I lay on the membrane watching the pinprick of light flicker in and out. The glow didn’t have a long life ahead of it, and it was my fault. Sometimes I reach towards it as my fingers mime capturing it. That was the extent I would try. The rest of the time I lay on the sticky ground waiting for it to collapse and send me deeper into the abyss.

I had started thinking of the abyss as my home. I had started thinking that staying in the endless dark was okay. I had started thinking that I was fine.

I’m fine. I’m fine. I’m fine.

I don’t need to change.

See, there were whispers telling me to try and climb back out. That I needed to put more effort in. That it was my fault for being trapped here. That escape was impossible. That light simply taunted me. If I could reach it, I could be happy again. Or so I thought…

I’m happy here. I like the dark.

I don’t need to change.

What was the point? Of happiness, of love and dreams, of life? The darkness is fine.

I’m fine. I’m fine. I’m fine.

Sometimes I couldn’t breathe. Like something was trapped inside of me, clutching my lungs, and keeping me from that mist of life. I got paranoid. The darkness ate at my mind, making it harder to think. Making me less human, less alive. Even if I wanted to interact with other humans, I had lost it, my humanity, my existence, that flicker of a soul. It had gone out. I don’t even know when I had lost it, the will to live, the will to try. I don’t know, and it scares me.

I don’t know anything anymore.

I’m fine. I’m fine. I’m fine.

I don’t need to change.

There isn’t much to say about the darkness. It’s dark… A miasma hangs over it. Beneath me is unsteady ground, sticking to me, adding another layer of difficulty with trying to escape. I sink deeper into it over time, like I’m being consumed, but I don’t move. I don’t move and I tell myself it’s okay. Sometimes I start to think about what could be if I was in that light again. I remember the outer world. I think about how much I tried and how hard I fell when I failed over and over again. My mistakes are visceral reminders as to why I’m down here.

One day, I shared a painting that I had slaved over for hours. I couldn’t tell you the days I spent on it. I couldn’t tell you how much I loved it. And how much it hurt when no one understood it. That day, I had put down the brush and walked away. The ground split open, and I fell.

And fell.

                                                        And fell.

                                                                                                                     And fell.

And now I’m here. Isn’t it a pathetic story? Artists have to face rejection.

I know. I know. I know.

Stop telling me.

But that day I learned I wasn’t strong enough. I’m weak. I’m pathetic. I’m not a good artist. I’m a failure. I’m broken. I’m not real and I can’t exist.

The darkness is cool. A heavy wind flutters my hair and it reminds me of the sun and the outside and the joy of a perfect day. I will never have those again. Because this is my home.

I’m fine. I’m fine…

I’m fine.

I don’t think I’m happy. God, I’m so unhappy. I didn’t mean to end up here. You have to understand how hard I tried. How I built up the courage to share my art. How long I had studied art. How much I loved it.

I don’t love it now. I don’t love anything.

That’s fine. Right?

Fuck, I’m so unhappy. This is hell. But climbing out is impossible. That light keeps flickering and I know I’m done for when it goes out.

I’m not fine. Oh god, I’m not fine.

Can I even stand up? Do I dare try? I don’t want to find out my body doesn’t work anymore. I don’t want to know. I want to stay here. Even though I hate it, even though I’m alone, even though I don’t have you anymore. I can’t reach you. I’m sorry I’m gone. I didn’t mean to leave. I didn’t mean to fall. I didn’t mean to give up.

I want to see you again.

I lied. I have a little faith that everything could be okay. It’s just broken into too many pieces to put together. But it’s there whispering. Try again.

I push against the membrane. It sticks to my skin. The hair on my arms gets caught on it, but I rip it off, burning pain rippling down my skin. I yank my other arm and legs off it. The membrane rips. I have a tentative hold on the ground. If I fall deeper… I can’t fall deeper. I have to climb or it’s over.

I throw myself at the wall. It’s cold and slick with dew, but I grab onto a ridge and hold on with my shaking arms as the membrane collapses beneath me. I shiver, looking down into the abyss, a new hell that I don’t want to meet. Up above, the light flickers like an ember being blown on.

I reach for another hand-hold, but my fingers slip off the slick surface. I groan as I scrape my fingers on the stones, trying to find anything that would keep me from falling. Tears stream down my face. I hold back a sob. My palm loses its grip on the slimy rock.

I’m going to fall.

                                            Fall.

                                                                            So far down.

                                                                                                                 And I’ll never get out.

I’m fine. I’m fine. I’m fine.

But the lies don’t work,

I shouldn’t have tried. All it did was push me further down. My hand slips, fingers popping off one by one.

I haven’t fallen yet.

I scream. Scraping my hands on the rocks until I find anything to hold on to. I curve my fingers around a craggy rock as my other hand slips off. I stare at the flickering light so far above me and my vision blurs until it looks like a dancing candle-flame.

You haven’t fallen yet; it seems to whisper.

So I screech and claw at the wall until I find something to grip. I pull myself up and keep grabbing at rocks until I find the next bit of hope to cling onto. I don’t know if there will be a hand-hold above me, but I still reach for it. I grope in the dark with a belief that there must be another handhold, because if I believed anything else, I’d let go. And I can’t let go.

I said the abyss had become my home, but that’s a lie. I had never felt comfortable. I had never stopped looking at that flickering light, trying to remember what it was, and what it meant to me.

Blood mixes with the dew on the wall and my hands repeatedly slip, but I’m still clinging to the wall like a beetle defying gravity. My arms are screaming. I never had much strength to begin with and lying on the ground for months had only atrophied the little I had. But it doesn’t matter. I’m going to get out.

I’m trying.

Dear god, I’m trying.

I feel so alone. The light seems so far. Why can’t someone come and carry me out? Why isn’t there a hand for me to grab? Why is no one screaming my name, cheering me on as I struggle towards the ember?

I fight my way upwards.

I don’t feel better.

I feel worse.

I’m a failure and I know it.

So why am I trying?

Why did I never stop trying?

My arms hurt.

My palms are bleeding.

Why am I trying?

I think you’d be happy to see me again. Even though I’m just a beetle on a wall, easily crushed and thrown away. But maybe you…maybe you would still love me.

Both my hands slip. The light fades to a weak haze.

I’m falling.

I reach upwards towards anything. Anything.

I want to get out. I don’t want to be in the dark anymore.

Something warm wraps around my arm. I yank to a stop. The abyss unfolds beneath me, but I’m hanging in the air. I look up. It’s a hand around my wrist. How could I forget the sensation of a hand on my skin?

It’s you.

Did I not push you away?

Did you not forget me?

“Don’t give up.”

Tears tickle my cheeks. “I’m trying.”

“I know you are.”

I can’t see your face. It’s too dark, but I remember it anyway. I imagine your sad smile as you stare down at my pitiful existence. But you wouldn’t see me like that, would you? You’d see someone beaten down but still courageous enough to get up.

I got up.

I tried.

You caught me, but you can’t hold on forever, can you?

You swing me against the wall. I grab hold and you let go. I look up, but you’re gone. But you’re not truly gone. I know that. You’ll catch me.

But it’s my journey to get out.

So I climb.

                                                             And climb.

                                                                                                                                  And climb.

Until I can see your shining face in the light of that ember I’m holding onto.

The abyss unfolds beneath me, but I look up. Ever up. Towards you.

And whatever I can be.

Hiya everyone. I’m back. At least I’m trying to be back. I wrote this story over the course of the month I was away. It’s all I wrote. It captures how I felt (how I’m still kind of feeling). That’s the thing about that story. They never got out, but they are trying to. I’m like them. I don’t think I’m out of the abyss, but I’m climbing out. It’s a journey and I don’t think I could write a different ending until I figure out how you escape the darkness. Maybe it will always be my companion, but so is that light of hope flickering above me. So are all the people cheering me on and catching me when I fall.

But yeah, I’m back from my hiatus. It’s nice to be back with you all.

-Aether

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If you enjoyed my writing and would like to buy me a coffee I would be so appreciative!

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If you liked my short story consider taking a look at the other short stories I have on Substack: Short Story Collection

I also have been posting poetry on here, consider checking out: Do You Remember?

I blog about mental health if you are curious about that: Maladaptive Daydreaming

If you think a girl resurrected from the dead trying to seduce the god of the underworld sounds fun, consider checking out: The Mark of Death a novella/serialized novel.

I’ll miss you all, but I’m not disappearing for long!

I buzzed in response to a bee that had landed on my veil. It didn’t respond; I assumed I spoke some other bee language and didn’t get offended. A couple of hive bodies were scattered across my backyard, leaf shadows shuttering across them. The remnants of smoke made me cough. I pulled out a frame, honeycombs of gold gleamed under the summer sun. Not quite enough. My father had taught me when to collect honey when I was a child and wouldn’t stay away from the bees. Giving me a suit of my own, and teaching them to respect the bees, they’re not zorgs, they’re bees. I chuckled to myself, thinking of my childhood nickname for the little creatures. A memory kissed my tongue like honey. The way I made friends back then.

I called it the Zorg test. My friends had to enter the swarm, the yellow and black ships darting around them. If they weren’t brave enough to do it then they couldn’t be my friend and that was that. (Un)surprisingly, I didn’t have that many friends. I stopped in my tracks, remembering her, and the day that had begun it all.

“And the mighty Zorg empire is ready to attack earth and you’re the only one who can stop-”

Sophie ran into the swarm, dancing around them like they were nothing, or maybe more than that she saw them for what they were.

Beautiful.

She twirled and laughed as some of them chased her as she exited the swarm. Not the scared laughter I had heard from the others when they got too close. Genuine joy bubbled from her lips. She ran past me, followed by buzzing and I laughed too. Sophie may have taken a couple hits from the zorgs, but despite our parents’ wariness, we had become best friends.

Until that day.

Heat rushed to my face. After that, we became distant friends, still caring about one another, but no longer hanging off each other’s shoulders. Letting out a sigh, I tried to ignore the tightness in my chest.

Another bee landed on my veil, speaking in its own language, and I focused on putting the frame back in the hive body.

My phone rang on the patio table while I fiddled with the bee box. I cursed and rushed over, pulling off my thick gloves. I managed to catch it on the last ring.

“Bella!”

Electricity ran down my spine. What was the coincidence?

“I’m going to be visiting home this weekend. Do you think I could crash with you? I’ll be positively smothered if I stay with my parents,” Sophie said.

“Of course,” I said without thinking, and then started to panic as my heart ran away from me.

“Great! Love you sweetie, got to go!”

The phone conversation ended as quickly as a tornado and just as destructive.

The weekend came in a haze like my bees when smoked. Cleaning the house until my clutter had a structured appearance had taken up most of my free time during the week. Still, my living room had books, dvds, and cds carefully placed in neat piles, shelves were neatly packed with video games, and posters for famous movies like The Shining suffocated the walls. I’m a collector, I always said, but sometimes the hoarder allegations seemed a bit too real.

