Kriya Petri

Genre: Fantasy scifi, heavy on worldbuilding.

Narration: First-person POV + Epistolary narration (i.e. newspaper snippets, messages, transcripts of audio recordings, other documents)

Setting: Fillor, a country on the planet of Thuluke. A place where you can stitch with light, fire, water, semi-sentient thread, where you can ride on clouds, breezes, rays of sunlight, where some lizards breathe fire and some squirt water and others fly and some other animals, the shapes, are just… geometric shapes, growing from flat to 3D. A country where there are many different Aboveground and Underwater areas, and above the country itself are the cloudlands, where the mysterious yet powerful Divines have lived for 800 years, and now they spread word amongst those on the surface against the ‘traits of criminality’. A planet whose people connected with the people of Earth, the only other people who they know of in the galaxy, and now they collaborate to build prison planets. A country with a rich culture, thrown into socio-political turmoil because of conflict between the two major powers ruling it.

It was 4-2-101 FC.

And there was this girl. She was living in Siph, in Fillor, on the planet of Thuluke. Quite an ordinary girl, really.

She’d joke about making a love potion, just like any other girl, though she’d maintain secrecy about who this love potion would be for.

She was secretive. Strangely, strangely secretive.

And now no one can find out who it was, because she actually tried to make the love potion, and then it exploded and released too, too, too  much magic into the atmosphere.

Last time someone did this they got sent to the Can, the Can, and now her name is Kriya Petri and she’s travelling to Naebo to start a new life as another regular stitchcrafter.

The girl who started the outbreak, the perfectly normal girl living in Siph, who is now the originator of the potion explosion that started the Brain Harm outbreak of 101…

Well, no, that wasn’t me. Not anymore, because now I’m Kriya Petri.

Where?:  In Naebo, in Fillor. On a planet which has above its core the Can, a horribly magical place deep beneath the ground reached through Grey Portals. And if someone goes there, their name, it’s unthinkable, and in Fillor you’ll get there either by accident or by committing a horrible act of criminality. Right above the Can is the Room, containing… well, most Fillorians think it doesn’t even exist, so it doesn’t matter.
Those who do think the Room exists are called Roomers, and Roomers are destined to be sent to the Can. Meant to be sent to the Can like the criminals. Meant to be sent to the Can like the originator.

Content: Mental health issues. Many late night conversations, sometimes sleepless nights. Unlikely friendships which are sometimes their lifelines. Names, what are they? Emotional support. A slow burn romance involving a lot of tea and infodumping, in which one of them doesn’t notice it’s love and the other is in denial of it. Staring at the sky, at the stars, at the moon, at the planets. And staring straight at the sun, in so many more ways than one. Memory. What’s memory, and what are names? Identity. Might it shatter? The sky. The ground. What’s remembered. What’s forgotten. What’s not known. What and who is named.

Who’s here?:
• Someone who attempts to protect the inheritors of the world, her attempts started at an old age and she may be gone soon, but she tries the role of protector despite everything.
 Someone who just wants to find his wife, he isn’t being told anything about it by those he trusted, he’s disillusioned and it seems the world is ending every single day but he’ll find out what happened to her despite everything.
 Someone who finds herself to be more complex than she bargained for, wanting to just be herself but that’s impossible, needing to keep all the people around her safe even though it seems impossible, but she vows to do the impossible despite everything.
 Someone who tries to make the world a better place even though something in him just wants to burn all he is, escape everything and turn from flame into ashes, stop burning and give in to the lethargy, but he tries despite everything. 
 Someone who has goals she’s about to fulfill, doesn’t know what she’ll do after that besides chase even more goals, but then she finds someone and it might start making sense, she doesn’t know but she works despite everything.
• And then there’s someone who… someone, someonesomeone who…

Who’s Kriya Petri? She’s a stitchcrafter and potioneer living in Naebo. Quite an ordinary girl, really.

She jokes and talks with people about life and what’s happening in Fillor.

And there’s a lot  that’s happening in Fillor. The outbreak, the protests, the power struggle between the Fillorian government and the Divine Monarchy.

And among all that, there’s the Thought magicians, patrolling the country undercover, blending in with the crowds. They hear, see, feel everyone’s minds. They’re looking for specific people. Anti-Divine dissenters. The Roomers. The originator.

And see, this girl from Siph, Kriya, she’s secretive.

Strangely, strangely secretive.

