possible. You know the worst part? You can’t really blame anyone but yourself…”
With a heavy sigh I stood from my chair, leaving the book, my notes and the laptop on the table.
“Are you finally giving up? Can we go to sleep now?”
Yeah… yeah I think I will.
“We can always continue tomorrow! Don’t worry, it will all be still here when you wake up!”
“Yeah, waiting, like everything you’ve left unfinished.”
My feet take the first step back towards my room.
“...Don’t you want to at least check on that last couple of hints? Particularly about the title of the book?”
My curiosity is picked.
I stop, and turn right around to read the translation again. It says it is translated to ‘The butterflies of Creation’. That… means nothing to me.
“Signifier to signified…”
I need to make the connections… on the notebook, I quickly scribble the words side by side with the translated text.
The Asu Butterflies tlo’ikovithiio of Creation
It’s easy to link ‘the’ and ‘asu’, but I am not even sure if the words can correlate in the same order, or something like that. The arrows do seem to tell me that. The rest of the word though… ‘Tlo’ikovithiio’, that could mean ‘butterflies of creation’, right?
I look for the runes in the first part. Particularly the one in the cover page.
Rune 2
I see one symbol, and then a circle containing several others. Saints damn it I am not even closer to understanding this than before, am I!?
The first one must be ‘asu’...which must mean ‘the’, right?
The rest of it is ‘tlo’ikovithiio’, Butterflies of creation…
“We are tracing circles at this point. Let’s go to sleep.”
“Shhh, they’re onto something.”
I am honestly tempted to simply give up, when suddenly it hits me: Look for patterns! Passing the pages, I may find the signs on their own!
Rune 3
Eureka!
“Uhhh…”
And if the transcription is faithful, which I just have to beg for it to be now, this has to be read ‘tlo’iiio’. Again ending in ‘iio’?
Now that I think about it, that symbol, the one with two dots and a line, I can only see it in circles indicating combined words.
I know for a fact these are two glyphs now, and if they are a combined word… ‘Tlo’i’ and ‘iio’ must be the particles!
Iio must be a particle you only apply to other words, to give them a quality.
“Dear, the room…”
Shh! I am focused!!
So back to our original word, ‘tlo’ikovithiio’... It would be three words! ‘tlo’i’, ‘kovith’ and ‘iio’! Three symbols. And if I really squijnt my eyes, that symbol in the middle, the ‘tlo’i’, really kinda looks like a butterfly right? Or some flying creature for sure!!
“Santino, really. Stop for a moment.”
So there’s the big U (that maybe represents a finger), the butterfly, and the particle ‘-iio’. Maybe ‘Creation’ means the literal creation of things, the act of making! So that U, that finger, is making the butterfly by touching it. Tlo’i and kovith would then be ‘Butterlfy’ and ‘Creation’. Putting them together maybe acts like a mixing of its properties. The butterflies, they are divine!
“Tav!!”
I snap out of my hyperfixation for a moment, only to notice that everything around me is moving. The chairs, the table, the computer, everything has been taken by sudden gusts of wind that blow around me. I am in the eye of a storm of my own making.
All that remains stationary is the old, badly bound notebook. The rune I wrote on it is shining a bright green… no, it’s purple… or golden? It shifts so quickly I can’t really tell.
“Make it stop!”
No.
Deep down, I know what I have to do… I have to finish the thought. I have to connect the signifier with the signified.
‘Asu Tlo’ikovithiio’. ‘Asu Tlo’i-kovith-iio’.
Iio must indicate something, a quality, a status.
“A plural.”
Yes. The pluralism! It indicates more than one!
“I got it!”
“Good! Now make it STOP!”
Raising my hand, I try to take a deep breath and touch the words on my notebook. Without really thinking on what will happen next, I focus.. and now with a full understanding of what I am saying, I whisper.
“Asu tlo’ikovithiio.”
Suddenly the tornado around me stops mattering at all.
I feel how the air suddenly escapes my lungs, pushed by some invisible force that also spreads an indescribable warmth from my heart and through my whole body. I see the same light of many colours spread through my veins, brightly shining as it pushes and escapes from the fingers of my raised hand.
Just as something forms on the tip of my fingers and spreads its wings, my body loses all strength. My eyes lose their focus, I feel myself trembling before falling down.
I can only feel the gentle, fragile touch of a butterfly for the faintest of instants before everything becomes black.

Mini serial up in my head for a while. Writing after 10 years pause, please go easy on me. No hfy yet, just setting things up.
........................
Looking up towards the orbital ring, through dirty plexiglass roofing, James wipes his forehead and furrowed his eyebrows. The ring, known to the local as Halo Station due to the yellow sun glinting off of it when the angle is right, was an ugly strip of brutalist sunshade in James's opinion. It had been hastily constructed over the course of five years with government of private fundings, with the local bureaucrats and politicians the most well off from the scheme. The locals, third generation from the initial colonisers, had been opposed to government postings from the hub worlds but was strong armed by the mining and agriculture conglomerate to accept it. There were of course altercation between the locals and the conglomerate but anything larger than a demonstration were heavily suppressed with threats of cutting off vital terraforming supplies. The uneasy tension lasted until the ring orbital proposal was announced, with the locals divided in two camps. One was in favour, their thinking was that the station would bring attention of the wider human communities to their plights. The opposing view is that it would only bring more corporate interest to their system, with the oppressions and wealth discrimination that their forefathers escaped from to this new world in the first place.
James was of neither the opinions. He was planning on hitchhiking across the frontier worlds, edges of the explored galaxy, relying on his knowledge and skill of hydroponics to earn his living. He empathise with the locals, as he was ine himself, but knew that corporate greeds is as inescapable as taxes and death. The only thing keeping him from despairing the future was the tiny sum his family saved up. He wasrecently orphaned, but his parents were rather well off when they were alive, working on the water treatment plants of the terraforming complex, before an influx of dissolved salts from a hydrothermal vents eruption caused a chlorine gas build up, leading to an explosion when they were doing maintenance on the gas extraction chamber. James was thankful that at least his parents passed away painlessly, but the funeral arrangements had cut into the family funds. It was due to this that he was still stuck on the half terraformed planet.
"Penny for your thought?" asked a hoarse gravelly voice. One would be forgiven for thinking the owner of the voice a male. A frail looking woman with grey hair peered up at James from behind a trellis supporting vines of red pod peas. "Counting down the days the merchant trader will pick me off this pile of dirt," James replied, "Not that I don't see why you would want to stay here." "Can't get the theiving bastards to give me my insurance money otherwise." The woman scowled. " Speaking about that, how's the surgery going? Inhaling that much chlorine would put anyone out of action, not that I'm not thankful for pulling my parents out of there. The company would've let them dissolved if they had their way." James asked the woman. "Well, the off world volunteer doctors bumped me up cue and if lady luck don't interfere, I'll be fully recovered by the end of the local year." she replied with a chuckle then a cough. The planet they are on has a 22 hours day but 976 days per year. This has made the locals used phrase 'end of the year' as a joke for deliberately slow bureaucracy, especially when the government is the one paying. Elisabeth was working with his parents when the accident occured, a toilet break saving her from the experience. She was trained as a first reponder and had taken it up on herself to at least recover the remains of her colleague and friend. Either due to cost cutting or by sheer incompetence, the recently cleared hazmat suit she took from the emergency storage had a leaking hose and she had barely survived. James was grateful for her action and offered her a job in his mostly automated hydroponic farm as she waits for the company to pay her insurance as she can no longer do heavy manual labour. James was going to transfer all his business to her as thanks when he got off planet but had told her yet. "I hope you recover fully," James smiled at the not bad news, "I'm going to give you this farm and the house after I leave. You've been a good friend to the family and I'd to see you suffer because of a good deed." Elisabeth looked thoughtful for a moment then nodded, realising that James was resolved. "I have no need for more money than what I need to survive, I'll send any profits left from the farm to you. You'll need it if you're going to gallavanting around the galaxy." Elisabeth said with a firm tone, or slightly deeper and hoarser to James's ear. "It'll also be somewhere to return to if the galaxy doesn't agree with you. A journey isn't complete if you haven't return and all that." she added. James was expecting this and knows that she won't change her mind. "I'll drop by with souvenirs whenever I come near this part." James said. The rest of the day went by as usual. As James finished checking the monitoring terminal in preparation for the night, a message popped up on his iris implant. He checked the message as he exited the decontamination airlock:
Dear James,
I hope this finds you well. I hate to impose on paying customers but a good friend of mine needs somewhere hole up for a few days on your planet. He has his own ship and offered to take you anywhere you wish after he finished offloading his cargo to the orbital. I have given him your contacts and attached his along with his headscan. I am terribly sorry for taking liberties but I hope you find this a good deal.
Sincerely,
Cpt. Frank Rowe
James was surprised but didn't mind it that much as he had empty rooms and he'll save some money. He quickly went into his sonic shower booth and tapped off a reply to the captain and his guest. He was preparing to cook some of the ripe tomatoes and eggplants he harvested today when Elisabeth came out of her room. He had asked her to moved into his guest bedroom when she started working on his farm and they had been having meals together since. It helped the make the house more lively and Elisabeth liked his cooking. "I don't know if it's the fresh produce or your cooking that make something mundane taste this god." Elisabeth said in between bites, "Either way, I'll miss this when you go. I'll have to remember to scan this into the automeal." "It'll be close but the Dad's recipe needs more dressing oil and salt than the standard automeal will allow. It won't be too unhealthy if you work and sweat enough for two people." James grinned, "My parents always debated this over dinner." "That reminds me about the workload. I will have to automate the fish feeder, my lungs are about done by the time I finished checking the fruit bins," Elisabeth said. "I'll dial in the settings tomorrow, you'll only need to top up pellets." replied James.
That night James got a reply from the guest confirming he will take up the offer. The guest will arrive in two days and James planned to offer his own room. He had not touched his parents bedroom since the accident and he is going to tidy up the room as a farewell. He did not look forward to spending a night in the room but he knows he will regret not doing something to mark off the end of his stay in this house.
