oneshots 🧷 joshler

tommorow

this is kinda fuckin crazy. just try to follow along.
-
to whoever will listen.

i've been thinking about black holes a lot. how their gravity is so strong it bends time and space. how you'd be stretched down to atoms passing the event horizon.
i kind of feel like i'm being stretched out to atoms. like i'm falling apart and becoming so metaphorically thin that i'm transparent. but, as nothing that happens past the event horizon affects the universe outside of it, nothing that i'm feeling is affecting anyone in the outside world, either.
the event horizon is the point of no return. nothing, not even light, can escape it.
i wonder what will happen when i pass the event horizon and fully submerge myself into the black hole.
there are theories that if you enter a black hole under a specific angle, you'll survive and hit the bottom of it. the chances are incredibly small.
i doubt i'll survive.
-t

he throws the piece of paper tied to a balloon out of his window, watching it travel farther and farther away. it's his last message out, before tomorrow, before it all changes. tomorrow, the boxes are packed, the bags are ready, the family is crying and moving on.

tomorrow. tomorrow tomorrow tomorrow.

he's ready to move on. he's ready to go. he's done here.

there's a knock, and two, and there's his mom. as she talks about something having to do with him, he's thinking about something else. he doesn't want to know about him.

she leaves, and he's left alone again.

eat. sleep. contemplate the meaning of life. repeat.

for the past year, that's all he's done.

it's time to sleep. it's not even six in the afternoon, but he's tired, and tomorrow is calling for him, taking him in it's grasp, luring him in.

tomorrow is always a chance for something new.

he climbs into bed and sighs, rolling so that he was blocking out any possible light. he's ready for sleep. he's ready for tomorrow.

yet he has to stay there, wait, wait, wait for tomorrow to come, because his eyes won't close, his brain won't stop, his fingers can't stop moving along his face and his wall and he needs to do something to get to tomorrow, to make it come quicker, yet all he wants to do it sit and await the sweet taste of death in his bed. he could easily sit there for years and years and be absolutely fine.

tomorrow won't come, yesterday won't leave, and he's still stuck in today, in treacherous today, today that won't go away, because all he wants us tomorrow's sun, tomorrow's moon, tomorrow's stars, and tomorrow's hope- hope that can live and thrive within him, fueling him to go for the day after that, and the day after that, and the day after that.

he wants to go on to tommorow. he's just not sure that he can.

his eyes are more than bloodshot. his skin is almost translucent. he's become barely a wisp of a memory to some people. he's turning into a ghost, with hot blood still pouring through his veins, becoming proof of afterlife.

tomorrow is coming nearer with each passing second.

one.

two.

three.

four.

five.

five, twelve times, is a minute. sixty of those, or, thirty-six thousand seconds, is an hour, and twenty-four of those would be a day, or, eighty-six thousand four hundred seconds.

just five seventeen thousand two hundred eighty times.

there. there went five minutes. three hundred seconds, gone. maybe if he just did that some more...

time ticks by slowly, agonizingly sluggish. he just wants tomorrow. that's what his mind is focused on. tomorrow.

who else out there is waiting for tommorow? is it because of the same reason? it might be for a totally different reason, too, and that's okay. he just wants to know if anyone else is waiting for tommorow, all standing in one big line, slowly being let into the next day.

tomorrow can bring anything. life. death. peace. destruction. happiness. sadness. fear.

fear. the greatest emotion. fear is everywhere you look. it's always creeping around the corner, always blurring the edges of your vision, always nagging and pulling and tugging on you, restraining you from tommorow. fear is present in every person's life, even if it's only for one second. a person may never experience happiness, but there's a good chance they'll experience fear.

he loves and hates fear. fear is the person that he would love, he would share himself with, and be the same person that he would stab and rip their heart out, sorry's spilling from his lips as he did, sorry's that he wouldn't mean.

fear dances around him, teasing him, degrading him, fucking him over until he is dying on the ground, struggling to get back up.

as he looks around for that nyquil his mother gave him a couple weeks ago, his fear starts to get a little frisky.

stop, he tells it. stop. go away.

and it does, for a little.

he takes some nyquil.

goodnight, today. we're done with you. hello, fear, haunting us for the next hours in our brains, putting on shows for us that you find funny and amusing, while we find them terrifying and bloodcurdling.

fear manipulates us into something. it could be who we are, it could be someone totally different than we feel. it all depends on how fear flips the coin.

he drifts off to sleep, and wakes up, startled. it's still dark outside, and there's footsteps above him, and below him, and on top of him, and get him out he's stuck, he stuck he's never gonna get out where's the air get him out he can't breath the walls why are the walls caving in where is the air-

there's a note.

t-
black holes and stretching atoms. what an interesting concept. it's a very interesting thought process you have there.
please don't go past the event horizon. i hope this gets to you in time. i hope this gets to you period. please. do not disappear, friend. i've been thinking about it, and now i've decided that we're in this together. you aren't leaving, and i'm not leaving. we'll stay in orbit.
i'm waiting for tommorow. i wonder if you are, too.
-j
p.s. sorry this is short. i am running out of time. write back.

j is running out of time.

t is running out of time.

a, b, c, d, e, f, g, h, i, k, l, m, n, p, k, r, s, u, v, w, x, y, and z, they're all running out of time, too.

he picks up a pen.

j-
my name is tyler, and wow, do i have one hell of a story for you.