[[ Title: Growth of some sort ]]

[[ Caption: This was supposed to be a juggler, at first. Then I made it. It’s not really a juggler. I like it anyway. ]]

[[ Image description: A mass of shiny black metallic material in a form that used to be vaguely humanoid. Its form extends out from its head and torso. Only a little bit of the glowing light grey void is visible behind it. Its face simply has two big silver eyes on it, its head being barely distinguishable from the rest of its body. If it has arms at all, they’ve blender into the rest of its body too. From left to right, forming an arc starting and ending at the figure’s hands, are seven versions of the moon. The first is unlit, its surface visible but mostly dull. The second has a crescent glowing with such bright white light that its features aren’t very visible, with the exception of some spots from the craters. The third has a slightly bigger glowing crescent. The fourth one, at the peak of the arc, is half-glowing. The fifth is a gibbous. The sixth is a bigger gibbous, leaving only a bit of the surface dull and actually visible. The seventh is simply a slightly glowing spotted ball. Also, at some places, the surface of the figure’s body reflects the light of the moons. End image description. ]]

[[ TITLE: Heart Palpitations And Pain In The Left Arm CAN Be Signs Of A Heart Attack, But It’s Probably Just A Panic Attack Instead. Or A Manic Attack. Is That Euphoria Or Anxiety In Your Face? ]]

[[ CAPTION: Is this supposed to make sense or not? Sometimes you’re paying too much attention to what you are and where you are and your left leg starts feeling odd, and your muscles seem to hurt, especially the left one, and your heart is actually pretty good considering the regular amount of anxiety, but HYPOCHONDRIA! HYPOCHONDRIA! Hypochondria is your best friend! It’s great for denying yourself genuine help! You might be dying in some way, shape, or form, but if you say you’re just being a hypochondriac and clearly nothing is wrong in the mind or in the body, you’ll be fine! You’ll be fine in SOME versions of reality! The version of reality you can control, at least. And at least that can appeal to this desperate need for control. Give yourself a twisted, awful, and very unstable version of a internal locus of control. I wonder how badly I mangled that psychological term. Anyway, just say all your concerns are you being overdramatic and a hypochondriac. Disregard all your experiences. And that’s how you end up exploding all the right parts of your body. Except they’re all the left parts. You broke your heart. Or someone did, at least. Maybe it was a friend who didn’t believe you. Didn’t believe a version of reality you put in front of them. And maybe now you’ve lost that friend and are an artist venting it out in a caption, and so now you can disregard all your experiences as overdramaticism and hypochondria and is this supposed to make sense or not? Pain! ]]

[[ Image Description: The two images are the same, with the first one being much more pixelated. Maroon background. A purple humanoid being with a pointy but crumpled head. The front of their torso is hollow, showing a glowing white heart not shaped anatomically. It is wrapped in glowing red strings. We’ll call these glowing red strings ‘not-blood’. The not-blood flows out of their mouth and down to their neck. Their right eye is almost swollen shut, while the left eye is wide open with very thick not-blood gushing out. All their limbs are grotesquely shaped and textured, bent and puffed and jagged at places. Their right arm is arched, long misshapen fingers in front of them. There is a fragment of not-blood on one of these fingers. Grotesque legs, with the right foot trailing out of view. Not-blood flows in a stream in the left, ending in a tangled mess on the left foot. The left foot happens to be huge, and it has sharp things which vaguely resemble toes, along with a random bump. The left arm is lifted up desperately and dramatically, outstretched. Small curly bits of not-blood come out from below the wrist. Their hand is stretched out. The thumb is tiny and lower than it should be on the hand. There is a wide hole in the palm, and not-blood comes out of it, snaking around the fingers, creating coils. End of image description. ]]

I think my spectacles are on fire.

A one-off piece (because hey, I need to get practice writing something while my bigger projects are in planning stages). Body horror? This thing, whatever it’s supposed to be, probably counts as body horror. There’s also talk of fire and burning. It’s supposed to be horror of some sort? I’m not really sure what the hell I just wrote, so do be warned about the body horror and fire stuff if that type of stuff doesn’t sit well with you.

Continue reading “I think my spectacles are on fire.”

You heard either whispers of shouts from the sleep people: “Sleep, people!” sleep people said. And sleep people did.

On the Freak of Space, one can get a job as a ‘sleep person’.

They’re just people who force other people to sleep, whether it’s with music, medicine, or a bat (whether it’s the living creature or the wooden thing may vary). As one may guess, there are many variants of sleep people, depending on how they make one go to sleep.

They tend to take monthly fees. Of course, sometimes time gets messed up if the power cogs are having an especially rough time controlling physics. In those cases most sleep people will take fees for two nights at a time (since in most cases it just takes two days for physics and time mess-ups to be fixed).