On the day of the arrival, James woke up and looked at himself in the mirror. His curly brown hair that he got from his mother was growing out past his liking, along with the light stubble he put off shaving due to being busy setting up the farm for a one person operation. His grey eyes was sparkling and lively, despite waking up an hour before his usual time. He was excited since he will be departing tomorrow and had finished packing last night. After confirming with Elisabeth that everything is working fine in the farm, he left her to get used to the new routine to prepare lunch. A flying taxi touched down as he fished out a large pizza from the oven. He wiped his hands and went to greet his ticket off the planet. A short stocky man climbed down, his skin, where visible was deeply tan, highly unusual for a ship captain travelling long journey through deep space. His dark hair fluttered in the wind and brown piercing eyes take in the rural sight. His glance fell on James and smiled a toothy grin. "You must be the owner of this lovely estate!" he bellowed out with a thick accent James can't place. James walked up to him, offered his hand, and they shook. "James Howard, looking forward to getting on your ship." James replied, a bit put off by the excitement from the man. "Miguel, Miguel Emille. Captain of the Flying Snail. I am very thankful for your hospitality at such short notice. The corpo here kicks the captain off their ship! Imagine that!" James looked around for security drones, a bit fearful of being reported for sedition. The captain looked at him, confused, then in understanding, "Ah, one of those world? Say no more. I won't put my passenger in danger." "Is it not the same where you are from? That's why I'm trying to get off the planet." James asked. "No, I grew up and works mainly for the frontier colony. This one is a special favour for the captain that you contacted for a lift. Contract for some heavy metal isotopes from one of the asteroid mining station for one of your 'esteemed' governer." Miguel winked.
The rest of the day passed by uneventfully, with Miguel switching between telling news of the outer colonies and checking his ship's security cameras. The next morning, James and Elisabeth had a tearful farewell before heading off towards one of the pillar supporting the orbital that doubled as cargo elevator. As they rise, James takes a look at the purple and green landscape falling below. He could see the curvature of the planet right as they enter the orbital. He took a picture of his homeworld, intending to put into his journal to mark the start of his journey. The maglev took them towards the internal docking area, James looking out then windows at the opulence of the wealthy living in the station. As they walk towards the flying snail, they were jossled around wnd forced to stop a few times by the workers and machineries bustling around the dock. James took in the sight of the Flying Snail as they approached, staring at the size and unusual roundedness of the ship, in contrast to the blocky and angular ships standard for most space vehicles. "Custom made on Mariana IX station, designed by my grandfather. A great advertisement for my business and comfortable quarters too. And not as slow as the name suggests" Miguel said as he looked at not a few workers staring at his ship. The advertisement mentioned was stencilled in bright red cursive letters on bare metal, in contrast to the ship's black blocky registration number. As they made their way to airlock, passing the the ship's closing cargo door, an inspector passed Miguel a datapad to sign off. "Cargo confirmed received, payments are being processed by customs due to the new tax coming into effect yesterday. You shouldn't lose much with the currency exchange," the inspector said after looking the form over, " you are clear to depart when traffic control indicates." The inspector turn to another ship busy loading cargo, not waiting for a reply. Miguel lead James through the airlock to his room, a larger than standard room furnished with wooden furniture and upholstered, unheard of in a spaceship from the hub worlds. "Get yourself comfortable then join me on the bridge. The ship AI will help you with the layout. No need to address me as captain since it'll only be the two of us until your destination. I'll be going around looking for government approved bugs. Corporate overlords never can get the idea of privacy." Miguel said before leaving James to unpack. James look around the room, trying to wrap his head around the decor. It was as if someone stole a museum exhibit then use it to furnish a spaceship. He unpacked his luggage, looking around for a storage locker, before putting his meager clothings into a dark wood wardrobe. He then set off to put his toiletries in the attached bathroom before being shocked at the size and items he saw. A large oval mirror hangs on the wall above porcelain basin, with an archaic brass and glass shower cubicle with valves and pipes off to the side. He consdered the logistics of internal plumbing and water storage on the ship for a moment before shaking his head, "Might as well enjoy the luxuries. If this isn't a great start, I don't know what is."
After he finished, James head out of his room then froze as he peered into the corridor. The sterile white panelling had turned into stained wood, the harsh lighting into warm yellow glow from what looks like wall mounted lamps. He turned to look back at his room to see the standard white panelling was still there. He decided to ask the AI for directions to the Captain, "Ship? Where's the bridge?" "Please find the ship map in the mailbox behind the door," a synthetic female voice chimed out. He looked at the automatic sliding door and noticed it had changed to a wooden hinged door with a basket below a metal slot. He grabbed a rolled up brown paper bundle from the basket, unrolling it to seems to be hand drawn diagram of the ship. Other details such as crew members list and meal times are neatly list in one corner. He closed the door before following the map. He was not surprised to find his name engraved below the room number on the brass plaque on the door.
James was apprehensive about finding anything on the ship but there were signs jutting out from the wall at each intersection, surrounded by decorative metalwork in forms of flowers, pointing to major locations. The flooring hard changed from patterned wood to being carpeted the closer he is to the bridge. He finally arrived at a double door, with a plaque indicating that it was indeed the bridge, and he wondered if he should knock. He decided not to, and swung open, to hear a bell ring as the door opens. "James! Come strap yourself in. How do you like my ship?" Miguel was seated on what looks like a couch in the centre of the room, looking at a large screen. The screen shows the outside of the ship, which was the landing bay blast door, still shut. "It's nice but too much like a museum piece to be flying around," James responded, "Isn't it against regulation and too hazardous if the grav generator fails?" "That's why I set the nanites to change to standard whenever I dock. Changed back to what my grandpa designed when we're clear for take off," Miguel answered, " also cleared out to bare walls with carpeting whenever there's an emergency. Only ever happens once in all my years of flying." James had heard of nanites but wasn't aware that it could be used on ships. "The ship was supposed to be a private cruiser for a hubworlder, but he backed out of deal so the swimming pool and hydrotherapy areas was converted into the cargo hold," Miguel added.
James strapped himself in a plush fabric covered armchair near the screen. As he figured out the buckle, the comm beeped then a voice called out, " landing bay E42 cleared. All ships ensure airlock and cargo door are closed before depressurisation in 15 minutes." "Hal, check the doors and prepare for take off," Miguel said. "Sorry captain, I cannot do that." "Stops scaring the passengers. Maybe it's time you watch some modern movies." A huff sounded before the AI replied, "Aye aye, Captain." "She always does that, scaring the living daylight out of my last crew when she pretended to lock the airlock during EVA," Miguel sighed, " i don't know what my Pa was doing, feeding her all that old robot uprising movies." "I thought she was just a basic navigation AI when I asked her for directions." "Yeah, she does that to make people let their guards down before springing the 'Exterminate!' stuff on them. That's why my last crews all signed off." "Isn't that bad on you?" James asked, "also your reputation won't be good." " It's fine, I mainly take on crews for company. Most contracts I got are from fellow captains needing to take orders from regulars but are to far out to accept. She got the latest repair drones and all nanites tech to take care of all damages, excluding only jump core explosions," Miguel smiled.
They waited in the bridge, chatting about life in space and homicidal AI, with Hal, James learned shortened from Haley and pronunciation changed courtesy of the AI herself, chiming in when the checks are done. "Landing bay E42 depressurised in 10, 9, 8, 7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1. Landing bay depressurised. All ships clear to take off in E42 once landing bay door fully opened. Green light will light up when ready for manually piloted crafts. Halo orbital thanks you for your business." The traffic controller speaks through the comm, indicating he is a native. Off-worlder would usually call the station 'The Regina's Ring' after the planet. Once the door slides open fully, ships start to go out in rows. When it was the Flying Snail's turn to take off, a hologram of Hal appeared besides the captain's couch and the ship starts to move out slowly in formation, coordinating with the other ships. Once the Flying Snail cleared the door, Hal spoke, "Captain, there's any energy spike reading in the aft sensor. No details on origin available due to station's plating. Seems to be mostly neutrons" "Perhaps someone forgot to shut their cargo door. Probably transporting tritium or helium three. Put up shield just to be safe."
The captain's decision turns out to be just in time as a heavy blast blew the ships out of the orbital. Alarms started wailing and James was pushed back into his seat. "Damage report!" Miguel shouted over the alarms and a diagram of the ship's system popped up on screen. "No structural damage, low EMP, main computer rebooting, shields down to 60 percent," Hal replied mechanically, "Reboot complete. Putting rear view on screen." The screen shows a large explosion on the inner ring side, dropping debris onto the planet below. The alarms turned off as Hal reports, "Ring appears to be holding. Debris calculated to fall on low population area and ocean. Minimal damage to civilians and properties." " There's that at least. Are we expected to help?" Miguel asked. "Negative, the station order civilian vessels to clear the area. No detention order." "Good, get us to the jump point. James, you got a destination?" Miguel turns to look at James. James was still trying to recover from being slammed into his seat, saved from concussions by the seat's padding. "I need to check on Elisabeth," James said as he reached for his wristcom. He then saw an incoming video call from Elisabeth. He sighed in relief as he picked up the call. "I'm glad you're alright. Exciting starts to your trip, eh?" Elisabeth said after seeing James. "Good to see you unharmed too. Did the emergency broadcast says anything?" James asked. "They were saying no damage to those living below. The corporate news network was saying it was the work of the anti-hub government groups." Elisabeth said with a grimace, "trying to weasel out of responsibility if you ask me. I need to check the farm systems in case anything went down. Safe trip out there, I don't want to cry for the second time today," Elisabeth was starting to tear up as James tried to reply before the call cut off. "All's well that ends well," Miguel said as James gathered himself, "good to see her safe. So, destination?" James thought for a moment then replied, "I've never been anywhere further than the Halo. I was thinking of getting off at the last stops but I'm the only passenger here so I think I'll get off wherever your next business ends." " Fine by me. I'm going back three system on my route here, pick up some cargo and or crews, then out to the frontiers," miguel said to James then turn to Hal, " You remembered the station with extra medical supplies looking for buyers? Set destination there." " Aye captain. Arriving at jump point. Jumping in 5 seconds," Hal said before starting the count down. The jump drive, the second most popular after warp, generates a wormhole from Lagrange points. The energy requirements is higher than warp but the near instantaneous travel time is highly value by merchants and diplomats alike.
The jump starts without a hitch and they exited into a red dwarf system. As they make they way towards a spherical station above a green gas giants, they were hailed on all frequencies as the screen starts to shows an armada of black pyramids blockading ships trying to enter and leave the station. The screen suddenly flickers then shows a black upside down triangle with glowing blueish white lights runni ng on its surface. The speakers blared out a high pitch voice, " Bags of mostly water our flattest desire exchange thinking patterns. Flattest yours here deliver. Airwaves produce expect agreement." This broadcast then repeats itself. "Ain't this the strangest day of my life," Hal said loudly. "Exciting first day for our passenger here for sure," Miguel added. James just stared blankly at the screens.
.......................

The general dentist that I’ve been shadowing for the past few months agreed to write me a rec letter and requested some more information about me beforehand. He specifically asked me to share experiences that demonstrate my integrity and hand skills.
