Sy Camaro
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thesytuation.bsky.social
Sy Camaro
@thesytuation.bsky.social
60 followers 25 following 160 posts
beholder/speaker/constructor

experimental dark fantasy author @ https://adokhai.neocities.org/
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thesytuation.bsky.social
UNTITLED

My entry for @augursociety.bsky.social's #AugurMicros2025 competition.

CW: Corpse decay.
An untitled microfiction piece. It reads: An everlasting horizon where ribbons of plastic sway in originless breezes like grass; at the peak of a citadel of garbage lay countless offering bowls, from which a fragrance was toked, of rare earth elements smoldering. Beneath them lay rotten blasphemers and celebrants, made like in fetid slop. At the world's center is a drill bit; it is rusted nigh to shrapnel and sits on the universe's last wooden board. And before it, with a stare a million years long, is me.
September 15, 2025 at 4:23 PM
thesytuation.bsky.social
day 28, snippet: thinking

as age falls on them like twilight, one thinks of many things.

#fantasyindiesjune #writersky
A microfiction story called The End of Night, which reads: He hunched on his greatsword like a walking cane; mountain air fresh on his face. While his frail old legs still held him, he would stand daily at the precipice; distant in his cataracted gaze, the broken siaion still stood. Akashically it echoed, a faded dawnmade remnant; still, in every mankind memory, its stones remained— a curse, perhaps, or a want for a sunrise. Achingly, he yearned, with a future in his stare. His time was fading, to see again with blinding eyes the uranium filigree upon the ghosts of the siaion stone. And believe, for himself, the beauteous dawn.
June 28, 2025 at 6:27 PM
thesytuation.bsky.social
day 21, snippet: longing

in the world of kyn, people seek a greater meaning in the endemic suffering of their world.

so that you may know the meaning of your suffering, saevexia asks you to suffer more.

CONTENT WARNING
graphic descriptions of blood and gore

#fantasyindiesjune #writersky
A snippet of a work of fiction that reads: And the stretched-thin skin began to rupture, and tore like rubber; the holes banded her neck like a torc. From them issued blood and bile, which ran in unending cascades over her garment, gurgling in the wound like in a narrow brook. And when her throat unclasped from her stomach, and writhed inside her chest, new acids geysered up and scorched her vulnerable flesh. Her arms grew anemic, pale and faltering, and struggled to force her head any further. Her body buckled beneath shock, and the scant signals that still reached her legs brought only desperate spasms. Umbra cinched the corners of her vision, closing like a drawstring and threatening the pointless end of her visceral endeavor. But, with the last muscle impulse she could force, she set hard her teeth again and filled her mouth with their shrapnel. The last of her lifeblood coursed in her arms and urged the muscles hard enough to fray their cords, and lifted. Her spine snapped, her neckflesh sheared, and her esophagus slipped through its slime to leave behind her body. With her mind’s final darkening impulses she felt the muscles of her gullet spasm, and ache, and thrash madly like a beheaded snake. Its ichor-blowing end grasped in horror and frigid nakedness, in search of that which it never knew could be lost. The signals of her brain, once sparking violently enough to ignite, now struggled to remember the things it once had, reaching out for memories now fading. But its final echo, the last meridians which sparked between its neurons, were a word, a sigil, the name-god-object which once was held by prophet’s hands. And Najwa knew, as the prophet knew, as the goddess knew: the pain of something missing.
June 21, 2025 at 4:42 PM
thesytuation.bsky.social
day 14, snippet: tension

couldn't find "tension" anywhere so i picked a tense stanza from my tensest poem, Chimradeva.

"Innocence: the inability to be forgiven."

you can read the whole thing on the site:
adokhai.neocities.org/poetry/Chimr...

#fantasyindiesjune #writers #authors #writingcommunity
Stanza of a poem called Chimradeva. “I didn’t do it, grandpa,” she pleads In prostrate. But it is what she is, The nodes of her wretched, infant soul That when sidelong seen, reveals the knife.
June 14, 2025 at 11:29 AM
thesytuation.bsky.social
I'm Sy Camaro, creator of Kyn, the horror-fantasy world consisting of poetry, prose, and art.

Know desolation, witness final deeds of valor, and discover a world of nightmares darker than dreams themselves, in a world abandoned by god.

"Kyn, blessed Kyn, save us."

READ AT: adokhai.neocities.org
June 5, 2025 at 2:18 AM