The method they use, and at which time they use it, and where varies on how long the person wants to sleep, what quality of sleep they want, what type of dreams if any at all, etc. The preciseness may make the fees vary. Also, some sleep people will have specialties (like there may be a sleep person for dreamless sleep, one who helps people get sleep where they don’t move much, one for long 10 hours of sleep, etc.).

The job of the sleep people originates from when people had just started settling on the Freak of Space, because the long ride on their spaceships and the arrival on a new moon had really messed with their circadian rhythms, and the effect varied from person to person.

What was nature planning, anyway?

Part 5 of Travellers on a Train. Index.

There is some text which is in Hindi. The translation is below the ‘Read More’ cut.

I said we’d get to Earth soon. And we’re near it. Home. Not for you. But it’s grey and blue now, and I saw it when it was different. Machines instead of grass and trees… did you climb trees as a child? No life within Sol, I suppose. Besides you and Sol herself. Other sunlets? The train is a sunlet too, being born from Sol.

The others tell me nothing, and they refuse to say much about Earth as we pass by. They saw it when it was greener too, but pity is annoying so they look away. They look away from it and its humming machinery, which replaced life about a hundred years ago. It replaced life one other time too, but that was… about seven hundred years ago? It lasted only for a couple centuries back then. The Earth is a machine now. And we’re floating past it, no, running. It’s run out of time, we’ve run past it.

The man with neutron stars in his hair wants to speak to you now. He’s starry-eyed — in a loving way when he looks at his sitar, but then he’s sending the gentlest solar flares at me and who-knows-what at you. Pity? It’s definitely pity, which makes sense with you. It could just be a message to tell you to go to him. Neutron stars dot his long flowing hair. Inky black space. Go to him. He pities you, but go to him. Go, go, listen to him.

मैं सितारों के बीच सितार कैसे बजाता हूँ यह आपको समझ में नही आएगा। सितारों का सितार यह हैं तो सही, लेकिन मिट्टी का बना हैं। जिस मिट्टी से तारें बने हैं वही मिट्टी हैं। पृथ्वी की भी मिट्टी थोड़ी-सी हैं, लेकिन उसकी न सोचें।

सितारों के सितार के तार तारों से बने हैं। इसके साथ संगीत बजाने के लिए इसके तारों को उखाड़ना पड़ता हैं। हवा मे उनको उड़ते देखीए, उड़ते सुनीए। इनका गीत गूंजता हैं। 

तारों की भी भाषा होती हैं, सूर्यजीव। आप एक दिन समझ जाएंगे, लेकिन आपके साथ बैठने वाले ग्रह-पीठ व्यक्ति, उनको हज़ार ज़िन्दगी में भी तारों की भाषा समझ न आ पाए। नफरत… जलन… दुख… सोचो मत, दिमाग से निकाल दो। सिर्फ गीत सुनो।

यह तारें अपना गाना खत्म करके मेरे बाल मे टूट जाएंगे। चिंता न करें, मैं इन्की बड़े प्यार से देखभाल करता हूं। आज-कल मुझे पता भी नही चलता ट्रेन में क्या चलता हैं। बस सितारें हैं। मेरा सितार और हर जगह सितारें। इतने सारे सितारे हमारी दृष्टि झेल न पाई, और वो भाग के चली गई। 

मैं इस ट्रेन पे आया था ताकि एक दूसरे तारें की देखभाल कर पाऊ। बड़ा-सा तारा था। खूबसूरत भी। लेकिन अब… 

सोचीए मत। भूतकाल का भूत हैं।

सितार सुनिए।

मैं उस भूत-तारे की बात न करूंगा।

सितार सुनिए।

इस पल में सिर्फ तारों की गीत हैं।

Continue reading “What was nature planning, anyway?”

The Electricity Eater (with a particular taste for neurons)’s Favourite Meal

Image Description: Black background with light electric blue to the right. A person wearing a highly reflective black tunic, only their head, neck, and torso showing. They’re tilted to their right (our left). Their head and neck have been split open in half. The neck is coming out of the slightly tapered neck of the tunic and it’s almost elastic in the way it’s moving side to side. On their right side, the head has short black hair which blends into the background, with brown eye and eyebrow. Perfectly normal. Then on their left side, their mouth is in a maniacal grin, their iris pink with only a bit of the older brown remaining, and the white of the eye spreading across the skin like paint or spreading mascara or tears. Eyebrow replaced with a shock of pink paint with a touch of blue in it, both flowing together down the side of their face. Only a bit of their mangled ear is visible, and a blue paint flows down from it. Their hair has become luminous light blue, forming the right part of the background.
On the bottom left corner, many jumbled groups of musical notes. They’re white, glowing, 3D and in Western notation. They get smaller as they get to the person’s left ear, and then they come out their mangled right ear, flowing out and getting bigger. They’re inverted sideways and look strikingly white against the blue. End Image Description.