The doorbell rang, and I ran to get it, then immediately took several deep breaths. We’re friends. It was fine, everything was fine. I opened the door.

“Bella!” Sophie threw herself at me.

Warmth rose in my cheeks as I smelt her sugary hair. Sophie was soft in my arms as she held me tightly and giggled, rocking me back and forth.

“It’s good to see you,” I grunted.

She pulled back, and I took in her radiant smile and crinkling eyes, her brunette curls framing her light brown skin. A tingle ran down my body and I looked away.

“It’s been so long,” I said.

“We’re going to have so much fun.”

I smiled, feeling heat where her fingers still lingered on my sides. “Let’s get your stuff in.”

She gave me a strange look, her lips upturned ever so slightly, like she had a secret. She’s dangerous. Pulling away, she chuckled and quickly collected her things. I got her stuff settled, apologizing that she’d have to sleep on the couch, but she insisted it was comfy.

“Do you still have the zorgs?” Sophie asked.

“My bees? Yeah, I took over from my father.”

“Can I see them?”

Electricity ran down my spine as I remembered why I liked her.

“Aww, they’re so cute!” Sophie said, as she ran towards them.

“I love them,” I said. “But be careful.”

She laughed.

I smiled as I caught her hand. She looked at me, her eyelashes long, with the slight smudge of her red lipstick on her perfect lips.

“What? You’re staring!” she batted my arm.

“Sorry,” I said. Heat that wasn’t from the sun roasted my cheeks.

“Do you remember playing make-believe?”

My heart stopped. “Yes.”

“What if we played again?”

My fingers tingled where our hands met. My mouth wouldn’t work, and if my lips opened, I didn’t know what they would say. I let go of her hand and her eyes drooped.

“That was silly of me to-”

“Let’s play.” I stared into her eyes. “Prince and Princess.”

Her lip twitched, and she rubbed her shoulder. “Sure.”

We both looked away. Why had I asked for that game after everything that had happened last time? The moment that broke us apart only for us to come back together fractured, holding a secret that neither dared to speak of.

Sophie ran into the bees.

My princess ran into the zorgs. Laughing as the little spaceships trailed after her. Crazy as always.

“I’ve got you, zorgs!” Sophie cried, making a gun with her hand. “Pew, pew.”

She dodged around, her spaceship making a virring noise.

“My princess, be careful!” I cried.

The princess ignored me, being reckless. A zorg hit her side, and she cried out.

“Princess!”

“My prince!” she put a hand to her head and fell to the ground, laying limp.

I pushed my ship as fast as it could go. The zorgs chased after me, but it didn’t matter. My princess was in danger.

A couple of bees followed me, agitated by Sophie’s presence. One landed on her.

I cried out, dodging between the zorgs with precision. I skidded my spaceship across the ground and threw off the canopy.

I sat next to Sophie and batted the bee away. Hopefully, it hadn’t stung her, for Sophie’s sake and the bees.

I entered the Princess’s broken ship and found her unconscious. “My princess,” I murmured, and pushed a strand of hair out of her face.

“Please wake up,” I shook her shoulder, but she didn’t move. I poked her cheek, to no effect.

A tear rolled down my cheek. This couldn’t be the end.

I had to wake her.

So I did what any prince would do.

I cupped her cheek and gently pressed my lips against hers. She stiffened underneath me and I pulled away. Her eyes were wide and my heart dropped. What had I just done?

“I need to go,” Sophie said.

The princess woke up and pushed the prince away, taking her spaceship and flying into the night.

I stared at the grass where Sophie had been, my lips still tingling from the kiss. Just like that day when I ran from her sweet lips. When I shoved her away and said it was gross, as confusing feelings filled my chest. Thoughts I still hadn’t come to terms with. At least she had been nicer than I had been. Regret of it all made me curl into myself as a bee landed on my shoulder. Is this how she felt back then? I looked towards where she had disappeared as a tear dropped to the ground.

I waited in the living room for Sophie to come back, but nightfall had arrived and she still hadn’t returned. I had stared at my movie posters for too long and had knocked over some dvds, now scattered across my rug, and I hadn’t had the energy to pick them up.

Maybe Sophie had gone to her parents crying, yet unable to tell the story of her friend who had taken a game of make-believe too far.

That’s all it was, wasn’t it? I got lost in the story and needed to wake up the princess. I didn’t want to kiss Sophie. I put my fingers on my lips, still remembering her softness, her scent, her closeness in that moment. I shivered and wanted to cry, but tried to hold it in. I put my head in my hands. I knew she was dangerous. Because…

I liked her.

Tears had pooled in my hands when someone rang the doorbell. I wiped my tears as my stomach twisted. I stood in front of the door, hand hovering over the knob, unable to turn it. If Sophie was on the other side, how would I face her?

Coward.

I opened the door and came face to face with Sophie, who wouldn’t look at me.

“Do you need to grab your stuff?” I asked.

She mumbled something.

“Sophie?”

“I’m staying here,” she said. “Remember?” She met my eyes with something like defiance.

I moved aside and let her in. She made her way over to the couch and half sat on it, like she was ready to bolt at any moment.

“I won’t do anything-”

She patted the sofa next to her. “Here. Now.”

I listened as my heart beat in my reddening ears.

She kept her head forward as we sat in silence. I squirmed in my seat, waiting for her to berate me. I had basically assaulted her, hadn’t I? The realization struck me and I froze. I had ruined everything.

“You’ve been crying,” she said.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I got carried away, and-”

“Is that all it was?” She turned towards me.

“I-I.” I stuttered. “Yes.”

“I see.”

Something cracked inside of me. A coward. I couldn’t even tell her the truth. A tear slipped down my cheek against my best efforts.

“I’m sorry for running,” she whispered.

“I deserved it.”

“No, you didn’t.”

I wouldn’t look at her. Our knees touched, and I pulled away.

“You don’t need to cry.”

I sniffled and hid behind my fingertips.

“Please,” she said. “Don’t cry.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Why are you apologizing?”

“I don’t know,” I said.

“Please.” Her fingers grazed my hand. I peeked at Sophie, her eyes soft. Why is she looking at me like that? I covered my eyes again. Her fingers moved down to my cheek and brushed a tear away. I shivered as her palm moved down to my nape. The couch creaked.

Warmth flooded my body, from my chest down to my deepest parts.

Softness pressed against my lips. I lowered my fingertips and found her intense gaze. She closed her eyes as her hand traced my jaw up towards my cheek. She kissed me gently. She kissed me tenderly. She kissed me and I kissed back. I hesitantly touched her cheek, smooth under my touch, and my heart fluttered.

She pulled away. “It’s not make-believe for me.”

I half laughed, half cried. “You’ve always been my princess.”

She kissed me until my tears stopped, until all my fears faded, until she filled all my thoughts.

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If you enjoyed this story, consider buying me a coffee. The caffeine will help me continue to pump out these stories!

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I was really proud of this story that I came up with for a competition. It needed to be a romance, with a beekeeper character, and an element of make-believe. Personally, I thought I did a good job hitting those elements. I don’t really know why my story wasn’t good enough. I don’t think it is because the story is bad, but sometimes I whisper to myself that I’ll never make it as an author. I’m posting this because I’m deciding to be proud of the story, rather than shrink away from it. I think it’s a fun story, and I hope all of you do too.

If you liked my short story consider taking a look at the other short stories I have on Substack: Short Story Collection. Or check out my most recent short story I Still Remember You

I also have been posting poetry on here, consider checking out: Do You Remember?

I blog about mental health if you are curious about that: Maladaptive Daydreaming

If you think a girl resurrected from the dead trying to seduce the god of the underworld sounds fun, consider checking out: The Mark of Death a novella/serialized novel.

List of Prompts

Last Weeks Prompt:

Themes: Secrets, Villain, First Love

Subject: Nature

Random Element: A cyclical story (beginning mirroring the end)

What I Came Up With: I Still Remember You

I still remember you. The way your kisses fluttered down my cheeks and danced across my lips. Laying under an apple tree, sweetness from scattered apples blanketing us. I still think of you every time I smell apples.

I can’t eat apples anymore.

I don’t know where things went wrong.

I don’t know what shifted in your brain that made you untouchable, unknowable. Or were you always like that and I never saw it, too caught up in your apple scent?

I remember the day you were covered in crimson and smiling in a flaming village. Blood dripped off your sword, and I had blinked that fact away. I ran as fast as I could, grabbing you and checking for wounds. Your eyes were foreign as they took me in, the playful light gone. Are you okay? You hadn’t answered, scanning your eyes across the wreckage. The thatched houses ablaze, scarlet puddles reflecting the light. We need to get out of here. I had pulled on your arm, but you didn’t budge, staring off at something. Please. You had turned to me, your eyes filled with something. I still wondered, was it love or hatred? My insides burned, a terrible screaming pain in my stomach. A sword stuck out from my gut. I felt it go all the way through my back as you shoved it inside me up to the hilt. Your face was so blank somehow I felt more betrayed by that than the sword inside me. That’s the face you show me when you try to kill me? Nothing? You give me nothing at the end? Where had those tender eyes gone? Couldn’t they have at least burned with a hatred that gave some answer? Instead, I have no idea what you were thinking. You pulled out the sword, let me drop to the ground, and walked away as I bled out into the dirt.

I didn’t see you until years later, standing on top of a hill splattered with countless bodies all bearing your black stain. They would wake from death, like some nap, and hunt humans with the hunger of a starving man in a forgotten desert. I ran up the hill, tripping over bodies, and came face to face with you. You smiled, still chasing me? My murderous intent dropped away, remembering those radiant grins you had shared with me under the apple tree. I hated you had the same smile. It reminded me you were the same person. That I loved you, and nothing could ever make me kill you. My sword fell limp in my hand while yours raised in the air. I fell to my knees and accepted my weakness. I still love you, I whispered. You paused, something flickering in your eyes before growing cold once more. You didn’t respond. Your sword clashed against one of my comrades, a man that would fall to your blade after I’d been ushered away. You won that day, and many more, your body count climbing into the thousands with an ease like a skater on ice.

My weakness grew.

This hole in my heart where my love had been. Where it still was, festering away.

My superior had brought me before a team of mages. They gave me a necklace that would explode with a vast amount of light energy if I said a choice set of words. Only you can get close to him. I didn’t argue if that was true or not. I didn’t know where your love for me had gone or if it ever was. But I took the necklace and was sent to the battlefield where you had last been seen.

Blood mixed with the red of rotting apples forgotten on the floor. I nearly got sick as I walked through the trees, not from the blood, but the scent of apples and the sweet memories, now sour, they brought up. Me kissing you for the first time in a burst of bravery and the gentle way you kissed me back. You napping in my lap while I read a book. Us giggling over stupid jokes that hardly made sense if you gave them a second thought. Us imagining our life together, timidly, as if not sure whether the other was okay with being together forever. I meant it, everything I said to you, but you must have been lying. But why? Would I ever understand why?