As for hand skills, I used to play the violin in high school but haven’t played much since. I also picked up watercolor again recently but don’t have any “good” pieces to share yet. I am pretty good at cursive/calligraphy but not sure if that’s appropriate for an application. I also used to sew but it’s been a few years since I’ve made anything. A lot of “buts” lol. Any suggestions on which hand skill to pick?
Regarding integrity, I have a lot of professional and academic experiences that I can draw from. Any suggestions on if I should lean towards professional or academic experiences?

As Napalm
It felt frustrating in Chongqing. I was rather stuck in Hechuan. I got accustomed to lajiao (spice) there. I was a Midwesterner at the age of 22. I was raised in Illinois. I became a manic—a Ferris wheel on fire—I was hiding under a bed in a hotel. Bold like napalm. Sometimes I can never stop. Even when I was 18 in a ward arguing with staff. Always want to fight things. That’s why I refused the meds and went on a plane from America to China. I was going to be an English teacher. And like a light switch, the change and SSRIs turned me into a mess. It would be my first time experiencing psychosis. My biggest issue. I never imagined I would be stuck illegally in a country suffering a psychotic episode in my early twenties.
Transplanted as pollen. I was left with a backpack and a cellphone. With a downloaded app called WeChat. I had arrogantly quit a university job in a fit. Spent the past months full of energy and not sleeping and neglecting myself, including not eating, to work on a novel. Not considering myself normally religious, I had obsessed over occult ideas during that time. Spending nights reading Aleister Crowley—haven taken a rusty pocket knife to carve a pentagram on my chest for spiritual protection.
I did not have funds to fly home. My visa was connected to my previous job, which meant I had now made it void. I was an illegal resident now in China.
I used a nifty app called WeChat as a messaging app, it allows users to find people near them that are also looking for others. It was like a virtual pond. All kinds of people, including sex workers trying to make things happen.
It could with luck be used to find people looking for people in terms of other kinds of work. It was helpful on many occasions for finding gigs working at English training schools and also finding work as a private tutor for people.
WeChat also works as a digital wallet.
Mania makes me irritable. Enough to tell a boss to fuck off. Thoughts ricochet within me. Bumper cars collide.
Being stuck and angry sucks. I scrolled and scrolled on a Huawei phone.
Absolutely pissed off at this world.
Pissed at the times police wanted to take me away for being a mess.
Sometimes women get pissed. Scrolling through their phones. Angry at their cheating husbands. It really is not that hard to have flair—be a damn white oddity. Like moths to a porchlight. Particles of sand through hands. This is when I first started the habit of it…
I rather go by a rather empty name of Taishen… with further explanation needed but now is not convenient. But I assure it is interesting enough and has some importance.
Habits are various in nature in how they attach to and eat at marrow—like atom bombs flashing as rays evaporating DNA—sets in a way less than human as putting myself in the cage of bad things taken up—my time as a former heroin addict is left as stretch marks on me in various ways. The same goes for the first time I found myself making arrangements with middle aged married women while desperation of waves whiplashed me like sandpaper hands coming at me to leave me in a tiring state of abrasion.
I had spent a night snuck away into a hotel. Found someone on a business trip. Instead of registering I waited to sneak along into the hotel elevator amongst a group of others attending the hotel, as I had no card. I headed to a designated room number. Originally I was sitting in a park. Playing on WeChat and found someone in their mid-thirties. Pictures were exchanged and I said no. She brought up paying for the hotel if I arrived. I agreed and went along.
When I met I washed up after her and we used our phones to awkwardly translate what we would do.
Room service knocked. I found myself hidden under a bed as I was not registered to be there.
It seems unusual that it was around this time I had started working on a story of my life as a heroin addict when I got caught up in my worse manic episode ever experienced during my age of 22. Finished half that story before never going back to it after my manic episode had ended. Now I am here writing about it and wondering if the same can happen again in the process of this work.
It feels extremely cliché I would write a novel about struggles with heroin addiction. It has been done many times. It’s just lame of me.
I feel like my thoughts are bit off. I left the hotel the next morning with the little money I did have on a debit card. Turns out the woman was from Taiyuan. It is a city in the northern part of China in the province of Shanxi—coal country with the worst air pollution in China. She has a colleague in Taiyuan that takes courses at an English training center. I was able to contact this place in the morning via a shared contact on WeChat given to me by the stranger I met that night.
Before I knew it I was sending my information and documents in my backpack at an internet café in a fax—with the intent that the woman agreed to share my information to the training center as she shared my contact to its hiring manager. It would land me a job that day that would help me out of my situation. Things turned not quite out as I expected though. I was shifted like a ball to somebody else to contact for a training center geared to teaching children.
I took what I had and ran off to a train station after taking the public transit. Unfortunately I was shit for money and could not afford a high speed rail pass. The slow train would take thirty-two hours to get to my destination. I would have taken a room with a bed but all I could afford was a hard seat for the travel.
Things were getting better for me in the circumstance considering I had found someone willing to take me for work despite my visa situation.
The thirty-two hour train ride was horrendous in some ways, but mostly I was in excitement despite the circumstances. I’m always giddy when disappointed. I moved up and down the aisle of the train. I could not speak mandarin, but it did not stop me from trying to interact with everyone. I talked many ears off during the train ride. I went up and down the aisle trying to interact as a moth to porchlights—I could not stop even if I had wanted to. I found great enjoyment the times I did get to sit across a table from somebody my age heading to Taiyuan from Chongqing. They were a university student returning to their hometown. Another passenger who sat beside me was an elderly man with hard boiled eggs, he was eating one after another one. I highly enjoyed each and every conversation that I had. It was like my head was a lightbulb wanting June bugs to bang against it with the intensity of Roman candles shot at my mouth of nicotine tinged teeth.
“If you find someone in Shanxi it is practice to pay the family money before you can get married. You would also have to already own a home and a car,” told my new friend across in their seat from me—a university passenger friend named David.
“Not necessarily what I was looking for. When is the next stop for snacks?” When the train stops I am able to get out and to have a walk onto the platform to buy various goods from the vendors to take back with me to eat along the ride to Taiyuan.
I had all my important documents tucked in my bag. This included my health clearance and obviously I made no mention of my mental health diagnosis or history to the doctor who had to evaluate me. My diploma and TEFL certificate were tucked away securely. A TEFL is a certificate that stands for Teaching English as a Foreign Language, it qualifies me to teach English as a second language abroad—it had only took a few months of taking a course online that I had paid for to obtain.
It is easy to be happy when you can trick yourself as your own con artist. Mania can make you deceive yourself. One can be doused in napalm and still not fully recognize what is actually going on. Same goes the flicking of psychosis. Even when I have nothing I find myself in my radiating irritation the most qualified of things—the velocity of my rhythm sets me out of an orbit.
The pressure cooker keeps me moving like a propeller at times. I finally arrived at Taiyuan. I arrived at the station to be greeted by Ryan my manager and his assistant Jennifer. We had our hello and introduction and they helped me get to a taxi that would bring me to my new apartment. I finally had a residence again. Apparently they were desperate for a teacher. The last teacher was from New Mexico and apparently they pulled a midnight run—that is when a teacher in the middle of the night disappears onto a plane back home without any notification of it.
The apartment was okay. On the fourth floor with no elevator, so it was a bit of a climb up a dark stairwell not lit correctly.
My job was a training center that had a location near Yingze Park in the center of the city. I was to be paid in cash via envelopes. I would assist in teaching kindergarten all the way up to high school aged students there in private lessons paid by their parents. I would also be assigned by my company to various primary schools in the city. I would take public buses to various schools paid by the company I worked for to give English lessons as I bounced around to various classrooms and schools in the city. Often I would receive a phone call to avoid going to work that day if my boss got inside input that officials would be doing raids to check foreigners’ visas that day.
A taxi ride would always be a thrill. Caused me nerves at first, but I came to love the flying in dangerous ways along a busy road. I remember a driver beeping their horn away as they drove onto the sidewalk to pass people. They treated the pedestrians as if they were in the wrong. I came flying in front of a primary school at its front gates. I was going to start teaching a first grade classroom and a kindergarten classroom. The way schools are set up is with a wall around the entirety of the exterior of the school. There is a gate at the front where one or two security will be waiting to let people in and out of the complex of the school.
I walked in front of the gate to greet the security. It was my first time with an assignment at this school. The guard said they had never seen me before and wouldn’t let me in. Not a big nuisance while I called my boss who then called the school to sort out the situation.
I miss the classroom so much. I ended up teaching in China for five years at various training schools. After returning to Illinois, I still taught as a primary school teacher in a public school.
I often feel extremely ugly from inside to my outside, but something is attractive there. This does not come just in terms of flirting and relationships—mania makes me a genuine lightbulb that flickers in a way that encourages the insects to me—everyone looks like a June bug—this is what I have come to understand about life. But that ugly does kind of stay like rot in a cavity that leaves a bad taste in the mouth that smells foul—hoping nobody catches the smell near me—it must tie into my struggles with bulimia over the years.
The same goes for my years as a teacher—in relation to the whole lightbulb phenomenon—I’m positive it is tied to mania and hypomania. The younger students always were fixated on the information I was teaching to them. I kept over the years methods taught to me and self-taught that I found extremely effective with younger students when it comes to teaching.
Everything was physical in learning in terms of intensity and ambition. When teaching my first grade classroom I would create flashcards for the vocab we would work on and implement in creating new sentences with. We would chant these words together in a way that made me a clown while teaching. Students would yell out the word that I presented with intense enthusiasm. As I walked by students it was expected that while they yelled out the word they would also physically hit the card. Later I would also work on physical gestures and acting out of vocab words and they would follow the actions and phrases with me.
I would often eventually turn the class into two teams. When students got an answer right I would behave comically and full of energy—I would give them a high five and pretend they were so strong with it that it hurt my hand in the process with much exaggeration—the students always seemed to never get tired of this act.
One game I would play involved drawing two stick figures with happy faces on them. Each figure would represent one of the teams for the classroom. I would draw a hungry alligator under the figures. Their faces would also be comical in appearance and full of exaggerations. Each figure had a parachute placed over them and four strings attached. During the game the students would race to say the word correctly represented on the flashcard or the correct word for the gesture I was making. The team that was not the slowest would lose a string on the parachute. If a team lost all four strings they would fall to the alligator who would eat them. The students found it hilarious with my actions involved in it. I would also draw tears and a person praying to represent anticipation and worry of falling down each time they lost a string.
I had a tooth game too. I would draw too large faces for each team. The team that could answer the flashcards and gestures the quickest would have a tooth drawn in their mouth. The team with the most teeth would win and it would look rather funny as the mouth grew and grew with an abnormal and extreme amount of teeth.
