Laurena Fauie
Bio
she/her/hers
Stories (6/0)
Recipes for Avoiding Psychological Disaster
TW: ED I've often wondered why cuisine exists. Genuinely, from an evolutionary perspective, eating is about necessity. staying alive. Somehow, over time, the consumption of food has become an experience, all about desire. Ask someone on a date- what do you do? Get dinner. What does everyone post on Instagram when travelling? Their dinner. What does nearly every holiday seem to revolve around? Eating dinner. Anyways, the point is, food is a cornerstone of our culture. So what happens when food becomes your enemy? The body begins to find itself violently ill, woefully guilty, and eventually, simply terrified. I hope this is a feeling few can relate to. After eight or so years, I'm finally starting to see food as something that brings me satiety, rather than misery. The sad part, however, is that a combination of bad genes and that damned subconscious association between a full belly and sheer panic have greatly limited my options.
By Laurena Fauie3 years ago in Longevity
Dreams from the Witching Hours
Samantha woke with a start, as if struck by lightning. She screamed out and began to sob, bottomless, soul-emptying sobs. Lili ran to her sister and attempted to reach her arms around her. Samantha threw her off. Lili had the best intentions, of course, but there was nothing she could do to console her sister now. Lili stood back and watched as Samantha began to tear at her hair. Jason’s eyes shone from across the room. They couldn’t help either. No one could. Rue was dead and Samantha couldn’t begin to explain her agony. Lili stretched out her hand over her grief-stricken sister and began to murmur. Samantha collapsed upon her cot, apparently fast asleep as quickly as she’d awoken. This was their routine. Every night, Samantha woke, howling for her lover, and Lili put her sister back to sleep. Samantha’s dreams were once beautiful gifts. She wove tapestries to reflect the prophecies that blessed her sleeping mind. Samantha had danced, sung, and braided Lili’s dark, always tangled hair. Now, she was a ghost, haunted by recurring nightmares, promising that her other half, Rue, was soon to meet her end.
By Laurena Fauie3 years ago in Fiction
Epilogue
She doesn’t listen anymore- not that she ever really did. I think, sometimes, she could hear me or sense me and direct the story accordingly. Now, she simply ignores me, pays me no mind or attention. She got what she wanted, after all, she got the satisfaction of typing out a pretty, perfect ending to a tragedy she didn’t have to survive. I think she enjoyed it, honestly. She invented a world and smashed it to pieces with plague and fascist warfare. She invented me, gave me long, black curls that flashed violet in the sunlight. I should be grateful to her that she went out of her way to make me exceptionally beautiful. My creator birthed me to be perfect. Then she took her perfect creation and battered, tortured, and exhausted it. Why breathe something so lovely into existence only to ruin it?
By Laurena Fauie3 years ago in Fiction