You stood below a tree standing off on its own, munching on an apple like a war didn’t wage only a few feet away. I walked up to you, and you didn’t flinch, your eyes barely skating over me before staring off into the distance. What do you want, you said. I stopped a few feet away from you. So many words fought on my lips. So many things needed to be said. But five words won out. Did you ever love me? You took another bite of your apple, taking me in, and smiled slightly. Who knows?

You broke me.

You’ve left me broken, like shattered glass that no glue can fix.

I will never understand you. The person you’ve become. The person you were.

Yet, a torturous truth remains.

I had shed a tear as you raised your sword towards me once more. My blade slipped to the ground. I lunged forward, surprising you so much that you didn’t strike me down. I held you tight. One last time. I love you.

Three choice words.

The necklace exploded. Light washed harmlessly over me while you screeched and squirmed in my arms. Fire ignited across your body. I love you. Light hit you again and you screamed. I love you. I love you. I love you.

I spewed the horrible truth, still buried in my heart for you until you fell limp in my arms. I laid you on the ground. I checked your heart. It beat no more. I don’t remember when I started crying. Was it before I killed you or as you laid too still, an enigma I’d never understand? You’d never make sense to me, but it doesn’t matter.

Because I will always love you.

Here we are. You dead amongst apples, while I sob at what could have been. I kiss your forehead, your cheeks, and then your lips as forbidden as it was. My tears fall onto your cheek, making you look almost remorseful for what you’ve done.

And all I can ask is why. I will never know. You’re dead before me, a half-eaten apple in your hand.

I can’t eat apples anymore.

Next Weeks Writing Prompt:

Themes: Universe, Lilies, Memory

Subject: A Tea House

Random Element: A song (either as an element of the plot or a song that inspired you (extra points if you link the song))

I hope you enjoyed last weeks writing prompt. I feel like it really pulled this story out of me. I don’t know if I would have thought to create a story like this without it. How about you? Did it spark anything fun?

If you want to write along with me, feel free to link me to your pieces and I will check them out!

Previous Prompt

List of Prompts

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If you enjoyed my writing and would like to buy me a coffee I would be so appreciative!

Buy Me a Coffee

If you liked my short story consider taking a look at the other short stories I have on Substack: Short Story Collection

I also have been posting poetry on here, consider checking out: Do You Remember?

I blog about mental health if you are curious about that: Maladaptive Daydreaming

If you think a girl resurrected from the dead trying to seduce the god of the underworld sounds fun, consider checking out: The Mark of Death a novella/serialized novel.

List of Prompts

Last Weeks Prompt:

Themes: Sliver of hope, Chaos, Hero

Subject: Something broken

Random Element: A good friend

What I Came Up With: Together At The End

The iridescent gem laid broken before the Ancient Dark. He almost looked normal. Like some lonely drunk she’d find at the back of a bar, except for his eyes like pits of oil. He smirked at Ember. Her whole body shivered at the magical pressure forcing her to the ground. The dying blaze of the gem gave her enough energy to keep her eyes open. The crystal had been the final prayer of her civilization, and they had chosen her to bring it before the monster towering above her. Shattering like an egg, the gem’s magic had dissipated.

Aria whimpered beside Ember. Ember’s eyes widened; Aria had followed her? Flickering in and out of invisibility, Aria’s weak form finally solidified. Ember wanted to scream at her, to cry, to do anything but watch Aria get annihilated alongside her.

“Is that it?” the Ancient Dark said. “I break your gem and you give up?” He crouched before Ember and grabbed her chin. He had a gentle touch that felt foreign to everything she knew about the man. He tilted her head up. “I suppose they ran out of all the good heroes long ago. Now you’re just sacrifices to appease the commoners. To give them hope when I snuffed it out long ago.”

Tears flecked her eyes. Deep down, she knew that she wasn’t important. They had found her off the streets and told her she was bound for greatness. Put her in fancy clothes and made her one of them, only for them to send her on this mission.

“I miss the challenge.” He pulled his hand away and her gaze fell back on the gem. There had to be something she could do. She still had the final spell tucked away in the back of her mind, ready to be called. It needed enormous magical energy to use. That was what the gem was for.

“Ember,” Aria murmured, extending a hand towards Ember, who hesitantly took it. Aria smiled, her eyes watery but determined. “Together.”

A tear freed itself from Ember. She could accept her own demise, but not Aria’s. Aria had only been meant to accompany her to the last outpost before the Midnight Castle. But she should have known. Aria was brave to a fault, and loyal even more so.

Ember nodded. At least they’d be together in the end.

Pulling the final spell from the back of her mind, whispers broke out from her lips that weren’t hers. An ancient voice, a voice of power. Overlapping words came from Aria, who had never learned the spell, but together they shared the words.

Together, the spell ate through their souls.

Burning pain shot down Ember’s spine, a warning from her body: you’re going to die.

“What are you doing?” The Ancient Dark said as sparks of magic surrounded him. He reached towards her, but his hand hit a wall of magic so dense he couldn’t penetrate it.

Ember closed her eyes, letting the spell wash through her. Letting it become her. She squeezed Aria’s hand, remembering all the nights they had fallen asleep together holding hands. She let that final touch bring her through the pain of the spell.

The Ancient Dark screamed, “what is this spell? How are you casting it?” He threw violent magic at her. She and Aria were sent flying backwards, but his magic couldn’t reach them.

The final spell built towards its climax, and her body alighted with fire. She wanted to let the spell take her away, to end the pain. Aria cried out and Ember squeezed her hand.

Together, she thought.

Together. Ember imagined she heard Aria’s voice in her mind. It gave her strength to keep going as the Ancient Dark began to scream and curse. She opened her eyes, watching as an iridescent flame ate through his skin. Her whole body screamed with power.

I won’t die laying down.

Ember pushed herself to her knees. Aria glanced at her and did the same. Shakily, the two of them stood up. They stared into the face of evil and did not cow.

The Ancient Dark became a blaze. She could hardly see his body through the flame. She could see the fire upon her, harmless to her uncorrupted self. Her body began to fade, to become one with the flame.

Aria stared forward, gleaming tears on her cheeks, defiant until the end. Ember wrapped her arms around Aria and let their flames become one. The whispers poured out of their lips, and Ember knew she would never speak with her own mouth again.

Ember rested her chin on Aria’s shoulder, who squeezed her. The spell came to an end.

There was nothing left where the Ancient Dark had stood.

The last words were spoken, sealing away the monster that had nearly destroyed their world.

The two of them said the final word in sync. Their bodies were no longer there, a raging flame left in their place. Yet the souls remained entangled and brave. The fire crackled to embers, leaving no trace of the girls behind.

Yet the world remembered. They remembered them for their bravery and determination. But more than that, it was a tale of two friends who had gone through hell together and found that beside each other they had an infinite strength. The kind that could burn the world to the ground.

Or save it.

Next Weeks Writing Prompt:

Themes: Secrets, Villain, First Love

Subject: Nature

Random Element: A cyclical story (beginning mirroring the end)

Did you have fun with this weeks writing prompt? I found it fun to work with. I wanted my story to be short and sweet (or maybe short and sad?) and I think I accomplished that. Did you find it easy to come up with something, or was it a challenge? Let me know in the comments!

Please post links to the stories you made in the comments or in the subscriber chat I have dedicated to this prompt (@ me in notes or in the post and I will be able to find your story as well). I can’t wait to see what you’ve all come up with. If you would like to suggest a random element for next week, please leave that in the comments as well!

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If you liked my short story consider taking a look at the other short stories I have on Substack: Short Story Collection

I also have been posting poetry on here, consider checking out: Do You Remember?

I blog about mental health if you are curious about that: Maladaptive Daydreaming

If you think a girl resurrected from the dead trying to seduce the god of the underworld sounds fun, consider checking out: The Mark of Death a novella/serialized novel.

Do you remember the darkness?
That abyssal kiss before the light.
Screaming for air in a world too bright
Named and given a destiny
Who will you be?

Do you remember the vastness?
Of that place where no memories lie
Thinking, feeling, touching. Eldritch concepts
Unthinkable, frightening, enticing,
Who are you?

Do you remember the emptiness
That lack of you
The forgotten bits of stardust
Coalescing into a mushy something
Will you let go?

Do you remember it? Do you remember it?
A guess, a whisper, a noiseless sea.
Why is it you want to return?
To that emptiness before a dream
Will you stay?

Stay with me.

Picture by Gaspar Zaldo

Share

Buy Me a Coffee

If you liked my poem consider taking a look at my most recent poem: Becoming Human

I also post short stories on here, consider checking out my Short Story Collection

I’ve been sharing writing prompts if you are curious: Writing Prompts

I blog about mental health if you want to know more about that: Maladaptive Daydreaming

If you think a girl resurrected from the dead trying to seduce the god of the underworld sounds fun, consider checking out: The Mark of Death a novella/serialized novel.

List of Prompts

Last Weeks Prompt:

Themes: Redemption, Father, Scroll

Subject: Royalty/Nobility

Random Element: A poem/riddle/prophecy

What I Came Up With: The Dark King Will Reign

Patricide is frowned upon, perhaps decried as an evil act. If it hadn’t made me king, they would have locked me up for it. But as these things go, I hadn’t been punished, except for the voices. The whispers that wouldn’t leave me alone. I didn’t even know their names. The man who did had died by my sword ten years ago.

“You look solemn,” Calamena said.

My gaze grazed the commoners, who paused in their work to stare at my carriage. A woman held a basket, an apple frozen in the process of being placed in it. Conversations died, a child pointed, a man cheered, and a woman shushed him.

“What do they think of me?” I said.

“That you’re a good king,” Calamena patted my hand. She loved me. I was fond of her, but an emptiness had burrowed into me since that day ten years ago. It chewed up emotions like love and spat out numbness.

“Through love or fear, I wonder?”

“There’s no reason to be frightened of you.” Calamena smiled. She always believed in my goodness, but she didn’t know the words that I did.

The Dark King will reign upon the remnants of innocence.

The beginning of the prophecy; the one I had been heading down for ten years, its cryptic words slowly swallowing me up.

We reached the gates of my castle and Calamena fussed over herself. I rested my head against the window and waited for the carriage to slow to a stop. It stilled, a calm returning to the shaking vehicle, and I sighed. The door opened, and a servant greeted me. Stepping onto the cobblestone, I offered a hand to Calamena, who smiled. She always liked it when I treated her with care, and so I tried to, even if I felt nothing. My family awaited me, standing uncomfortably still, their eyes not quite meeting mine. I hadn’t gotten used to it even after all this time, the way my family had frozen over the day that my blade had pierced my father’s heart. Isn’t it funny the way my heart had been shattered too, yet my body lived on?

The Dark King will reign.

“It’s good to see you Raleigh,” Enara, my sister, said. She was the only one who didn’t seem frightened of me, yet a distance remained. She hugged me, her body tense, but still trying to repair the affection that was far too broken between us.