I often did other physical and interactive games like having students run to the word I showed a card to or gestured—each word would be attached to a point in the classroom on a wall.
I know it sounds grandiose, but the parents always seemed to think I was great at my job.
The word vulnerable means so many things to me. That word is like the coal to form the generator that makes the guiding energy for the ethics I follow in my life—I hold very strongly to these values that have developed on how to live—I can express it more later but I greatly attach a kind of Christian value system to it, which makes sense considering I was raised in a Lutheran household and always went to church, Sunday school, and went to my courses and went through my confirmation—everyone is a bit of a mop—some pick up clean water and others dirty or a mix of it—waiting to find the people to drain them voluntarily or involuntarily. I was born vulnerable. I walk pigeon-toed and grew up tripping on my feet—I speak with a soft feminine voice. Bipolar disorder makes somebody vulnerable. There was much vulnerability in being eighteen and hospitalized involuntarily for my first manic episode—tied to a stretcher. I have almost a sense of us vs them—the vulnerable and those that harm the vulnerable—take advantage of the vulnerable—I feel this is a very much Christian in the idea of the unfortunate are more holy than the rest of the bunch—children are like that in terms of being born into a cruel existence—a cruel existence I felt at times in my life and so many do—making sure harm does not come to those in need gives the light of purpose to go bright inside like a Christmas tree in my brain—this light of happiness and warmth. I never expected I would fall in love for teaching due to the antidepressant effect provided. It would become my career for a decade. Some grow up wanting to be a teacher, I became one by accident, desperation, and being saved.
Sometimes I inflate on self-hate like a helium balloon that needs to be tied to a wrist. The vulnerability equation is imprinted on my brain.
In my early teens I started struggling with bulimia and image. I remember when my mother caught me in the act. I was not offered help but criticized. I was called a girl for my problems and threatened to be taken somewhere to be fixed of my confusion. I don’t identify as transgender. I identify as a man that struggles with bulimia and happens to have feminine qualities.
I attribute it to circumstances that happened to me—a justification for the pain at times—an attack on aspects of bisexuality.
After a long day of work I did what my young self often did. I went clubbing with friends. I feel like even if I hide aspects of myself such as being bisexual, people can spot it regardless. I’m extremely secretive about it and not comfortable displaying that vulnerable aspect of myself.
My friend from England went with me. He was about six years my senior. Big guy. Tall. The clubs name was Maoye.
I always enjoyed the free drinks available to foreigners—it was done to attract Chinese clients, as the idea was foreigners being there would attract people.
Amongst the hot and sweltering crowd a man grabbed ahold of me. I felt stuck. I was taken off guard. Pushed and cornered. While on me I managed to push him off. But it all serves as a reminder of the vulnerability of my life.
A nail was placed into my hand—a constant burn and reminder of that vulnerability.
Part 2
From self-hate I can also be so grandiose. I am like a Christmas tree that is lit up. Sparklers so pretty that you cannot let go of them, even if it burns your fingertips and hurts.
From heroin to sex, you can smother the pain. You drain the ocean to fill a void in these times. It ties to mania as well. That restlessness and irritability is extinguished by the paradox of throwing kerosene to everything burning. I’m so grandiose to hide my insecurities, I mistake my misfortune as a mark of something ugly virtuous—the neon of vulnerability pulsating like a star within me. Swelling on a pain.
Bad habits. I want you to judge me and tell me what’s wrong with me. Give me a verdict.
Stress a trigger for mania, and I was stressed from the incident I had experienced at the club. I bloated like a tick to distract from locusts of thoughts that could not shut up with their commotion.
I had been sleeping around more than before. My brain was Christmas tree lights. I accelerated on a generator—I made a mixed episode worse.
Tease a disaster when you are heightened like a blimp. Full of hydrogen. Hoping to burn up ad rain down like napalm.
When the pretty candles on the Christmas tree are left untouched—not looked at like a kettle on burner that has been forgotten—the dry neglected tree will into a house fire.
I’ve had four attempts in my life so far.
When I attempt I don’t cry for help. I feel too vulnerable. I’m afraid.
Hate police and wards.
Downing pills.
My past failed attempts made me aware of everything done wrong before. The sleeping pills alone might not do what I was looking for at that time. I bought an electrical cable. This way if it failed I would still be unconscious and choked out by the cord—fail safe plan to end my life.
The words coming out of my mouth slowed down. I started getting second thoughts. Stuck my face towards the toilet bowl while on my knees. Sticking my fingers down my throat. Leaving blood vessels bursting in my eyes.
Went stumbling outside and waved a taxi down and asked to be taken to the local hospital.
Never expected finding myself checked into a psych ward in a foreign country.
Nietzsche has a quote in reference to chaos in life and how it is needed to create a star—this reference holds so much value to me. Sometimes stars hit together just right to create fate out of the worst of things. The ward lead me to meet the woman made of paper. She would one day become my wife. I would have two daughters with her. Forge together as soldiers to face the obstacles in life. Someone who would save my life during a future attempt when I was found unconscious from an overdose. The smartest and toughest woman I have ever known. Someone to build trenches with.
I liked it when she stuck that needle in me for an IV. It must correlate to being a heroin addict. The pushing of something in my vein correlates to happiness and purity.
The woman made out of paper was my nurse in the ward I was stuck in. What attracted her to the mess that is me I will never understand fully.
The woman made out of paper is named Lilu. She was one year older than me and one of my nurses at that ward in Taiyuan. She was from Zhengzhou—a city in the province of Henan that is based in the center of China. I am sure as the reader it would be nice to know why I call her the woman made of paper.
She struggled with her own demons. She also deserves much praise for her resilience and brains. When she was born she was raised by a family that adopted her and often neglected and abused her growing up. Her biological family is distant from her, even though she has an identical twin—they felt too poor to take care of her and made the choice that they needed to be less of one child as she also has an older sister—her twin got to stay with that family but she was given up and adopted. I am sure this must bother her even if she never will talk about it to anyone in her life—as she is one to refuse ever discussing emotions and feelings, as this is not her personality type—she is very much a fighter. I think most would struggle with wondering why they were the one let go of—it also must hurt her knowing that the family would have a son and keep him.
Despite all these circumstances, she graduated top of her class of four thousand students—Chinese high schools can be quite large serving a large region—they often serve as boarding schools. She was a smart and hardworking student. Circumstances never made her stop trying to be the best and moving forward and she never made excuses for herself. In university she also did well and got accepted at the most studious and hard to obtain nursing position at the number one hospital in Shanxi.
I have already ranted and gone on about my affection and feelings tied to heroin. Drinking of entire oceans to fill voids.
Paper is a void. It asks for calligraphy to be written on it to make braille. This way when fingers run over skin, it tells worth—the reason for troubles—it forms connection through those words of declaration—the whining for why things are the way they are—the filling of a void like a heroin addict needing a cure—two papers come together to write upon one another—as a paper I am her typo—I stand as a falling mess with nerves like tripwire, I keep failing and losing my composer, while she stands stronger as a declaration that has been written on—when I was chased I listened to her and joined as one. I wish and intend to always serve the woman made out of paper who has saved my life and has always been there for me, being so strong despite circumstances—amongst the wind of turmoil in life I follow along her path.
It was love at first sight for her but not for me. I had no interest in dating her at the time. I worked across the street of that hospital in an office building for a training center as a part time job. I would teach adults English who paid for private lessons near to Yingze park in the center of Taiyuan. She signed up for classes for me to teach her and brought me food on almost every other day that she had prepared. Eventually we found ourselves coupled fully.
In a pit. I get to burn as paper amongst another’s paper. Eternally. With a life that will keep reoccurring.
Part 3 Liu
A woman like Chang’e lived on a moon. Far away.
You can refer to me as Liu.
At the age of 19 I was diagnosed with a severe nerve pain condition. It is called trigeminal neuralgia but you can call it TN for ease.
I was frustrated. I had completed a degree in international finances from Chongqing University of Business and Technology. The boom of the economy was not the same. There was an urge to “lay flat”—to not try as a form of opposition to everything going on in a waning economy in China.
All are elephants chained for an audience. People love to peek and stare as though they are glass doors without hinges—to be made feel useless.
I developed TN at the age of 19, and was now 22. It came as an arrow, and quite literally to the face. It’s a rare nerve pain disorder often considered one of the most painful conditions known.
The illness involves intense nerve pain throughout the left side of my face. It felt like someone was trying to pull all of the teeth on the left side of my face without anesthesia. The pain can leave me falling to the floor unable to speak or move while screaming profanities while choked by pain. A feeling of a knife to my face over and over again. It leaves me in absolute shock. Like Roman candles to the face. An absolute hindrance. The anticipation of not knowing when it will happen again is a nightmare at times.
The disease is often called the suicide disease, apparently up to 26% try to take their lives. In a state of panic during one of the nerve attacks I began swallowing any pill near to me. I went to the hospital to have my stomach pumped when I was found comatose by my mother.
I want to be Chang’e and on the moon and away from a world I have had enough of.
Gossip spread around the workplace that I attempted suicide over an affair with a married man. There was too much guilt to return to the workplace. COVID did have an impact to the economy. I still remember my hometown having dirt and trees piled onto the exits and entrances to the city keep people in their places.
The work I did find felt beneath me. China has what is called the great firewall that keeps something in and out of the country’s networks. A VPN was necessary to access American TikTok as it was used as opposed to the Chinese version.
Feels humiliating the nature of the outcome for me—I gave up in many ways like so many Chinese youth. For work I would go to a local office building. Amongst a long hall would be a room for live stream performers. I would entertain with watchers while trying to obtain virtual gifts for actual money. I despised it—sometimes the conversation could be funny or interesting but it felt hollow.
I would paint flowers on my face and wear hanfu clothing while doing ASMR.
I had a mind of sparklers burning until it burnt and stung like wax—like I had the option to stop and cry and those tears stuck as wax and burnt or I soldiered on and grew accustomed to the pain. I was an elephant chained. The audience watched and interacted with me on the live. I was a chained elephant when it was found out about my previous attempt and when the rumors spread.
Too many thorns in life. Nails hitting at the wrong points like an equation for something terrible to eventually happen.
My favorite dish was Henan noodles. I often cooked it with my mom. It provides great memories of childhood. I hadn’t talked to my mother as much as before. She moved to a job in Taiyuan.
Sometimes I would go up to visit her. But it was harder as she worked more and more hours. Sometimes voids build even when going through extreme nerve pain. And with trigeminal neuralgia, the pain was so intense that I would freeze and scream in pain. It cannot always be hid. It made me an elephant tethered.