This is a moment from the the mid-to-end part of Electricity Eater (with particular taste for neurons).

The electricity eaters are creatures on Earth who lurk in the shadows and eat electricity. They and one of them has a taste for neurons

Most other electricity eaters just eat electricity from houses and thunder and stuff, but one of them has taken a liking to neurons.

At the moment depicted in the story, it has decided that the regular old neurons of different animals, especially that of an anxious human, are great, but you know what would be an absolute delicacy.? The brain of someone who only copes with music. Make their brain squeeze out with the help of music that drives them… ‘mad’ is questionable. They did do this as a trade to become a god of music, so there’s that. It was voluntary. Not that that matters to the people who see the… the remains… the remains of the person. And really, not even that part matters to the electricity eater. It only cares about the absolutely delicious electricity .

Tears / Weeping / The Silver Lining / Weeping / Tears

Sometimes you feel its weight settle upon you like a blanket. A cloak. A dress. A shirt. All those things. All at once. All at once and more.

It’s mercury, flowing across your skin, seeping into your blood, turning you yourself into mercury, maybe into a thermometer, maybe into cinnabar.

Feel it all settle. It won’t consume you, you darkly tell yourself, it’ll just poison you, that’s all, just poison you for a long time and bring your health down as you weep tears of mercury, mercury, mercury’s dripping down your face and you’re standing on Mercury, Mercury, look straight up at the sun.

You’re mercury, standing on Mercury, and how’d you make it this far? The mercury that flows through you — you’re NOT mercury, it’s not your identity, it’s just in your blood — it hides the memories.

You did great things. The mercury dripping through you wasn’t quite visible to anyone. And you made it to Mercury, in spite of your mercury, inspired to spite that mercury.

But mercury poisoning is harmful. And they didn’t know that before, the ones who lives live on in your blood and DNA. They didn’t know about mercury poisoning back in the days when cinnabar was makeup. Beautiful, vivid red, maybe too bloodlike for some people’s taste.

There’s mercury in your blood. Silver. Red. They’re highlighting each other.

You cry mercury tears.

And the mercury seeps out.

You get proper clothes, clothes that can withstand the burning and the radiation and the might bright light kite sight height blight of Mercury.

You’re in a better condition. Mercury isn’t kind to you, Mercury almost hates you, Mercury is poisonous.

You cry a bit. Laughed hard at a joke. Yes, you have friends who finally see what Mercury and the mercury have done to you. It’s hard but they help.

The mercury seeps out. The Mercury seeps out.

It bothers you sometimes, the mercury tears.

But they’re not in your veins anymore. The poison isn’t embedded into your skin.

Sometimes it bothers you, yes, and sometimes the mercury settles upon you like a blanket, a cloak, a dress, a shirt, all those things, all at once, but it doesn’t settle the same way it did before.

You still weep sometimes, and it’s still mercury, but now you’re not a thermometer. You never were, really. And you’re not cinnabar. You’re not mercury.

You’re you, just someone on Mercury who has to deal with mercury inside of them, and now you know how to manage it.

It can still get bad. But it’s better than before.

You’ve learned.

You’ve healed.

The tears are less mercuric now.

A Tumblr post from 1 Feb ’21 originally titled ‘yelling about outlining at a truly cursed hour’, which I think should go here now

I was outlining just now and I’ve made what was previously just a scene floating in a loosely structured draft 1 into (what I’m calling) the mini-climax of the second half of Section 1 of Kriya Petri, and it was HEARTBREAKING with a good amount of tension in the first draft, but now??

I have AMPED UP THE TENSION AND HEARTBREAK by refining the structure.

I focused more on the epistolary portions. See, I first figured out how to create suspense with certain repeatedly cut off epistolary documents when I was ending the first draft of Section 1. That was a while ago, and I can use it even better now!!!

I developed the characters involved more, so more emotional attachment (goes with ‘refined narrative structure’ I suppose).

AND, AND, AND THE THING I’M PARTICULARLY THRILLED ABOUT!!! Sprinkled in some surrealism with the first person narration. Gives us some character moments (impact of the event on the protagonist) in a very show-don’t-tell way. Works in tandem with the epistolary to build suspense and tension!! And it’s also fucking heartbreaking!!!!!!

I can’t say much more since this portion isn’t even written yet. Again, I’m outlining. Also, energy supply in my brain is fluctuating, my brain has been acting up and I have preboards-2 etc etc. also there’s the fact that it’s 3:22 am.

But I am SO excited to write this whenever I get to it!!!


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