• Member Since 1st Aug, 2013
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Late at night, when Wallflower is all alone with herself, the bad thoughts in the corners of her mind get harder to ignore.

Chapters (1)
Comments ( 14 )

Wow Scampy. That was dark. And painful. :fluttercry:
And frighteningly relatable. Have some hugs. :twilightsmile:

Silly Wally! Scarring yourself up is only gonna draw Sunset in more by playing right into her heroic savior complex. You might as well try to drive away any of my Bioware RPG protagonists by having a traumatic backstory!

No, no. If you want Sunset to hate you, you need to start antagonizing her friends.

Ahhhhhh this hurts. This fic holds nothin back when it comes to emotional self-destruction. Scampy why u always make my heart cryyy??

Well done, Scampy!

You know how people often can spot a Super Trampoline fic by its title and cover art alone? As soon as I saw this one’s title and cover art I knew you had written it.

This just threw my eating habits into my face. Quarantine doesn't help with that.

And once again, you've put out a horrifyingly relatable short story that does not hold back. You perfectly put into words those 2am thoughts that come to us when we're alone, when all is quiet and we're left with that haze of inner voices. And yet, you still kept it well-structured as a story.

Reading the first paragraph, immediately followed by the last, it seems like an absurd leap. But going through the whole story, each little step, each little added bit of self-hatred and justification gradually gives this runaway train of intrusive thoughts its momentum, until all of a sudden that last paragraph terrifyingly starts to make sense.

Just... great story, Scampy.

Yikes. Tough read as always!

Though I'm pretty sure Sunset would want to help Wallflower more after seeing the marks she's about to put on herself.

Funny you should say that. I wrote a story with the same picture, but I don't have the courage to embed it for... reasons.

Powerful work, uncomfortably relatable, and a evocative depiction of those foul trains of thought that haunt quiet moments. Nae bad at all.

It's the whisper at three in the morning, your own cruelty finally gaining control when you're too tired to fight it anymore. When the sun has left you and your company is gone, the thoughts creep in like a predator circling for their final strike. Our only choice is to let go and watch in horror as we construct our own living hell, and the only escape from that hell is finally putting an end to everything. Others would scold those that even considered such an option, but they don't understand—the unending misery of constantly having to wake up into the nightmare we've made for ourselves is something they'll never fully comprehend. It can be a mercy, a fantasy even to imagine finally being free of those vicious thoughts, to finally find somewhere that isn't tainted by the person in the mirror we've come to despise. The finality and relief of it seem like our only option anymore as each sleepless night of wounding whispers tear us down that much more—so much so that we subconsciously see the last ties of positivity keeping us here as an enemy to that goal. The friends that care seem like nothing more than a chain binding us to the flame that's eternally inflicting pain throughout our existence.

But it's a lie. The voice telling us how horrible things have become is the negative influence that's completely consumed our thinking. After so long of letting it have control you can hardly even summon a hint of positivity to counteract it anymore. That's why friendship is so important in the end; when we don't have the strength to fight away the darkness enveloping us, there are always those that care that will lend a light of positivity to convince us not everything is hopeless. Wallflower might get what she wants by pushing Sunset away, but it wouldn't be what she needed. Friends like Sunset are the most precious things you could ever find in this life; they're the lighthouse in the storm to guide us away from disaster when we need it most.

Thankfully, nights like these always have a morning to carry them into being just a memory and the friends that are around to remind us we're not completely lost causes will still be there when we finally wake up. In our darkest times our mind tricks us into horrible things, but it's never too late to try to move past them and let those caring voices guide you into a happier life where the constant whispers of your mistakes no longer have to define you. It's never an easy process and trusting others is one of the scariest steps to take, but even a moment away from the constant torment in the arms of someone who can convince you that you're not the monster you see in the mirror is worth it, I think.

Hope you're doing better, Scampy.

I know, my own food consumption has been up, and then down, for years now.


So, there is a quote out there that has been falsely attributed to Hemingway. It's one of my favorite quotes about writing. I'm not sure who said it, but it's powerful nonetheless. And I hope you'll forgive the vivid imagery in it, seeing how it relates to these Wallflower stories quite more than could be thought: "There is nothing to writing. You just sit at a typewriter and bleed."

The most authentic writing comes from somewhere deep within. This stuff is very authentic. While I can't relate to the self-harm, I can relate to what it feels like to stare your reflection down and see nothing but a monster staring back at you. Something you'd like to shatter, if you had the guts to do so. I don't see that anymore. I hope there's a day when Wally doesn't either.

More great work from you. I'm pretty sure I won't be disappointed with the rest. :twilightsmile:

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