Life can be like a pressure like no other. Too much stress. Makes one feel irritable with a mouth like a sprinkler of napalm when someone is too close. Life feels like a lit fire cracker held—in the end it would tear my hand up. Things kept building while the other side of my face began to hurt too recently. This was rare and not so common. My eyesight was becoming blurry too and it seemed I might have multiple sclerosis as the pain was on both side, it was not common for my age, and the blurry eyesight. An appointment was scheduled and I felt terrified to know what was going on and wondered if it was best to not even know my health.
I walked out of the studio and had a cigarette. My boss came out and joined to talk. He was concerned about view count and wanted me to do things to increase it that made me feel uncomfortable. He made a few comments I found incentive.
The boss sure liked to criticize and apply pressure. He was not impressed with my work and thought I could do something different. In China an application is used called WeChat. This application has many uses. People can display and share moments like a Facebook wall, message each other, send money, video chat, and even has a feature to find people near to you who are also looking for people near to them. I was to attract people onto dates. The idea was they would be lured in and the men would go to a set destination to a planned tea house that served snacks. When the men arrived (they had no knowledge of the setup) the bill would be at an absurd rate and if the men refused to pay larger men would use their size to force them to pay up.
I was not sure at the time yet if I wanted the job. Being worried about ethics and safety. It was something I would have to think about.
My medical expenses were growing and I knew the nerve disease could be expensive to treat with surgery. All I had was thoughts while looking at the moon.
Part 4 Taishen
My former roommate in the ward I shared a room with had paranoid schizophrenia. I was stuck in the same place due to mania, and just had gotten my diagnosis of bipolar disorder.
I was so pissed being stuck there and felt I had no business being there. I found my diagnosis to be an insult to me. I was only 18 at the time—taken in on a stretcher. Made me feel very vulnerable and irritated.
My roommate was having delusions related to Christianity and could not stop waking me up in the middle of the night to ask and talk about Jesus. Left me beyond frustrated.
He was drifting from his wife and would go on and on about intending to leave her. Felt he was spied and plotted against by her. So we were both frustrated with being there.
The toilets were special. They would flush what needed to be flushed but not certain things like pills—it helped to keep people from hiding they were not taking their medications.
He had tried to flush his wedding ring down the toilet but he did not realized it didn’t flush. I went to use the restroom later and saw the ring. I told him. He took it out. He found it to be a sign form God that he is to stay with his wife, and there was immense happiness in his eyes.
Part 5 Liu
I’m a missile from Zhengzhou
Where my face is printed with flowers
Left university with hope
A blimp
To be ripped
Abrasion and termites
Eat me whole until I undo
Caught to the wires around me
Laying flat
Hoping for something new.
My name is Michelle. I had been at the local foreigner bar. I was raided in Zhengzhou. I lost my job recently. I’m 22 and wanted to work in business, but it will not do. Lost
Now I was working at a TikTok farm. I’m a busy ant.
I can’t remember much. My anti-convulsion meds make my mind feel muddy. I spend nights playing with my tarot cards wondering what I got to do to get to a place better.
Driving me crazy taking meds because my face started to hurt me. Feels like a bolt to my face—absolute torture!—suicide disease—that is what the doctors told me.
So I had an attempt and all my coworkers thought I had an affair.
All the gossip was like blitzkrieg so I ran away—I quit. And I need to make money because I’m sick and don’t want the nerve pain. Hoping surgery can save me. So I found myself working making money on live streams doing ASMR. I put on beautiful hanfu and paint flowers on my face. I’m waiting for gifts. But my boss hates me. Maybe because I don’t fit the picture. It’s not in my character to lay flat.
I speak English fluently. So my boss thinks I’m perfect for something new. I go on WeChat waiting for strangers to go on the social app looking for affairs. Foreigners that are easy to pull likes moths to lights. I flirt with them. Ask them to me in the middle of the night. We go to predestined positions. Guys thinking they are getting something that night. A couple larger men come to force the unexpected men to pay an astronomical bill that is not just for the snacks served.
This became my routine. But onetime it really bad. A Canadian I met in the street did not act right. He appeared to be bouncing and deranged. Like he was on some kind of upper. Offered me white powder. My sensors went off. I’m a missile. I know when something is off. Ready to do what I have to. He came close. I shoved him. I was near the location for the setup. My colleagues heard the commotion. Hands went. The crazed Canadian fell to the ground and never woke up again. Not knowing what to do. I went off like a missile and ran. The fear…
Part 6
I thought of it as I got lost. I’m a butterfly from Zhengzhou. From the center of Henan in China. I float off. Cause I’m stuck. No symmetry in my fate. Came under the ground as a Cicada. Went looking for something great but I’m not far. Just stuck, like a sun that won’t rise up. Call me Liu.
I developed the suicide disease when I was 19. It leaves my facing in tremendous pain on the left side. Makes me fall down and want to die. 26% will commit suicide. I often painted flowers on the side to grant some beauty to what happens to me. This disease caused all my teeth, gums, and entire left side to turn to intense electrical stabbing pain. There would be no warning before an attack. Paranoia of not knowing when the next one will come.
Had a decent job that seemed to be fit and good for me. The attacks brought me to my knees and made me eat carpet. Brought me to a frantic spell that caused me to overdose. Rumors spread at work that it was due to shame I had for having an affair with a married man.
I left the career devastated. I was shamed out of it.
I had temporarily found myself stranded into a career on a TikTok farm in Zhengzhou performing ASMR.
I was transplanted to a new career after a horrible incident. I had ran off to Guangzhou to where my cousin lives.
I want symmetry in my life. There is none. Just instability and pain.
Do you believe in the transplantation of thoughts? I do.
Do you believe in the transplanting of thoughts? I do. Learned about it before in a book. My friend beside me nodded after having taken their fentanyl based medicine earlier. Tiring doing odd jobs to pull off getting ahold of things.
I walked by and entered my workplace. I walked into the studio that was based in Guangzhou. I was handed my flyers. I headed to the street and began passing them out to advertise for a local KTV with women wearing little to no clothing on them.
A man walked by on the sidewalk. Some man looked like someone I must know before. Ever ad that feeling? But I could not know for sure or remember exactly. I awkwardly stared him up and down.
The man I had a hard time recognizing started to feel all too familiar. It was like I could read his thoughts. I have a projector head. Sometimes I can see everything. I feel it like rays of the sun on my skin—so natural and calling. Like Chang’e on the moon so far away looking down on a lover she misses—this man was sending radio signal signals from his marrow. A special type of attraction. Need attention like the world has been cruel to me. A world that has abandoned me.
The books were right that I had been reading. He must of noticing my odd staring. He took a flyer from me. Stumbled a bit while trying to understand what was going on. I pointed at the establishment I worked and told him he should visit. He gave a smile before departing it. I’m sure heaven can talk—gave orders to lift the anchors to provide transportation to a new fate.
It was exciting to know I might get to meet him, but I had concerns. In the evening I would work within the KTV. Depending on the occasion I would sometimes get to dress in hanfu, which I enjoyed. I sometimes search for distraction as there is something wrong with the way my thoughts transfer. When you live a life under threats and violence—feelings of being trapped in life—you naturally see people with masks. They either pose a threat or are safe and you must view them in black and white. There is no time to see things in grey—too much danger in doing that. I must have a negative perspective on the world around me like a cocoon to stay safe. Like a butterfly I go to faces to see if they bite or have pollen. I believe the man today had pollen. I truly can read minds.
Part 7
Black and white thinking originates like an atom bomb. It tears a mind into a black hole of horrible events. Leaves craters like hole as cheese in the brain—provides the surface to create something that absorbs like a sponge. Pain that radiates through to create the velocity of irritated atomic steam engine that can send signals out. It burns. Cheese head with holes right through like a particle accelerator went right through. Fox holes in the brain when it feels in danger. A life of a perpetual civil war. It is painful.
Such thinking with holes causes one to be prone to have memories fall through black holes and be forgotten. Never can be found. Blanks.
The man that thoughts transpired to earlier in the day went by the name of Muchen. It was like seppuku in attraction. Fusion. We met at the designated room he had gotten with his friends to rent out to have there to host. Drinks are bought as a form of payment. Transplanting of thoughts wears the brain like sandpaper waves of abrasion.
I don't trust you as the reader. You been holding for a long time And I feel attachment with you that makes me very unsafe. I don’t trust you anymore. I rather you stop putting eyes on me. It makes me run off very fast. I’m uncomfortable. The most benign things come across as dangerous to me. And I want you to step away.
Part 8
I like this man I met. He makes me whole. He is the light for everything dark around me. My boss made me feel what I never felt before. He is so nice! Not like the other guys who talk with words that split my insides. I can do the same. Like a cycle hate goes around in love.
He get so lonely at night. But I have the right company.
I’m feeling so nice
Everything just so happy
Tapping away on my phone
Writing poetry
Because my heart grows
Swell like a balloon
Don’t you want to pop it?
Simmer
Like acne to pop.
I kept writing poetry about my feelings of this man. I could not get him out of my head. The strength of transplanted thoughts. I keep going forever. Like a phony I feel. My boss was the man I transplanted thoughts with. He worked at a local host club. For where women and gay men could go and pay drinks for male hosts to sit with them and keep them feeling loved and entertained. I fused to him like atoms in the sun. He was a host at this club. I would host at my location and meet him. We were each other’s. Eating ourselves together.
to be continued..

YŪREI CHRONICLES [ 幽霊クロニクルズ ]
Tales of Japanese Horror [ 日本のホラーの物語 ]
By: Seph Cruz [ 投稿者: セフ・クルーズ ]
CONTENTS [ コンテンツ ]
Preface [ はじめに ]
Chapter 1: The Cursed Scroll [ 第 1 章: 呪われた巻物 ]
Chapter 2: The Shrine in the Shadows [ 第 2 章: 影の神殿 ]
Chapter 3: The Haunting of the Geisha [ 第 3 章: 芸者の幽霊 ]
Chapter 4: The Onryo's Revenge [ 第 4 章: 怨霊の復讐 ]
Chapter 5: The Dollmaker's Curse [ 第 5 章: 人形師の呪い ]
Chapter 6: The Shadow in the Forest [ 第 6 章: 森の影 ] Chapter 7: The Haunting of the Yūrei Inn [ 第 7 章: 幽霊旅館の幽霊 ]
Chapter 8: The Curse of the Haunted Kimono [ 第 8 章: 幽霊着物の呪い ]
Chapter 9: The Mirror's Malevolence [ 第 9 章: 鏡の悪意 ]
Chapter 10: The Bridge to the Beyond [ 第 10 章: 彼方への架け橋 ]

 "Yūrei Chronicles: Tales of Japanese Horror"

Chapter 1: "The Cursed Scroll"
In the heart of Kyoto, where history whispered through the ancient streets, there existed an antique bookstore known only to those who sought the rarest of tomes. Nestled among centuries-old texts and dusty manuscripts, a forbidden scroll lay hidden, waiting for an unwitting soul to stumble upon its chilling secrets.