“It’s good to see you, as well,” I said.

Fenrin, my master servant, appeared and ushered me inside as I exchanged pleasantries with my family. It had been far too long since I had been home. Civil war kept breaking out and I wasn’t the type to command from afar. The bloody conflict had finally ended with none of the nation seceding. Yet the war had left my nation weak to other countries’ attacks. I had to hope that I could keep the peace, but I had never been good at that. I never wanted bloodshed, but war always followed me.

Upon his blade, the blood of the unworthy rests.

I didn’t know who the unworthy were, but the words bound me to destruction.

“Your majesty, there’s an urgent matter that I might speak with you about?” Fenrin said.

I nodded, pulling away from my family and leaving my chest cold.

No one will walk beside him. His road is his alone.

We stepped into my office designed by Calamena; warm wood and decorative tapestries complemented a wall of books that I never touched. I took a seat behind my mahogany desk and sighed.

“Tell me,” I said.

“Wraiths are rising in the East,” Fenrin said. The whispers awoke at that.

Please kill me.

I can’t take this anymore.

End me.

I shivered and tried to pay attention to Fenrin. “-They have been beating at the shield, stressing it to its limits. We have sent troops to face them, but their numbers keep climbing. Our soldiers are untested against creatures such as these.”

“I had thought that the wraiths had been vanquished.”

A sword pushing through flesh. Betrayal in the eyes that matched mine. A blubbering damnation of me as blood splattered the ground.

The end of his love rests on the tip of his sword.

“It has been ten years since they have been spotted,” Fenrin said. “But without a doubt, they are back.”

“I need time,” I said.

Fenrin nodded and left. Closing my eyes, the memory of that day played through my mind.

I had held a scroll in my hand; a page with an octagon filled by an intricate pattern of lines drawn on it. For the millionth time, I had run my eyes over it. It couldn’t be true, but the workmanship belonged to my father, a master mage.

“This can’t be real,” I said.

Fenrin looked solemn. “But it is so.”

I wasn’t nearly as practiced in magic as my father was, but I was skilled in my own right. I could spot a forbidden spell, and this one was especially nasty. My fingers traced the hilt of my sword. It felt colder than usual. A sickness built in my stomach.

“And the attacks in the East?” I said.

“They bear the signs.” Fenrin said. The remnants of necromancy that had never been seen before.

My fingers dug into the scroll, leaving it bent. I handed it to Fenrin before I damaged the evidence more. “You’re sure?”

“I’m afraid so.”

“Then I will go,” I said.

“Are you sure? We can send an assassin.”

“It must be done by my hand,” I said, my voice shaking. I left Fenrin, my heart thrumming through me and making me ill. I forced the screaming thoughts about what I had to do deep down. I had to do it, because now I knew who I was.

The Dark King.

I reached my father’s workshop at the back of the massive property the castle rested on. It had once been a guest house, but had been turned into a chaotic sprawl of test chambers for magic. Papers, tubes, and strange looking contraptions littered tables and the floor. I made my way to the master bedroom. The large room had been repurposed to test incantations. I could hear ruffling noises along with my father’s hums that had once rocked me to sleep. My hand froze on the doorknob as the ache in my chest burned so badly I thought I’d die.

I can’t do this.

Yet I thought of the spell penned by my father’s hand and I strengthened. Opening the door, I startled my father, whose hums ceased.

“What pleasure do I owe this visit?” my father said.

“I felt like stopping by,” I said. I could hear the ice in my voice, not anger or betrayal, just a loss of feeling.

“Are you alright?” he said. “You look pale.”

“What were you doing in the east?” I asked.

“Research, of course.”

My father had long left governing the nation to me as his magical studies took over his life. I hadn’t minded. Practice reigning over my people was important. I was going to be king someday.

Not some day. Today.

“What kind of research?” I ran my fingers over the edge of his workstation.

“The kind to help people.” He smiled, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“You’re always working to help people,” I said, my voice cracking slightly. I had always looked up to my father for his kindness, equal to his wisdom.

“I’ve always been for the people,” he said.

“Even those girls?” I said. Memories of the rooms filled with chains and dried blood haunted me, where scorches of my father’s incantation crusted the floor.

“Girls?”

“Why did you do it?” I croaked.

“What are you talking about?” My father glanced towards the door.

I was running out of time. If I wanted things to be easy, all I needed to do was pretend everything was fine. But the motive behind all of it disturbed me. I had to know.

I pulled out my sword and with a quick flourish, pressed it against my father’s neck.

He yelped.

“Why did you kill those girls? No, worse than that.” I snarled. “You made them undead. Made them crave flesh and destruction.”

My father’s eyes went cold. “I see.”

“I don’t understand,” I said, tears flecking my eyes. “You’ve always been kind. How could you stomach it?”

“I do what must be done,” he said. “You will understand once you are king.”

I laughed. It sounded dark and wrong. “Killing innocent girls is necessary now?”

“They were street rats that no one would miss. They would be dead soon anyway. Now, they have a new life.”

“So you’re saying your acts were good?”

“I’m saying that they had a purpose.” He tried to back away.

“What purpose?” I pushed my sword closer to him, letting the tip draw blood.

My father shivered.

“Can you imagine what an army of them would be like?” he said.

“You’re trying to raise an army of undead now?”

“We get challenged on our borders constantly because they think we are weak. No one would question us if we had beings like those on our side.”

“Wraiths can’t be controlled,” I said. “They hunger endlessly, haunted by the soul they lack.”

“But I can control them,” he said.

“It doesn’t matter,” I said. “What you work towards is horrendous.”

“Raleigh, son, you must understand that sacrifice is sometimes necessary-”

My blade thrust through my father’s chest. His eyes went wide and then darkened before a deep sadness crossed over them. My eyes must have mirrored his, as a sheen of tears made the world go blurry.

“Raleigh…” my father murmured, coughing up blood.

I pulled my sword from his chest and caught him as he fell forward. “I didn’t want to do this.”

I brought my father’s body to the floor. My father blinked a couple more times, disbelief crossing over into betrayal. Then everything stilled in the way a person’s body shouldn’t. In the end, my father’s corpse stared at me with betrayal for eternity.

Fitting.

I closed my father’s eyes as the floor filled with his blood. I stared at his corpse for a time ranging from seconds to thousands of years. I couldn’t tell you. My chest hurt and I wondered how much pain my father had felt.

Then the whispers started.

Set me free.

Please, just make it end.

I’m so tired. It hurts.

I held my head to try and make the intrusive thoughts stop. What ailment was this? Tears burned in my eyes but paused as my mind became overwhelmed with thoughts that weren’t mine.

Footsteps distracted me from the crying women in my mind. The door opened and my mother appeared with two mugs in her hands.

The mugs crashed to the floor. A scream and damnation. What have you done?

I blinked open my eyes, feeling feverish from the memory. I would head to the east and come face to face with the monsters my father had created. Who created them in his legacy? But it didn’t matter. I already knew the ending.

The Dark King will reign upon the remnants of innocence.

Upon his blade, the blood of the unworthy rests.

No one will walk beside him. His road is his alone.

The end of his love rests on the tip of his sword.

All who oppose him will fall, good or bad.

Until all that remains is his shadow upon the land.

Next Weeks Writing Prompt:

Themes: Sliver of hope, Chaos, Hero

Subject: Something broken

Random Element: A good friend.

How did you all enjoy this weeks writing prompt? I had a lot of fun with it. I feel like this story is somewhat outside of my usual style. I’m not entirely sure I hit all of the elements properly, but at the very least every element inspired the story. I also think this story is kind of open ended, it seems like the beginning of something bigger. (If you’re interested in me continuing this story, please let me know!)

Please post links to the stories you made in the comments or in the subscriber chat I have dedicated to this prompt (@ me in notes or in the post and I will be able to find your story as well). I can’t wait to see what you’ve all come up with. If you would like to suggest a random element for next week, please leave that in the comments as well!

Previous Prompt

List of Prompts

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If you liked my short story consider taking a look at the other short stories I have on Substack: Short Story Collection

I also have been posting poetry on here, consider checking out: Becoming Human

I blog about mental health if you are curious about that: Maladaptive Daydreaming

If you think a girl resurrected from the dead trying to seduce the god of the underworld sounds fun, consider checking out: The Mark of Death a novella/serialized novel.

Themes: Rage, Wind, Isolated

Subject: Supernatural Person/Creature

Random Elements: Words required: destiny, wicked, dreams

Prompt One

Prompt Two:

Themes: Secrets, Seawater, Codes

Subject: Something ominous

Random Element: A cute animal

Prompt Two

Prompt Three:

Themes: Redemption, Father, Scroll

Subject: Royalty/Nobility

Random Element: A poem/riddle/prophecy

Prompt Three

Last Weeks Prompt:

Themes: Secrets, Seawater, Codes

Subject: Something ominous

Random Element: A cute animal

What I Came Up With: Those Who Go In Don’t Come Out

Emmot sank lower and lower, bubbles foaming the water as he descended into a place sunlight could not reach. Nobody knew where he was going. Emmot knew how stupid that was. You didn’t go diving without someone having a clue to where you had gone. But if he had told anyone, they would have stopped him. He had taken a necessary risk.

Though his diving instructor had only shown him the cave with the express intent of telling him not to enter it, he hadn’t expected the very water itself to repel him. A slight, cold current, with an edge of warning. Yet, the danger did nothing but spark the adrenaline that he craved.

The cave had no name, only a warning, “those who go in don’t come out.”

He tilted his flashlight around, inspecting the harsh gray rocks that seemed normal, but something about it alerted him to there being something off. Pushing through the current, he swam to the rocks just inside the cave and brushed his hand across it. Some dust flew away at his touch and a particularly smooth part of the wall revealed itself. He nearly dropped his flashlight. The rapid light splaying on the stone as he tried to grab it made an oddly straight line catch his eye.

With a flashlight firmly in his hand, he investigated the straight line, following it as it moved down the wall and deeper into the cave. Maybe it had been made by some diver before him as a way to not get lost. He wondered if it had worked. For a moment, he thought about what he was doing and whether he should be doing it. The answer was obviously no. He should have been in his room studying for his upcoming organic chemistry exam, but instead, he was heading into the nameless cave of horrors.

One was obviously more fun.

Emmot sank deeper into the cave, hand on the straight line as it pitched downwards with him. He peered down into the darkness, his flashlight only making a cone of light in the pitch black. His hand on a wall, the only thing making him remember he hadn’t fallen into a world of shadow. The rock seemed to grow smoother as they fell. He flashed his light to the left and found that the other wall had disappeared as the cave widened up. He had expected the cave to constrict as he fell, but it seemed to do the opposite.