Chapter 1: "The Cursed Scroll"
The quaint, dimly lit bookstore was a treasure trove of the past. Intricate calligraphy adorned scrolls, while faded ink whispered stories of long-forgotten samurai and mystical creatures. Among these relics of history, one scroll remained elusive, concealed behind a glass case. Its dark, ornate cover bore no title, and its presence seemed to beckon.
Haruki, a young scholar with a fascination for the occult, visited the bookstore one rainy afternoon. His curiosity led him to inquire about the enigmatic scroll. The elderly shopkeeper, Mr. Tanaka, peered at him with a knowing look, cautioning him about the scroll's malevolent reputation.
"Many have sought to uncover its secrets," Mr. Tanaka said, his voice trembling with age, "but few have lived to tell the tale."
Haruki, undeterred by the ominous warning, insisted on examining the scroll. Mr. Tanaka, sensing the scholar's determination, reluctantly unlocked the glass case. As Haruki unrolled the ancient parchment, he saw that it was filled with intricate symbols and incantations, written in a language he could barely comprehend.
For days, Haruki delved into the scroll's mysteries. His sleepless nights were filled with whispers from unseen forces, and chilling drafts seemed to haunt his small apartment. Yet, he pressed on, believing that the scroll held untold knowledge and power.
One fateful night, as a full moon cast eerie shadows across his cluttered study, Haruki recited an incantation from the scroll. The room grew icy cold, and an otherworldly presence enveloped him. A mournful wail echoed through the room, and Haruki's heart raced as he beheld the apparition before him.
A yūrei, its long, disheveled hair obscuring its gaunt face, hovered in the air, its eyes filled with anguish and rage. It reached out bony, pale fingers toward Haruki, its spectral form translucent yet undeniably real.
In that moment, Haruki realized the scroll's true nature – a curse that summoned vengeful spirits to torment the living. He had unwittingly invited the yūrei into his world, and now, it sought retribution for its suffering.
The scholar's life turned into a nightmare as the vengeful spirit haunted his every waking moment. His research became an obsession to find a way to pacify the yūrei and lift the curse. With each passing day, Haruki's health deteriorated, his body and mind succumbing to the relentless torment.
Desperate, he sought the guidance of a renowned exorcist, who revealed a grim truth. The only way to break the curse was to discover the scroll's origins and offer the yūrei the peace it so desperately sought.
As Haruki ventured deeper into the scroll's history, he uncovered a tale of betrayal and tragedy that spanned centuries. With newfound knowledge and a heavy heart, he prepared to confront the vengeful yūrei and set things right.
In a chilling confrontation between the living and the dead, Haruki faced the spirit, offering it the closure it craved. As the yūrei dissipated into the ether, its mournful wail echoed one last time, fading into the night.
Haruki emerged from the ordeal forever changed, carrying the weight of the scroll's curse as a cautionary tale. The forbidden knowledge he had sought had come at a great cost, a reminder that some mysteries should remain hidden, and some curses should never be invoked.
As the sun rose over Kyoto, the antique bookstore remained shrouded in an eerie silence, and the cursed scroll returned to its cryptic slumber, waiting for the next unwitting soul to unlock its dreadful secrets.
End of Chapter 1: "The Cursed Scroll"
Chapter 2: "The Shrine in the Shadows"
In the heart of a tranquil Japanese village, nestled among ancient forests, stood a centuries-old Shinto shrine, known to few but revered by all. This sacred place held an eerie secret, hidden in the shadows of its past.
Chapter 2: "The Shrine in the Shadows"
The village of Mizuki was picturesque, surrounded by dense woods and the whispers of rustling leaves. Its most treasured gem was the Shōrin Shrine, a sanctuary dedicated to the worship of the kami, where the villagers paid homage with heartfelt prayers and offerings.
On a bright spring morning, the Hayashi family moved into a charming house near the shrine. Yuko, a spirited young girl with inquisitive eyes, was enchanted by the quaint beauty of Mizuki and the mystique of the Shōrin Shrine. Her parents, Masato and Yuki, hoped the peaceful village would offer respite from the bustling city.
Their first evening in Mizuki was serene, and the family felt blessed to live in such an idyllic place. As night descended, they heard a faint melody echoing through the forest—a haunting tune played on a traditional shamisen. Yuko, drawn by curiosity, followed the eerie melody to the shrine.
At the shrine's entrance, she saw a flicker of movement among the trees and bushes. As her eyes adjusted to the dim moonlight, she gasped in awe and terror. There, bathed in an ethereal glow, stood a beautiful woman dressed in a white kimono, her long hair cascading like an ebony waterfall.
The woman's face bore an expression of immense sorrow, and her eyes seemed to pierce Yuko's very soul. In her delicate, spectral hands, she held a shamisen, its strings plucked by fingers that had long since turned to mist.
"Who are you?" Yuko asked, her voice quivering.
The apparition gazed at Yuko with an inscrutable sadness and whispered, "My name is Hana. I have been bound to this shrine for centuries, waiting for someone to hear my song."
Hana's story unraveled like a tragic tapestry before Yuko. She had once been a young woman in love with a humble fisherman from Mizuki. Their love was forbidden, and when their secret was discovered, they met a tragic end at the hands of the villagers.
As she spoke, the melody of her shamisen became more mournful, and the trees seemed to weep in sympathy. Hana's spirit, bound to the shrine, could only find solace by sharing her story with the living.
Yuko, moved by Hana's tale, felt a deep connection to the ghostly figure. She promised to help Hana find peace and bring her story to light. Together, they would uncover the truth behind the tragic love story that had ensnared the shrine for centuries.
As Yuko delved into the village's history, she uncovered hidden documents and ancient scrolls that confirmed Hana's story. The injustice done to Hana and her beloved was a blot on the village's past, a truth that had been concealed for generations.
With newfound determination, Yuko rallied the villagers to acknowledge the village's dark history and to seek forgiveness for the sins of the past. In a moving ceremony at the Shōrin Shrine, the villagers offered their prayers, and Hana's spirit was finally set free.
As the first rays of dawn bathed Mizuki in golden light, Hana's ethereal form dissolved into a wisp of gratitude and serenity. The shrine, once shadowed by sorrow, now radiated with newfound peace.
"The Shrine in the Shadows" became a tale passed down through generations, a reminder that love and forgiveness could transcend even the darkest of curses. Mizuki continued to flourish, its shrine standing as a testament to the enduring power of redemption.
End of Chapter 2: "The Shrine in the Shadows"
Chapter 3: "The Haunting of the Geisha"
In the vibrant streets of 19th-century Tokyo, beneath the shimmering lanterns and behind the delicate allure of geisha, a haunting presence lurked—a presence that would forever change the life of a celebrated geisha named Kaede.
Chapter 3: "The Haunting of the Geisha"
In the heart of Tokyo's historic Yoshiwara district, Kaede was renowned as one of the most captivating and skilled geisha. Her beauty was ethereal, her dances mesmerizing, and her laughter like the tinkling of wind chimes. But beneath her porcelain makeup and the grace of her performances lay a heart heavy with secrets.
One cool autumn evening, as the lanterns cast their warm glow on the district, a newcomer arrived at the teahouse where Kaede performed. His name was Kaito, a handsome and enigmatic man with piercing eyes that seemed to see beyond the facade of the geisha. Kaede's heart quickened as their eyes met, and she felt a connection she had never experienced before.
As weeks turned into months, Kaede and Kaito's bond deepened, their love blossoming like the cherry blossoms in spring. But their love was a forbidden one, as Kaito was a samurai, and their worlds were as different as night and day.
One fateful night, Kaito revealed a dangerous secret to Kaede—he was involved in a plot against a powerful daimyo who ruled with cruelty and oppression. Kaito believed that by exposing the daimyo's corruption, he could bring justice to the people. He asked for Kaede's assistance in gathering information from the teahouse's influential patrons.
Reluctantly, Kaede agreed, and together, they embarked on a treacherous path filled with deceit and danger. As the days passed, they uncovered dark secrets that could expose the daimyo's crimes. However, their actions did not go unnoticed.
One evening, as Kaede performed for a gathering of influential men, a sinister figure appeared in the shadows. It was the vengeful spirit of a geisha named Akiko, who had perished in Yoshiwara under tragic circumstances. Her ghostly form was veiled in a blood-red kimono, and her eyes burned with malevolence.
Akiko's haunting began subtly—a chill in the air, whispers of despair, and a feeling of dread that hung over the teahouse like a shroud. Kaede, sensing the supernatural presence, knew that they had awakened a vengeful spirit.
Desperate to protect Kaede, Kaito sought the guidance of a local exorcist, who revealed the tragic story of Akiko. She had been a geisha in love with a samurai, but their forbidden love had led to betrayal and death. Her restless spirit sought vengeance on those who dared to love across societal boundaries.
With the exorcist's help, Kaito and Kaede embarked on a perilous journey to confront Akiko's spirit and offer her the peace she so desperately sought. In a climactic showdown, they faced the vengeful geisha, revealing the truth behind her betrayal and death.
As the first light of dawn bathed the Yoshiwara district, Akiko's spirit dissipated, her eyes filled with sorrow and resignation. The curse she had cast upon the teahouse lifted, and peace returned to the district.
Kaede and Kaito's love story continued, forever marked by the supernatural forces they had encountered. The teahouse thrived once more, its lanterns casting their warm glow over the enchanting district, where love knew no boundaries and forgiveness transcended even death.
"The Haunting of the Geisha" became a legend whispered among geisha in Yoshiwara, a testament to the enduring power of love and the consequences of forbidden desires in the mysterious world of Edo-era Tokyo.
End of Chapter 3: "The Haunting of the Geisha"
Chapter 4: "The Onryo's Revenge"
In the heart of a decaying city, where abandoned buildings stood as silent witnesses to forgotten tragedies, a group of urban explorers would stumble upon a place where the restless dead held their sinister dominion.
Chapter 4: "The Onryo's Revenge"
The city of Kurayami had fallen into disrepair, its once-thriving industries crumbling, and its streets echoing with the memories of better days. Among its many derelict structures was the forsaken Kurayami Hospital, a place whispered about only in fearful tales.
Rumors spoke of a curse that had befallen the hospital after a gruesome series of medical experiments in the early 20th century. Patients had been subjected to horrific procedures, and their agonized cries still seemed to reverberate through the corridors.
A group of urban explorers, lured by the thrill of the forbidden and the allure of the macabre, set their sights on Kurayami Hospital. Among them was Hiroshi, the group's leader, and Yumi, a budding photographer with an affinity for capturing the eerie beauty of abandoned places.
As the explorers entered the hospital's crumbling entrance, they were greeted by the musty scent of decay and the eerie silence of long-abandoned hallways. Shadows danced in the dim light as they ventured deeper into the forsaken building, their footsteps echoing like distant whispers.
The group's excitement turned to unease as they encountered signs of the hospital's dark past—rusty surgical instruments, bloodstained gurneys, and cryptic medical notes. Yumi's camera captured it all, each photograph revealing more about the hospital's gruesome history.
As night fell, the explorers gathered in the hospital's decrepit lobby, their flashlights casting trembling beams into the darkness. It was then that they heard it—a faint, mournful wail, like the keening of a soul in torment.
Hiroshi, the group's fearless leader, brushed off their concerns, attributing the sound to the wind or their imagination. But the cries grew louder and more anguished, echoing through the halls.
The group became separated as they navigated the labyrinthine corridors. Yumi, camera in hand, wandered into the hospital's disused psychiatric ward. There, in a shadowed corner, she saw her camera's flash reveal a horrifying apparition—an onryo, a vengeful spirit with long, disheveled hair and eyes filled with hatred.
The onryo's spectral form contorted with rage as it approached Yumi. Its icy fingers reached out, and she felt an otherworldly coldness pierce her very soul. She knew that this was the spirit of a patient who had suffered unimaginable horrors in the hospital.
As Yumi's companions searched for her, they stumbled upon the onryo's lair and witnessed the terrifying encounter. In a desperate bid to save Yumi, they searched for a way to pacify the vengeful spirit.
Through a combination of research and communication with a local historian, they learned the full extent of the hospital's atrocities. Armed with this knowledge, they returned to the onryo's domain to confront the spirit and offer it the peace it had been denied for so long.
In a climactic showdown, the group faced the onryo, revealing the hospital's dark secrets and acknowledging the suffering of the tormented souls within. With profound remorse, they begged for forgiveness on behalf of those who had perpetrated the atrocities.
As the first rays of dawn broke over Kurayami, the onryo's anguished wails transformed into a mournful sigh. The spirit, its wrath finally quelled, dissipated into the ether, leaving behind a sense of profound sadness and closure.
The group of urban explorers emerged from Kurayami Hospital, forever changed by their encounter with the supernatural. They had confronted the past and offered redemption to the restless dead, leaving the decaying city with a newfound sense of hope.
"The Onryo's Revenge" became a cautionary tale among urban explorers, a reminder that some places are best left undisturbed, and that the past, no matter how dark, can be confronted and reconciled.
End of Chapter 4: "The Onryo's Revenge"
Chapter 5: "The Dollmaker's Curse"
In a remote mountain village, nestled among mist-shrouded peaks, a master dollmaker crafted exquisite creations that captured the hearts of collectors worldwide. Yet, within her secluded workshop, a malevolent force lurked—one that would ensnare a curious journalist in a nightmarish world of living dolls and dark secrets.
Chapter 5: "The Dollmaker's Curse"
Hidden away in the secluded village of Ichiban, known only to those who ventured deep into the mountains, lived a master dollmaker named Ai. Her dolls were celebrated for their lifelike beauty and craftsmanship, with collectors from distant lands coveting her creations.
One brisk autumn morning, a journalist named Keiko received a cryptic letter from a source in Ichiban, hinting at a sinister mystery surrounding Ai's dolls. Intrigued by the enigmatic message, Keiko embarked on a journey to the remote village, determined to uncover the truth.
Ichiban was a place untouched by time, its cobblestone streets winding through dense forests and past centuries-old homes. The village exuded an eerie tranquility, and the locals spoke in hushed tones about Ai's dolls, rumored to be infused with a piece of the human soul.
Upon reaching Ai's workshop, Keiko was greeted by the dollmaker herself, a woman of grace and poise. The workshop was a treasure trove of exquisite dolls, their eyes seeming to follow Keiko's every move. Among them, a particular doll known as Hikari stood out—a hauntingly beautiful creation with ebony hair and obsidian eyes.
As Keiko delved deeper into the village's mysteries, she discovered that Hikari was believed to house the soul of a deceased child, a belief held by both Ai and the villagers. The doll's unsettling presence and the uncanny resemblance it bore to a girl named Mei, who had died tragically years ago, sent shivers down Keiko's spine.
Keiko's nights in Ichiban were filled with restless dreams of porcelain dolls that came to life. In these dreams, Hikari beckoned her to uncover the truth behind the dollmaker's creations. Guided by an inexplicable compulsion, Keiko embarked on a quest to unearth the dark secrets hidden within Ai's workshop.
As Keiko investigated further, she uncovered Ai's own tragic past—a story of unrequited love, loss, and a desperate desire to capture the essence of the human soul in her dolls. With each revelation, the line between the living and the lifeless blurred, and Keiko felt herself becoming entangled in a nightmarish world.
The dolls that had once been works of art now seemed to harbor malevolence. They moved of their own accord, their eyes filled with an eerie, lifelike intensity. Keiko realized that Ai's obsession had bound her to a sinister force, and her creations hungered for more than just existence.
In a chilling climax, Keiko confronted Ai and the curse that had gripped her creations. Together, they sought to break the curse's hold and release the trapped souls within the dolls.
As the moon hung low in the night sky, Ai performed a solemn ritual, guided by the spirit of Mei, whose essence had been captured in Hikari. The dolls, imbued with a restless energy, gathered around, their haunting eyes watching as the curse was lifted.
With a mournful sigh, the dolls' porcelain features softened, and their malevolence dissipated. The spirit of Mei was set free, and the dolls became lifeless once more, their beauty preserved in eternal stillness.
Ichiban returned to its peaceful slumber, and Keiko departed with a newfound appreciation for the power of art and the depths of human longing. The village's haunting tale of the dollmaker's curse served as a reminder that some obsessions could lead to the creation of something far more sinister than art itself.
End of Chapter 5: "The Dollmaker's Curse"
Chapter 6: "The Shadow in the Forest"
In a land steeped in history and tradition, the Aokigahara Forest, known as the "Suicide Forest," concealed a dark secret. Within its dense, ancient foliage, a group of hikers would embark on a journey that would lead them into the heart of a malevolent force.
Chapter 6: "The Shadow in the Forest"
Deep within the prefecture of Yamanashi, shrouded in a perpetual mist, lay the infamous Aokigahara Forest—an expanse of ancient woodland that held a dark reputation. Known as the "Suicide Forest," it had been a site of countless tragic deaths throughout the centuries.
A group of adventurous hikers, seeking to conquer the wilderness and challenge the forest's ominous legends, gathered on a chilly autumn morning. Among them was Akira, an experienced guide with a deep respect for the forest's history, and Yumi, a young woman in search of adventure and solace from her own troubled past.
The hikers ventured deep into the forest, their footsteps muffled by the thick blanket of moss and fallen leaves. The dense canopy above cast eerie shadows, and the trees seemed to whisper secrets of sorrow and despair.
As they trekked further into the woods, they began to notice strange occurrences—a disconcerting sense of being watched, distant whispers on the wind, and ghostly apparitions that flickered at the edge of their vision. Akira, the guide, attributed these phenomena to the forest's ominous reputation and urged the group to press on.
Yet, the forest's grip on their minds and senses tightened. Yumi, in particular, felt a strange connection to the haunting forces that seemed to lurk behind every tree. Inexplicable visions of tragedy and despair flashed before her eyes, and a sense of overwhelming dread enveloped her.
Night descended on the forest, and the hikers set up camp, their flickering campfire offering the only semblance of comfort in the oppressive darkness. It was then that Yumi encountered a spectral figure—a yūrei, her kimono tattered and her eyes empty voids.
The yūrei beckoned to Yumi, her voice a mournful echo. Unable to resist, Yumi followed the apparition into the depths of the forest, her companions unaware of her disappearance. The yūrei led her to a clearing where an ancient tree stood, its gnarled roots forming a grotesque face.
As Yumi approached the tree, she felt a malevolent presence—an ancient spirit of the forest itself. It spoke to her, revealing the tragic history of Aokigahara—the place where those who had lost hope sought refuge in death.
Yumi learned of the forest's vengeful guardian, a yūrei born of countless lost souls, whose suffering fueled its malevolence. It was the embodiment of the forest's sorrow, forever bound to torment those who ventured within.
Realizing that Yumi was now connected to the yūrei, her companions embarked on a desperate search to rescue her from the forest's clutches. With the guidance of Akira's knowledge and determination, they confronted the vengeful spirit, revealing the pain of their own pasts and the impact of their actions on the world around them.
As the first rays of dawn bathed Aokigahara in a pale light, the yūrei's malevolence waned, and its grip on Yumi loosened. With a final sigh, it dissipated into the morning mist, its haunting presence released from the forest.
Yumi was reunited with her companions, forever changed by her encounter with the malevolent spirit of Aokigahara. The forest's ominous reputation remained, a reminder of the darkness that could consume those who dared to venture too close to its heart.
"The Shadow in the Forest" served as a chilling testament to the mysteries of Aokigahara, where the past and the present intertwined, and the boundaries between life and death blurred beneath the ancient canopy.
End of Chapter 6: "The Shadow in the Forest"
Chapter 7: "The Haunting of the Yurei Inn"
In a remote village nestled among mist-covered mountains, a centuries-old inn held a sinister secret. When a weary traveler seeks refuge within its ancient walls, she becomes entangled in a web of supernatural mysteries that threaten to consume her soul.
Chapter 7: "The Haunting of the Yurei Inn"
The village of Okuyama was a hidden gem, nestled among towering peaks and blanketed in mist. Within this secluded haven stood the Yurei Inn, a centuries-old establishment steeped in history and whispered legends. Its age-old charm masked a sinister truth—a haunting presence that had plagued the inn for generations.
Amidst a dense fog, a lone traveler named Rei arrived in Okuyama, weary and seeking shelter from the elements. The Yurei Inn, with its rustic charm and flickering lanterns, seemed like the perfect refuge. Little did Rei know that her stay at the inn would unravel the mysteries hidden within its ancient walls.
Upon her arrival, Rei was greeted by the inn's elderly proprietress, Eiko, a woman whose weathered features and deep knowledge of the village's history hinted at a deeper connection to the inn's haunting past.