The smooth wall slipped from his fingers, and he descended into nothingness. He immediately swam back up to the wall above him. He grazed it and everything flashed blue. His blinded eyes couldn’t tell whether everything had disappeared or if he simply couldn’t see it. He swam upwards, reaching for the smooth wall again, but felt nothing. He kept climbing upwards but could reach nothing with his hands. For the first time, the adrenaline switched to complete panic as he blinked endlessly in the dark. His flashlight caught something light blue in the distance. He wanted to swim to it, this beacon of something in this nothingness, but he questioned the sanity of moving further into this cave. This cave had something wrong with it. They told you that. He pushed down the thought and stayed still, waiting for the glowing thing to reach him.

Tendrils flowed from the orb as it moved to a pulsing cadence. He squinted his eyes and realized that the strange light was actually a glowing jellyfish. He frowned, unsure whether they were normal in this region, or if this bioluminescent one was dangerous.

The creature approached him, bouncing in the air a couple of feet before him like it wanted something. He extended his hand without thinking and the jellyfish floated over it, tentacles grazing his palm. No pain came with it and a sense of calm washed over him.

Hi there, little guy, he thought, and the jellyfish almost seemed to twirl in response.

He scanned the cave with his flashlight, but found nothing but darkness. The current he had felt coming in had gone stagnant. He watched where his air bubbles went and could at least orient himself up and down.

The jellyfish swirled and then scooted away. Then it paused as if waiting for him. It twirled again, a sense of urgency coming from it, and Emmot moved towards it. I’m following a jellyfish around now? It wasn’t the craziest thing he had done today. They moved forward, the jellyfish a beacon in the dark, and a current started up again. He shivered in the cold swell that seemed to push the jellyfish onwards. He moved his flashlight around as they went. Nothing greeted him every which way he looked.

The jellyfish disappeared.

He scattered light across the darkness as he searched where it had gone. Then it reappeared, and as if teasing him, vanished again. He reached out for the jellyfish and knocked against smooth stone. His hand found a hole, and he grabbed hold of it. The current pushed up against him as he pulled himself into the opening. It was large enough to fit him, but not much more. The jellyfish bounced next to him and he smiled. The jellyfish pressed a tentacle against the wall and it glowed softly. It shimmered unevenly, and he brushed his hand across it. Dust flew away, leaving a series of symbols gleaming on the wall. The one on the far left was a swirl turning in on itself. The one next to it was two wavy lines. The third one was a single line, slightly curling to the left. The last one was a series of curls attached to the center.

Emmot touched one, and a shock ran through his fingers as it bled to red and then back to blue. He stared at them, trying to understand what they meant, while the jellyfish beside him seemed to bob impatiently.

I’m not that smart.

The jellyfish didn’t seem to care about his intelligence. Instead, it reached out a tentacle and pointed to the line with a swirl going upwards. Emmot pressed it and it turned a deep blue. His friend pointed to the two wavy lines, and he touched it. Again it glowed blue. The next one was the swirl going in on itself, while the last one was the swirls connected in the center. It deepened in color, and then the four symbols appeared in the water before him. They curled around each other before forming a face with many tentacles.

A deep rumble sent him toppling against the wall. The water turned to ice, and a pulse pounded in his head. He pressed his hands to his face, trying to ease the pain, but nothing worked as it worsened. Rocks fell down. One hit him on the head before he had the good sense to swim out of the cubby.

Darkness swallowed him but he could feel it all around him; something immense and wrong, something that pressed into his brain until he couldn’t think. He tried to swim away from it, but there was no escape. A current pulled him deeper into the cave, towards something he couldn’t name, but knew was wrong. He slammed into something slimy and recoiled, trying to swim away, but it stuck to him with the intensity of superglue. His hand melted into the stickiness and he pulled away with all the force he could muster. Nothing worked as it pulled his body inside.

Those who go in don’t come out. He had thought himself above those words, but as his torso slipped into the goop, the adrenaline faded, and only dread remained. As his head was the only thing sticking out, he thought in horror that it wasn’t only himself that he had destroyed, but that he had unleashed something far beyond his understanding. He knew it didn’t belong in this world, and the world wasn’t ready for it.

Emmot’s head squeezed into the slime. His breathing apparatus kept him alive as it pulled him deeper and deeper into wrongness. Mind breaking before his body, Emmot became one with the creature in the depths, in the cave that bore only a warning.

Those who go in don’t come out.

And sometimes when you go in, something else comes out.

Photo by Francisco Davids

Next Weeks Writing Prompt:

Themes: Redemption, Father, Scroll

Subject: Royalty/Nobility

Random Element: A poem/riddle/prophecy

I hope last weeks writing prompt sparked some creativity and helped you come up with something fun. I will admit to being a bit unsure of how this piece came out. Having to fit all the writing prompt’s criteria was a bit of a challenge. For all my uncertainty about the story, I think it is a little fun. I hope you enjoyed it and wish to join me in doing more writing prompts!

Please post links to the stories you made in the comments or in the subscriber chat I have dedicated to this prompt (@ me in notes or in the post and I will be able to find your story as well). I can’t wait to see what you’ve all come up with. If you would like to suggest a random element for next week, please leave that in the comments as well!

Previous Prompt

Share

Buy Me a Coffee

If you liked my short story consider taking a look at the other short stories I have on Substack: Short Story Collection

I also have been posting poetry on here, consider checking out: Becoming Human

I blog about mental health if you are curious about that: Maladaptive Daydreaming

If you think a girl resurrected from the dead trying to seduce the god of the underworld sounds fun, consider checking out: The Mark of Death a novella/serialized novel.

What would you do if you could create any fantasy you want in vivid detail? If you could craft shame-free stories just for yourself from the comfort of your bed? Would you even want to wake from that?

I know I kind of described writing, but I’m talking about maladaptive daydreaming as you may have guessed from the title of this post. I have an issue with maladaptive daydreaming, which is where you create stories in your mind. I’ve been doing it since I was a little kid. It was one of the ways I survived my abusive household. It’s part of the reason I became a writer. Writing after all, is just daydreaming that you write down.

I hate the word maladaptive. It makes it sound like a bad thing, and it’s not. It’s a beautiful, wondrous thing. It’s one of my favorite things to do in the world. It makes me happy. It gives me catharsis, and it is the one thing that allows me to relax.

The problem is when you do it all day, every day, for a month or longer. When you sneak away from friendships just to squeeze in another hour of playing with characters in your mind. When you let your reality fall apart just to escape to another world. I’ve done it and have had to pick up the pieces. Tensions in relationships, messy rooms, feeling disconnected from my hobbies. Depression often comes along with my bouts of excessive daydreaming. Everything else feels like pulling teeth, so why stop? When the world feels horrible and I have nasty thoughts, I’d rather disappear into another world that I can control.

I tend to find it comes in phases for me. Either it’s available and I want to make up stories all day and nothing else matters, or I’ve forgotten how to do it and all I want to do is focus on the real world. A balance between these two opposites is something I strive for but have not yet managed to succeed in creating. Either way, I’d unfortunately have to call my daydreaming maladaptive. I have sometimes heard it be called immersive daydreaming when it isn’t to the extent where it’s low-key ruining your life. I prefer that title much more than the other one, but alas, I am not healthy with it.

It’s what I’ve been doing instead of writing. My deadlines draw closer and I keep running away from them to escape to my lovely stories. To a place where stress and pressure don’t exist (at least for me, my characters go through hell sometimes lol).

I used to feel ashamed of it. Like I was the only person in the world who had ever done this. I treasured it, yet I didn’t want anyone to know about it. In fact, I still will not tell you about a single story I created when I’m immersive daydreaming. They are mine and mine alone. Pieces of them will be turned into short stories and novels, but the original daydream will never see the light of day. That is how it will always be. Maybe that’s a shame. Maybe I’m like a possessive lover over them. I’m not sure. Either way, I’m not as frightened to tell people about this. I’ve met a lot of people who do it, and I don’t want them to feel alone. I don’t want them to think they are bad for doing it, as I used to think.

Immersive daydreaming can feel like a waste of time, or something a lazy person would do, or at least I accuse myself of that. However, I think it helps me process things in a safe manner. It lets me cope with reality, perhaps in an unhealthy way when I go too far, but it lets me take a break so my heightened emotions can come back a little cooled off. It’s a way to express myself in a safe space. It’s just fun, brilliantly fun.

I’m not sure what the goal of this post is. Maybe I just want to own it. I’m tired of feeling ashamed of this. I know I go too far, I know it’s addictive, but it’s a part of me. Maybe I’m just bleeding out in front of you, telling you an issue of mine, but I needed to let you see it, because it defines me so much. And in doing so, perhaps I can heal a little. More than that, maybe someone like me will read this and feel a little less alone, because I know I’m not alone, and what anyone who maladaptive daydreams really needs is more connections. I used to daydream so much out of loneliness because either I had no one, or I had isolated so much that I felt like I had nobody. Because you can create as many characters as you want, make them love you, but it will never fill that hole in your heart that a real person fills. So maybe I’m here to remind you you’re not alone, and you, dear reader, are here to remind me that I’m not alone.

I don’t know. I’m going to go back to maladaptive daydreaming now lol.

-Aether

Picture by Maria Orlova

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Buy Me a Coffee

If you liked my short story consider taking a look at the other short stories I have on Substack: Short Story Collection

I also have been posting poetry on here, consider checking out: Becoming Human

I blog about mental health if you are curious about that: My Moods Are So Messed Up

If you think a girl resurrected from the dead trying to seduce the god of the underworld sounds fun, consider checking out: The Mark of Death a novella/serialized novel.

Previous Prompt

Last Weeks Prompt:

Themes: Rage, Wind, Isolated

Subject: Supernatural Person/Creature

Random Elements: Words required: destiny, wicked, dreams

What I Came up With: The Dance of Death

Wicked plucked petals from the Azalea in her fingers. She sat under a tree, avoiding the sunshine that would burn her pale skin. She craved sunlight, but sunlight despised her. Maybe it was fitting.

She was destined to end the world, after all.

Her parents had given her an unfortunate name, one that she had tried to reclaim as a beautiful one. It meant really likeable or maybe mischievous, but in a good way. Wicked could only laugh at her blind optimism. Nobody thought of her that way, except perhaps the woman in her dreams.

A few kids ran past her, cresting the hill overlooking the valley. They saw her and their laughter caught, and they turned and raced back down the hill.

Sighing, she brushed a lock of silver hair out of her face. Darkness built in her core, electricity crackling down her skin. She hoped those kids weren’t far from home, because the magic in her stomach wouldn’t be quelled. Standing up, she made her way to the edge of the forest that kissed the valley. Forests were her friend, they were dark and lonely, like her.

The sun made her want to faint, but soon it would disappear. Her feet moved on their own, following a set of steps and spins engraved into her soul. No one had taught her this dance. It was hers and hers alone. The wind whistled an ancient song as it curled around her rapid swirls across the grass; each blade tickling her bare feet. Her arm movements became rapid yet fluid, and clouds grew in the sky. Static stung the air as rumbles accompanied the raging wind. Darkness shadowed the land, the bright day wilting away under her magic. Her steps gained in speed, and so did her heart. Tears dripped down her cheeks as anger built in her core. Why am I like this? Why had she been given this curse? Rain tip-tapped as it hit the ground and turned her white dress gray, just like her, like everything about her.