As Rei settled into her room, the oppressive atmosphere within the inn became palpable. Shadows seemed to dance in the corners of her vision, and strange, ghostly whispers echoed in the corridors. Unbeknownst to her, Rei had become a pawn in a centuries-old battle between the inn and the vengeful spirits that resided within.
In the dead of night, Rei awoke to a chilling presence at her bedside—an ethereal yurei, her white burial kimono flowing like a spectral river. The vengeful spirit's eyes held an insatiable hunger, and she reached out to Rei, her fingers icy and skeletal.
Rei's nights became torment as she encountered more yurei within the inn, each with their own tragic stories of betrayal, injustice, and unfulfilled desires. The spirits sought vengeance, and Rei's presence within the inn had awakened their malevolence.
Desperate to uncover the inn's secrets and free herself from the spirits' relentless pursuit, Rei sought the guidance of Eiko. The elderly proprietress revealed the tragic history of the inn—an establishment built on the suffering of countless souls who had met their demise within its walls.
Eiko's own family had been entangled in the inn's dark legacy, and she bore the weight of their deeds. Together, Rei and Eiko embarked on a journey to confront the yurei and offer them redemption, hoping to break the cycle of suffering that had plagued the inn for centuries.
In a harrowing confrontation with the vengeful spirits, Rei and Eiko unveiled the truth behind the inn's cursed history and acknowledged the pain of the souls that had been wronged. With heartfelt apologies and rituals of atonement, they sought to release the spirits from their torment.
As the first rays of dawn bathed Okuyama in a golden light, the yurei's spectral forms dissolved into the ether, their eyes filled with a mix of sorrow and gratitude. The Yurei Inn, once a place of darkness, now held the promise of redemption.
Rei departed from Okuyama, forever marked by her encounter with the supernatural. The Yurei Inn, now cleansed of its malevolent spirits, stood as a testament to the power of reconciliation and the hope of breaking the chains of the past.
"The Haunting of the Yurei Inn" became a cautionary tale among villagers, a reminder that the sins of the past could be confronted and forgiven, even in the face of vengeful spirits.
End of Chapter 7: "The Haunting of the Yurei Inn"
Chapter 8: "The Curse of the Haunted Kimono"
In the heart of Kyoto, where tradition and modernity intertwined, a family heirloom, an ancient kimono, carried a chilling curse that had plagued generations. A woman must delve into her family's history to uncover the origins of the curse and find a way to break it before it consumes her and her loved ones.
Chapter 8: "The Curse of the Haunted Kimono"
Kyoto, the city of a thousand temples, was a place where time seemed to stand still. Among the historic districts, the Nakamura family had passed down a treasured heirloom for generations—an exquisite silk kimono adorned with intricate embroidery, a relic of a bygone era.
The kimono had always been a source of fascination and reverence within the Nakamura family. It was said to be imbued with mystical powers, protecting its wearer from harm and misfortune. But beneath its ornate beauty lay a dark secret—a curse that had haunted the family for centuries.
Emi, the youngest of the Nakamura family, had grown up hearing stories of the kimono's mystical properties and the curse that clung to it. When her grandmother passed away, leaving the kimono in her care, Emi became the latest custodian of this fabled garment.
As the years passed, strange occurrences began to plague Emi and her family. The kimono seemed to have a malevolent presence, causing nightmares, unexplained accidents, and a growing sense of dread. Emi's husband, Toshiro, and their young daughter, Yuki, bore the brunt of the curse's effects.
Desperate to protect her loved ones, Emi embarked on a quest to uncover the origins of the curse and find a way to break it. She delved into her family's history, poring over ancient scrolls and consulting with local priests and scholars.
Through her research, Emi learned of a tragic love story that had been concealed for generations—a forbidden romance between a Nakamura ancestor and a woman from a rival clan. The lovers had been torn apart by a vengeful spirit, and their love had been sealed within the cursed kimono.
With newfound determination, Emi sought out the help of a renowned exorcist, who revealed that the curse could only be broken by reconciling the spirits of the star-crossed lovers and offering them a chance at eternal peace.
Emi, Toshiro, and Yuki embarked on a journey to the ancestral shrine of the Nakamura family, where they conducted a solemn ritual to appease the vengeful spirits. As they offered their prayers and made heartfelt apologies on behalf of their ancestors, a profound sense of forgiveness washed over them.
In a climactic moment, the cursed kimono transformed, its once malevolent aura dissipating into the ether. The spirits of the star-crossed lovers, now free from their torment, appeared before Emi and her family, their eyes filled with gratitude.
As the cherry blossoms rained down upon Kyoto, Emi, Toshiro, and Yuki returned home with a newfound sense of peace and closure. The kimono, no longer cursed, became a symbol of their family's resilience and the enduring power of love and forgiveness.
"The Curse of the Haunted Kimono" served as a reminder that the sins of the past could be atoned for and that the bonds of love and family could transcend even the darkest of curses.
End of Chapter 8: "The Curse of the Haunted Kimono"
Chapter 9: "The Mirror's Malevolence"
In a quiet suburban neighborhood, an antique mirror with a sinister past found its way into the home of a young couple. As they unwittingly unleashed the malevolent spirit trapped within, they must confront the mirror's dark history to save themselves and their family.
Chapter 9: "The Mirror's Malevolence"
In a serene suburban neighborhood, where cherry blossoms bloomed with each passing spring, lived a young couple, Hiroshi and Aiko, who were enamored with the charm of their new home. They had recently moved into a quaint, old-fashioned house that came with a peculiar antique mirror.
The mirror was ornate and beautiful, its frame adorned with delicate carvings of cherry blossoms. It had been left behind by the previous owner, a recluse who had passed away under mysterious circumstances. Little did Hiroshi and Aiko know that this mirror carried a malevolent secret.
As they settled into their new home, strange occurrences began to unfold. Reflections in the mirror seemed to distort, showing glimpses of eerie, shadowy figures lurking in the background. At night, whispers filled the room as if unseen voices murmured from within the glass.
Aiko, with her fascination for the occult, was the first to sense the mirror's sinister aura. She delved into research, uncovering tales of a cursed mirror that had plagued the previous owner's family for generations.
The mirror had once belonged to a vengeful spirit, a yūrei who had perished in despair. Its malevolence was bound to the glass, and those who possessed it were tormented by the spirit's relentless anger and sorrow.
Desperate to free themselves from the mirror's curse, Hiroshi and Aiko sought the guidance of a spiritual medium. Through a series of rituals and séances, they made contact with the vengeful spirit trapped within the mirror.
The spirit's story unfolded like a tragic drama—the yūrei had been a young woman in love with a man from a rival clan. Their love was forbidden, and when their secret was discovered, they had both met a grisly end. Her spirit had been bound to the mirror as punishment for her defiance of societal norms.
With the medium's help, Hiroshi and Aiko offered prayers and apologies on behalf of the mirror's original owner, seeking forgiveness for the wrongs committed against the vengeful spirit. They vowed to help the spirit find peace and redemption.
In a chilling climax, they conducted a final ritual, allowing the yūrei to pass on and find the solace she had been denied for centuries. As they gazed into the mirror one last time, they saw the spirit's reflection fade into the distance, her eyes filled with a mix of gratitude and farewell.
The mirror, now cleansed of its malevolence, became a symbol of hope and renewal for Hiroshi and Aiko. Their family flourished, and the cherry blossoms in their garden bloomed with newfound vibrancy, a testament to the enduring power of love and forgiveness.
"The Mirror's Malevolence" served as a chilling reminder that even the most innocuous objects could carry dark secrets, and that confronting the past and seeking redemption could break the bonds of even the most malevolent curses.
End of Chapter 9: "The Mirror's Malevolence"
Chapter 10: "The Bridge to the Beyond"
In a remote mountain village, isolated from the modern world, a historic bridge served as a link between the living and the dead. When a group of travelers crossed its ancient planks, they would discover the chilling truth behind the bridge's supernatural origins.
Chapter 10: "The Bridge to the Beyond"
Deep within the heart of the Japanese mountains, nestled among ancient forests and shrouded in mist, lay the village of Yamanokawa. It was a place where tradition and superstition still held sway, and the bridge that spanned the river was both a lifeline and a gateway to the unknown.
A group of adventurous travelers, drawn by the allure of Yamanokawa's untouched beauty, embarked on a journey to explore the village's remote reaches. Among them were Kaito, a historian with an insatiable curiosity, and Mia, a photographer who sought to capture the essence of this secluded world.
The village's centerpiece was the Akane Bridge, a weathered structure made of ancient wood and adorned with centuries-old lanterns. Its planks creaked with the weight of history, and the river below whispered tales of lives long gone.
As the travelers ventured deeper into Yamanokawa, they discovered that the villagers held a profound reverence for the bridge. It was said to be a link between the living and the dead, a place where offerings were made to appease the spirits that dwelled in the surrounding forest.
As night descended, the travelers set up camp near the Akane Bridge, its lanterns casting an eerie, flickering glow on the river's surface. It was then that they heard the sound—a mournful melody that seemed to emanate from the bridge itself.
Mia, driven by curiosity, followed the haunting tune to the bridge's edge. There, bathed in an otherworldly light, she saw a figure—a woman in a white kimono, her long hair flowing like an ebony waterfall.
The woman, whose name was Hikari, revealed herself to be a yūrei, a spirit bound to the Akane Bridge for centuries. She had once been a young bride whose love had been torn apart by a tragic accident on her wedding day. Her spirit was eternally linked to the bridge, where she waited for her beloved to return.
Kaito, the historian, delved into the village's archives and uncovered the tragic story of Hikari's past. It was a tale of love and loss, of a bride whose life had been cut short, and a groom whose heart had been forever scarred by grief.
With newfound determination, the travelers sought to reunite the spirits of Hikari and her beloved. They embarked on a journey deep into the forest, following a path laden with offerings and prayers.
At the heart of the forest, they discovered an ancient shrine dedicated to love and reconciliation. There, in a poignant ceremony, they offered heartfelt prayers and apologies on behalf of the villagers and the groom who had never returned.
As the first light of dawn broke over Yamanokawa, a sense of serenity washed over the Akane Bridge. Hikari's spectral form dissolved into the river's mist, her eyes filled with a mix of longing and gratitude.
The travelers departed from Yamanokawa, forever changed by their encounter with the supernatural. The Akane Bridge, now freed from its haunting past, stood as a testament to the enduring power of love and the hope of reuniting even in the afterlife.
"The Bridge to the Beyond" became a legend whispered among villagers, a reminder that some bonds could transcend time and that the spirit of love endured even in the face of eternity.
End of Chapter 10: "The Bridge to the Beyond"

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