Lightning cracked, hitting the grass next to her and illuminating the forest. She could make out her standing there with a seductive smile. Wicked’s dance faltered. The woman had never appeared outside of her dreams before. She had thought the woman a figment of her imagination, her lust and loneliness coming together to form the sultry woman with eyes like lightning, bright, dangerous, and lethal if she wasn’t careful. The woman’s darkness called to her, like their two stained souls resonating against one another.

Wicked wanted to run to her, but the force of the dance pulled her along. She didn’t control the dance. Her body conducted the thunderous magic into the world. Rain poured, soaking her dress and revealing her undergarments. She didn’t care. No one was around, and no one would look at her with desire. Except maybe…another twirl brought her face to face with the woman of her dreams. She no longer lingered in the safety of the trees, but rather entwined her hands in Wicked’s. The woman’s gaze trailed down Wicked’s skin and heat burned in Wicked’s core. She let the dream woman lead her through the dance, somehow the same and yet different. Intrinsically, Wicked knew the name of this dance.

The dance of death.

The way the world would end. Yet, Wicked did not pull away. She should. Thinking of the young children who hadn’t yet experienced the world, she grieved. Still, the warmth of the woman who haunted her dreams pulled her along.

“Who are you?” Wicked whispered as the world shook.

“Death, my love.” Death pulled her in and placed a kiss on her lips. Cold and warmth mixed on her skin as tingles ran down her spine. Wicked knew this woman belonged to her as much as she belonged to Death.

“Why me?” Wicked said. “Why was I given a task so wicked?”

Death smiled, dipping her. “Some bring life, and some bring death.”

The ground cracked around them. In the distance, her family’s mansion crumbled in on itself. She thought of her parents’ cold gazes and only felt rage in her core. They were gone, and it was her fault, and yet it meant nothing because she was in the embrace of Death.

“Why must the world end?” Wicked said as clouds turned into solid blocks of midnight. The grass below them wilted and crumbled away until they danced on darkness itself. The song reached its climax, and the two of them slowed. One last final spin made Wicked see the result of her rage, her lust, her love. The destruction of everything.

Death pulled away from her, leaving Wicked cold. Death bent down and pulled something from the nothingness. She handed it to Wicked, whose fingers brushed over soft petals, familiar, yet foreign, like an azalea from another planet.

“For something new to be born,” Death said, taking Wicked’s hand and guiding her further into the darkness.

Next Weeks Writing Prompt:

Themes: Secrets, Seawater, Codes

Subject: Something ominous

Random Element: A cute animal

I hope everyone had a good time with last week’s prompt. I’m excited to see what we come up with this time! Please post links to the stories you made in the comments or in the subscriber chat I have dedicated to this prompt (@ me in notes or in the post and I will be able to find your story as well). I can’t wait to see what you’ve all come up with. If you would like to suggest a random element for next week, please leave that in the comments as well!

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If you liked my short story consider taking a look at the other short stories I have on Substack: Short Story Collection

I also have been posting poetry on here, consider checking out: Becoming Human

I blog about mental health if you are curious about that: My Moods Are So Messed Up

If you think a girl resurrected from the dead trying to seduce the god of the underworld sounds fun, consider checking out: The Mark of Death a novella/serialized novel.

Thea kneeled before the Ethereal tree, its roots the blanket of space, its branches the spiral of stars. It had formed over millennia, its growth coaxed by her gentle hands. Yet it had been a gift, a present now stained like a dark spot in the cellar.

“Thea,” he called. Her hands caressed a fallen branch dusted with stars. “It had to be done.”

She glanced back, her eyes a galaxy. Midnight hair fell over her shoulder and onto the snowy grass. Thea thought of the stain in a forgotten cellar on a small planet studded with life. A place of simple times, of life and death, passing memories from one wizened hand to mini fingers. Small but beautiful. A microcosm. Life.

“Had to be done?” She rolled the words over her tongue. They tasted metallic.

“Humans’ lives are so short, so insignificant in the scheme of things.”

“Small? Insignificant?”

“He would have died sooner or later.”

Thea stared at the tree and then glanced back at her husband. His white hair and sharp features had once been beautiful to her.

“So it doesn’t matter,” she said. One day she had become curious about life clinging to the planets circling her stars. She had walked among them for a time. She grew fond of the simplicity, the beauty of monotony. Found a woman so beautiful she couldn’t fathom how her design had created her. Her husband was a jealous man, this she never knew. If only she hadn’t…well he was right.

Everything dies.

“You were growing too attached, it was for-”

“I must have, it seems.” She clenched her fist around the branch and stars ignited into supernovas. She stood up and placed her hand on the tree and felt it thrumming with life and promise.

“I’ve grown

too attached?” She stared at all of creation, her mind on the stain. Her fingers coated with the end of life.

“Yes, dear,” he said, almost relieved because he thought she had understood.

She understood.

Her hands pushed into the tree and strangled the core. The whole tree pulsed, shivered and ignited in a magnificent death. The nova of stars collapsing into black holes.

“Thea!”

She glanced backward, a smile on her face, her eyes black.

“It seems I’ve grown too attached.”

The Prompt Example:

Hello everyone, I wrote this story by using a writing prompt, and I hope you all will join in for the next one (If you feel like writing a story using this prompt, you can post it in the comment section)!

I will be prompting you by giving you:

1. Themes

2. Subject/Character

3. Elements offered by commenters:

For Example:

Theme:

In this piece I had three themes: Universe, Tree, Relationships

Subject/Character:

In this piece I had the subject of ruler.

Random Elements:

For this piece, I didn’t have any random elements, as I did it on my own. I’d like to give some examples, like random words that must be used, genre, character or plot ideas. Really whatever you think might be fun to offer to the prompt, and I will choose which elements to include from the comment section.

How it will work:

Every week I will post a short story using the prompt of the previous week. Everyone can post their short stories for that prompt in the comment section or in the thread in my subscriber chat (this is also where you can post your ideas for random things to include in future prompts). At the bottom of the post I will have the prompt for the next week. I will also post the prompt in my subscriber chat as well as in notes.

Without Further Ado, The Prompt:

Themes: Rage, Wind, Isolated

Subject: Supernatural Person/Creature

Random Elements: Words required: destiny, wicked, dreams

So this is all a work in progress. Please let me know what you think of this style of writing prompt and give me feedback. I’m making this up as I go. This is just the style of prompt I enjoy! I hope you all can have fun doing this with me. Let's have a good time writing together!

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Epilogue: Celeste

I exhaled in the tight dress and tried not to let my breath get away from me again. In the mirror, I stared into my violet eyes. I had to admit there was something striking about them. After a few months, my snowy hair and changed eyes were normal to me. A black veil flowed down my back, shimmering with specks of tiny gems. My cobalt gown melded into plum after my knees, flowing onto the train.

“You look beautiful,” Mina said.

I never minded being complimented, but my stomach fluttered, thinking about what came next. “Thank you. Do you think I’m ready?”

“Of course, you were already lovely. The stylists didn’t have to do much work.”

“I mean getting married.”

Mina blushed. “Oh, but of course you are. You worked so hard for this.”

“I know.” I loved Enos and wanted to be with him, but fears were creeping in. Was I ready to marry the most powerful person in the underworld? Was I good enough? Was Enos ready for this step?

I stared into my eyes and took a deep breath. There was nothing to be afraid of.

“I’m ready,” I said.

I peeked inside the throne room to the chagrin of my attendants. I wasn’t meant to be seen yet. Servants had transformed the room. Multiple rows of seats lined the space, while a deep violet runner spread up to the dais that they had changed for the ceremony, mainly moving the throne and putting a lectern up.

I pulled my head back in, waiting torturously as my hands grew clammy. Then the moment came, an attendant opened the door, and every eye landed on me. I shivered and had to be nudged to keep moving. Searching the room for Enos, my heart pounded. Then I found him entering from the other side. He wore a black suit with violet embroidery. His hair looked tousled, like the stylists couldn’t tame his hair despite all their efforts. I smiled to myself.

We locked eyes and both of us beamed. We reached the center aisle at the same time and laced our hands together. We walked down the runner, which seemed endless, and stepped up on the dais.

I grabbed Enos’s other hand, and we faced each other. All my fears from earlier vanished as I held his hands, gazing into his warm eyes. Emotions pooled out of me by accident, and spread into Enos, who chuckled slightly.

An older man with white tufts of hair sticking out of the sides of his head cleared his throat. “It is time to celebrate the joining of these two souls.” He spoke about eternal love, and how blessed we were to spend eternity together. “Even when you turn to ashes, your dust will search for each other, mixing together and becoming one.” He looked at us in turn. His gaze seemed almost too serious. “It is time for your vows.”

Enos’s hands were trembling. He wouldn’t meet my eyes and my stomach dropped. Even when you turn to ashes might have been the worst phrase the officiant could have said. Would Enos run away at the last moment, leaving me at the altar, all because of a stupid officiant?

Enos was supposed to speak first, but breaking the rules of the ceremony, I cupped his cheek and brought his gaze to mine.

“I had expected a different life. One where I danced until my bones turned brittle, but I went to you on a whim. You turned my world upside down, and I decided to turn yours around too. I don’t know when I fell in love, only that I did, and I fell hard.” I brushed his cheek with my thumb. “It was worth dying for you.”

A tear slipped down his cheek, and I wiped it away. Then the corner of his lips lifted slightly.

“You were a surprise to me,” Enos said. “I never expected to meet someone like you. A person who could breathe life into my dead heart. Our love seemed like it was never meant to be, but here we are, despite everything.” He caressed my cheek. “I’m going to treasure you for eternity.”

I beamed, a tear threatening to ruin my makeup.

Enos stared at my lips, and I blushed.

The old man said a little more and then finally said what we wanted to hear. “I announce you to be a true pair, from now into eternity. You may kiss the bride.”

Enos slammed his lips against mine. I gasped as he pulled me in close. Heat built in my chest, and I could feel our passion mirroring each other’s.

Tonight was going to be a good time.

We pulled away from each other, finally husband and wife.

I cuddled Enos as he laid sleeping. Birds chirped their early morning chants, and I felt perfectly content. The night’s activities had exhausted me, but I couldn’t sleep, the adrenaline still rushing in my veins. Instead, I traced my fingers down Enos’s arms, feeling his muscles.

“You’re still awake?” Enos murmured.

I kissed his shoulder. “Yeah.”

“You should get some sleep.”

“I really should.”

He turned towards me, and I could just barely make out the smile in his eyes. He leaned in close and pressed a kiss on my forehead. I took a deep breath, remembering that one last peaceful moment amidst pain. The day I died, and the kiss that saved me.

I traced his jaw with my fingertips, moving upward until I cupped his cheek.

“Thank you,” I said.

“For what?”

“Everything.” I placed a kiss on his forehead, feeling utterly complete.

Chapters: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9

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On an exciting note, I loved this novella so much that I have written more of Celeste and Enos’s story. (Whoops I may have made a serialized novel now?) Arc two of The Mark of Death is not ready yet, but I will be posting updates on when it will be coming out. I’m already super excited for you all to see what comes next in their story!

If you enjoyed this chapter, you may like my short story “Reaching You,” or perhaps on a lighter note, “A Tempting Melody,” a short and sweet romantasy story. My most recent short story is “Incandescent Land.”

If you want to get to know me a little better, I explore my mental health and writing in my blogs and poetry. You may like my most recent post “Becoming Human” or “Daydreams Bliss” or “I Want to be the Type of Person who Writes at Cafes.”

If you’re curious about my catalogue of short stories, here’s a link to my “Short Story Collection,” where I sort all my short stories by genre.

Have you heard of the little girl down the road?
Aquamarine and sparkling like stars.
As she walks, rocks crack against her body.
At once she feels and does not.

The little girl once asked me a question.
Can I become human?
I laughed at her. Laughed.
No you can’t.

No tears fled her shining eyes.
She accepted it as a truth she had always known.
I see. Thank you. Then she smiled.
Her lips faltered as she ran away.

I never understood the vitriol, the hatred.
Of a little girl, who happened to be blue.
Children were violent, monstrous.
Actions taught by adults disowning gaze.

Once I asked her, do you have parents?
She shook her head. I can’t remember.
Do I need parents to be human? She asked.
Chuckling in answer, of course you do.

The little girl curled up on doorsteps.
Hoping that someone would take her in.
She’d be woken by kicks and curses
Never crying, she tried a new house day after day

No one would take her in
Besides, maybe me, but,
The little girl disappeared
Before I ever did

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Part Nine: Enos

Enos sat on the bench with a hole in his heart. He had watched Celeste run away and done nothing. Hollowness burrowed into his chest and he ached so terribly that he couldn’t cry, couldn’t move, couldn’t grieve.

This time he didn’t grieve for Genevieve, but for what he could have had.

He sat there for a long time, letting the starblue flowers wash their scent over him. He started to hate it; it mixed with a faint burning scent that he couldn’t escape. He pressed his face into his hands.

Maybe it was time to say one final goodbye.

Making his way to his room, he threw open his wardrobe. Inside, a box seemed to burn like an ingot in a forge. He pulled it down and stared at the top of it. The box had no ornamentation, no one would take a second glance at it, but to him, it had always blinded him. He opened it.

He pulled out looseleaf paper, scattering it onto the floor. Beneath it all sat a single envelope, closed with wax and stamped with a curling pattern that almost looked like flames. Enos stared at it, his heart running away from him, the hollowness still digging into him. He wanted to crawl into bed and forget about everything.

But it was time, wasn’t it?

He picked up the envelope and slowly unwrapped it. Pulling out the decorative paper, he shivered as the scent of lilacs washed over him. A scent he couldn’t bear anymore, even more than fire. Her scent. Curling letters looked like lines without meaning as he stared at it hazy eyed. But then he accepted his fate and focused.

Dear love,

It’s been a good run, hasn’t it? I knew one day you would find out about what I’ve done, what I do. I’m not ashamed of it. It feels inevitable. I needed to stay young to be with you. The children provided what I needed. Don’t you understand? It’s all my devotion to you. Without you, I wouldn’t need the children. I’d let myself fade from this domain, I’d return to dust.

But I found you, my love. You have to admit to yourself that you are happy that I have lived as long as I have. Millenia with you and I. The happiest couple that ever was.

You’ve decided to kill me. I know you will do it with your own hands. I don’t want it any other way.

I hope I haunt you. Ghosts are children’s tales, but I will invent them. I will become your shadow so that you never love again. So that I am the only one that completes you.

Forevermore,

Genevieve.

A kiss pressed against the bottom of the paper. Enos shivered, reading the callous words. Centuries had passed as he avoided this letter, all for these twisted phrases. He slumped to the ground.

How could he pick a bride today?

It’s okay if you don’t pick me.

This letter only proved that love was dangerous. Celeste was dangerous.

He left his room, the letter still in his hand. He didn’t know where he was headed. He needed to walk, to be alone and think. Couldn’t he say that no one fit his standards? He could run and not even show up to the ball. Picking someone he didn’t pay attention to was an option. It felt horrible. Everything did. Except when Celeste hugged him. When she comforted him, made him open up against all odds. When she danced and made the colors of the room brighter. When she infected his dreams instead of her.

The letter fell to the ground.

“You dropped this, your majesty,” Remond said.

“I don’t want it.” Enos turned to face Remond who glanced at the paper.

“I can dispose of it for you.”

“Burn it,” he said.

“As you wish,” Remond said, but lingered.

Enos took a deep breath, and his chest settled slightly. The flickering candles made his shadow dance. I will become your shadow. He trembled.

“I want you to be happy,” Remond said.

Enos froze, taking in the pale servant he had known since he was a child. Remond had been the one to encourage Enos to start this competition. Frowning, Enos crossed his chest.

“Why?” Enos said.

“Because I care for you, your majesty.”

“You got me into this mess!” Enos hadn’t meant to shout.

“I know,” Remond said. “But don’t you think you are only flustered because you have something to feel in the first place.”

“Don’t act coy with me,” Enos said. “I already know I love her.” Enos’s heart stilled for a moment before pounding away. He clenched his jaw. Had he really said that?

“Then you know what to do,” Remond said.

“I don’t.”

“Don’t be foolish,” Remond said.

“You’d call me foolish?”

“Only when you deserve it.”

Remond had rarely broken from his role as a perfect servant. This interaction left Enos baffled. “Read it.”

Remond scanned the letter and grew even paler.

“Don’t you see now?”

Remond studied Enos, and Enos couldn’t figure out the look in Remond’s gaze.

“I see a very troubled woman, and a terribly hurt man.”

“I can’t do it again,” Enos choked out.

“Love is dangerous as it is beautiful. You may get hurt, or you may get the greatest happiness you have ever known. Nobody knows their future. But I think you are being unfair. Celeste is not Genevieve,” Remond said. “Nobody knows the future, but at this moment, you need her.”

“Why?”

“Because love is healing, and it is time for you to finally mend.”

Enos shook his head. “I don’t deserve it.”

“Your foolish side is showing,” Remond said.

Enos wrapped his arms around himself, feeling small even as he had several inches over the servant.

“I must be going.” Remond started to walk down the hallway, then paused. “But your majesty?”

“Yes?”

“Follow your heart.”

Enos balled his fist against his chest. That was the last thing he wanted to do.

Enos sat on the dais at the back of the ballroom. Silver fabric hung between the thick poles that sat at the sides of the space. The mist on the ceiling had a blue sheen to it today. They had made the room as beautiful as possible, but it made bile rise in his throat.

He’d have to decide soon.

The competitors got announced. His chest tightened. Then Celeste entered the room. Her sage dress accentuated her curves and shimmered. Emeralds hung from her ears and weaved into her curls. Our gaze met, hers piercing mine. She smiled hesitantly, but she walked a little bent over. Defeated. It hurt to see her like that.

After dinner, people filled up the dance floor. Anticipatory eyes watched him, waiting for him to go grab a contestant and announce that they were his partner. But he didn’t move, his knuckles turning white as he gripped the chair.

He looked over the contestants. theoretically it was between Shina and Acadia, but he didn’t have to obey that. If someone had impressed him beyond the constraints of the competition, he had every right to choose them. Basically, he could make his own rules. Celeste shuffled in her seat. Words rolled over him.

I will become your shadow so that you never love again.

You deserve love and happiness.

Follow your heart.

He sighed. Who was right? Who did he want to be right?

His body moved against his will. He seemed distant from himself. He didn’t even know what his next step would be. But he had to move forward. He couldn’t keep focusing on the past.

Stopping at the contestants table, he looked at all the nervous people. Acadia and Shina sat closest to the dance floor; Celeste played with her hair one seat over. She matched his gaze.

His hand began to extend towards Acadia. She looked surprised and happy.

Celeste wouldn’t look at him anymore.

Enos froze. His whole body went cold. What did he really want? Warmth, laughter, happiness, or something cold and hollow?

Celeste stood up. Staring at him one last time, her eyes soft yet drooping. Life force blazed out of her, something that rarely happened amongst the underworlders. She blossomed like when she had been alive, pure energy uncontained yet channeled.

A wave of warmth flooded over him. His mind seemed to clear.

The letter had been burnt.

His love had been burnt.

But maybe…maybe he could heal.

Celeste turned away. Something cracked inside of him, fear and desire twisting. He reached out. His arms wrapped around Celeste. Her body rose and fell quickly. Tight breaths whispered in the silent ballroom.

When he was with Celeste, everything seemed okay.

Follow your heart.

“I choose you, Celeste,” he murmured.

She tensed in his arms.

“I won’t run away,” he said.

Celeste eased into him. Laughter bubbled out of her core. “Yay,” she said.

He laughed with her, her energy, her life force. She was electric. She twisted in his grasp until they faced each other. Celeste tenderly pressed her lips against his. It lasted a couple of sweet seconds. But when she pulled away, he pulled her back into the kiss. Celeste had won.

Genevieve had lost.

Enos had…won?

At the very least, he had Celeste, and that was a good thing indeed.

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This is the last chapter in The Mark of Death Novella, however there is a short epilogue I’ll be posting this Thursday. I hope you have enjoyed Enos and Celeste’s journey! I’ve enjoyed writing it and I’m glad I’ve had you all to come for the ride!

If you enjoyed this chapter, you may like my short story “Reaching You,” or perhaps on a lighter note, “A Tempting Melody,” a short and sweet romantasy story. My most recent short story is “Incandescent Land.”

If you want to get to know me a little better, I explore my mental health and writing in my blogs. You may like my most recent post “Daydreams Bliss” or “My Moods are So Messed Up” or “I Want to be the Type of Person who Writes at Cafes.”

If you’re curious about my catalogue of short stories, here’s a link to my “Short Story Collection,” where I sort all my short stories by genre.

What would you do if you could be anyone you want?
Live wherever you want?
Love whoever you want?
What would you do if you could take the pain away?
The nightmares away?
The memories away?
What if it was fun?
What if it was easy?
What if it was everything?

You awaken
Heavy lidded
Weak willed
World decimated
Hollow soul
Seven AM
A day passes in a blink.
Eyes closed, awake, dreaming
Worlds sweet colors
New kingdoms of old
Magic tickling skin
Bleeding into the air
Lover’s laughter
Savoring kisses
A story of valor
Ending in greatness
Eleven PM
You open your eyes
Night lurking
Head aching
Heart wishing
Blinking
Begging
Living

Lies
You tell lies
You dream of lies
You are made of lies
Slipping
Slowly slipping
From reality, slipping
Hopes and dreams, slipping
Forget
You always forget
Good things, bad things, you forget
Those sweet daydreams you love, you forget.


Everything has burned
How do you return?
Rotting in your bed
Reanimated from the dead
Losing time
Crossing a line
Daydreams bliss
A venomous kiss

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Part Eight: Celeste

I suffocated myself in a pit of pillows. The darkness, pin-pricked by sneaky light, comforted me. Tears were lost in my sheets.

“It’s okay, Mistress,” Mina said for what had to be the hundredth time. I didn’t listen, instead I folded myself up into a ball and winced when I pulled on my newly healed shoulder. Apparently healing magic existed in the underworld, but it hadn’t fully healed me; it just skipped ahead a week or so in the healing process.

I knew this was a particularly pathetic display, but I didn’t care. I had tried so hard, only for him to throw my hard work all away. I knew he liked me. Yet he wanted to push me away. The duels had ended hours ago, Shina had won, but there was still a chance he would pick someone else, likely Acadia.

I shoved myself out of the fort, knocking pillows across the room.

Mina jumped. “Be careful of your shoulder!”

I didn’t listen, pulling on a dress and heading for the door. “Where would Enos be?”

“I don’t know-”

I opened the door and nearly slammed into Remond. “Mistress, I have a proposal for you.”

“Where’s Enos,” I said.

Remond smiled. “That was what I wanted to talk about. I think you should hurry before he gets ready for the ball.”

“Where?” I said, pushing out of the doorway.

“The blue-flower meadow, it’s out in the back of the castle. I can lead you there.” He wound me through the dark hallways of the castle. I would have no idea where to go without him.

“Thank you,” I said. “Why are you helping me?”

“Because, his Majesty needs some guidance.”

“Guidance?”

“He’s going to regret his decision,” Remond said. They stopped beside a set of doors framed by windows.

“I’m going to marry him,” I said.

“Good.” Remond smiled.

I paused with my hand on the handle. “Why do you think I’m right for him?”

“Because his eyes light up when he’s with you.”

My grip on the door handle tightened. “Thank you.”

I threw the door open. Enos sat on a distant bench underneath a tree with white leaves. All around him were flowers, varying from sky blue to indigo. I didn’t have names for them, but they almost looked like roses.

I weaved down the path as quickly as I could, worried he would run away the moment he noticed me. I didn’t need to be concerned. His eyes were closed and his chest rising and falling slowly. I sat down next to him and wrapped my arms around him. I brushed his dark hair out of his face and stroked his cheek. His eyes fluttered open and took me in. Our eyes locked, his heavy-lidded from just waking up.

“Why do you always run from me?” I whispered.

Enos looked away but didn’t pull himself from my arms.

Like another sense opening up before me, I felt a deep sadness and fear emanating from him. I let the magic from my arms seep into Enos, as soothing poured out of me, Enos eased against me.

“I’m scared of you,” he murmured.

“Why?”

“You make me feel alive again.”

“Isn’t that a good thing?” I said as the wind whispered against us and tousled our hair.

“I made sure your brother has money and support. He won’t have to give up college. He’ll have a bright future. I can promise you that.”

My eyes lit up, relief spreading through me. He had followed through on his promise. Warmth filled my chest.

“Thank you.” I buried my head into his shoulder. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” he said, but sorrow burrowed into me. It clashed with my joy and I frowned.

“Please, tell me what’s wrong.”

He didn’t say anything. The wind rose up and brought the scent of hundreds of flowers to us. His breathing grew fast, and then he took one uneasy breath.

“I used to have a wife,” Enos said.

The air stilled like it paused for Enos. I froze, waiting for him to continue.

“Her name was Genevieve,” he choked on her name. “She died.”

“What happened?” I said.

Enos didn’t answer for a long time. I squeezed him, pouring my magic into him.

“I killed her,” he murmured. His body shook as silent tears racked his body.

I didn’t know what to say. I could only hold him and try not to fall apart as waves of grief crashed into me. The blue flowers waved in the wind, doing a sorrowful dance. A sob hitched in my chest, Enos’s pain practically unbearable as it hit me.

“Do you want to talk about it?” I whispered.

He leaned into me. “She did something forbidden,” he said. “A cruel, monstrous act.”

I stayed silent, letting him pull up the courage to say more.

“She killed children to take their life force.” He put his hands on my shoulders, gritting his teeth. “The amount of bodies she left behind.” He hung his head, slumping forward. His palms slipped from me and fell into his lap.

I slipped my fingers through his, but he barely reacted.

“Thousands,” he said. “Thousands.”

Disgust, anger, and grief washed over me so heavily that my stomach clenched and nausea wormed its way up my throat. I tried to keep my own emotions from responding to Enos’s, but I couldn’t help mingling my own disgust and anger with his. I squeezed his hands in mine, grounding myself in his warmth.

His eyes were foggy, then he clenched his teeth, his eyes glowing with power.

I tensed. In those eyes burned unknowable power, and for once I realized how dangerous this man was.

“I burned her alive.”

He didn’t move, yet something shifted in him, falling deeper into the deep dark chasm in his heart. Enos didn’t cry, yet horrendous loss seeped out of him and into her.

A tear slipped down my cheek. If he couldn’t cry, I would. For all the sins he had to bear. For all the death that burdened his shoulders. For all the pain he kept inside.

I wrapped my arms around his neck and pulled him close against me. He hugged me, his fingers digging into my back. I brushed my fingers where his hair met his neck and held his head as he leaned into my shoulder.

“The princes ordered me to. I didn’t have to listen,” he murmured. “But there were so many victims uncovered. In the end, I didn’t really have a choice.”

“It’s not your fault,” I murmured.

He lifted his head to meet mine, his gaze blazing.

“I. Burned. Her.” he said. “How could you say it’s not my fault?”

“You didn’t hurt those children,” I said. “You didn’t have any control over her actions.”

“You don’t understand.” He started to push away from me.

“How can I?” I said, entwining his fingers with mine. “But I care. I want you to tell me everything going through your head. I want you to share with me all that hurts until I can bear all this pain with you.”

His eyes faded, returning to normal. A tear slipped down his cheek. “It hurts.”

I rested my forehead against his, closing my eyes. “I can tell how much you loved her.”

He held back a sob.

“I can’t imagine what you went through,” I said. “Nobody should have gone through what you did.” I pulled away from him and lifted his chin. His eyes had a wet sheen, his whole face contorted in pain. “But you deserve love and happiness.”

“I don’t know how,” he whimpered.

“I don’t think it’s something you do overnight,” I said. “It’s a bunch of little letting goes until you find yourself able to smile again.”

He met my gaze, a soft misery rolling off of him. He pulled away, leaving only one hand entwined with mine.

“I don’t know what I’m going to do,” he said.

Together we stared at the flowers, hands together, pain settling over us, nearly so bad it overwhelmed us, but didn’t. I hadn’t realized the extent of Enos’s pain. Not knowing what I was asking for, I had pushed him over the edge. Asking him to love again meant facing all the horrors of his past. Maybe he wasn’t ready for that. Maybe he’d never be ready for that.

Something solid settled in me, a pebble landing in a pond, and I knew what needed to be done.

“It’s okay.” I said.

His gaze lifted to mine.

I smiled as a tear slipped down my cheek. “It’s okay if you don’t pick me.”

I understood why it couldn’t be me. Because he had been foolish and jumped off a cliff without knowing how to swim. Or maybe he had been brave and believed he could fly, when maybe he couldn’t.

“It’s okay,” I said. “But I’m not going to disappear. You won’t get rid of me. You brought me to life again, and now you have to live with the consequences.” I blinked away another tear and got up from the bench. I let go of him.

He looked so sad that I wanted to wrap my arms around him again. But I couldn’t.

Because I loved him.

I ran away, leaving raindrop tears in my wake.

Chapters: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9

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If you enjoyed this chapter, you may like my short story “Reaching You,” or perhaps on a lighter note, “A Tempting Melody,” a short and sweet romantasy story. My most recent short story is “Incandescent Land.”

If you want to get to know me a little better, I explore my mental health and writing in my blogs. You may like my most recent post “My Moods are So Messed Up” or “I Want to be the Type of Person who Writes at Cafes.”

If you’re curious about my catalogue of short stories, here’s a link to my “Short Story Collection,” where I sort all my short stories by genre.

Picture by Landiva Weber

My Moods Are a Mess

I’ve got a lot of things going on mental health wise that make my moods an eldritch abomination of feelings. Like, technically, there is a logic to it, but understanding it is a black box, likely filled with ominous tentacles and things beyond comprehension. I’ve been diagnosed with a lot of things which account for my moods being kind of variable. I’ve got bipolar which is like, heyyy for a couple weeks or months you’re gonna be hyperactive (potentially to dangerous levels) and make really questionable decisions, but it’s kind of a high and you might get stuff done. And then weeks or months of depression where you can’t find any motivation to do anything, your dopamine is depleted, and like, why do I exist, you know? Disclaimer: This may be a terrible description of bipolar, but it’s how I feel and I’m in a weird mood at the moment. A perfect time to write a blog, I tell you.

Anyways, then I have ADHD, which I know less about, but to be honest my fixations can change kind of randomly and I do not regulate my emotions very well. I can’t focus unless my medication is doing its job, and I kind of only want to do what I am compelled to do and nothing else. Doing other things is generally motivated by that last-minute panic where you have a deadline and you better figure things out fast. So that doesn’t help.

Then here’s the kicker. I have Dissociative Identity Disorder. So not only will my mood change, but my literal personality is variable. So it’s like suddenly my beliefs, joys, hates, and abilities are all jumbled around because something caused a switch. It also messes with my memory so I will not remember half of my day or my week or month or my whole childhood. You also get me (whoever I am, haha), writing a kind of chaotic blog post. Someone tomorrow will be like, “why the hell did you post this of all things?” another will be like, “shouldn’t things be a bit more professional?” others will see my vision. It’s going to be fun, better be quick before someone else thinks this blog is an actual mess.

Depression Actually Sucks (not a hot take)

Today, depression hit us like a truck (I’m using “us” now because of my DID and how I did not personally experience depression). We couldn’t do anything. Anxiety hung over us like mist, and fear crawled down our spine. We did not have a good time. We maladaptive daydreamed to get through the day and felt crappy about it. We went on a drive to change scenery and tada, a switch occurred, and now I’m out. And I do not feel depressed. I feel it distantly. I know it’s there, something inescapable that will claim us once more, but for a little I can experience life a bit. So this switch has been a bit like whiplash. I can’t really understand the vague impressions I get of the morning from the other personality, and I doubt they could understand how I feel right now. Our time in the world will be passed to one another like pen-pal letters, genuine but distant. Even without DID and amnesia, depression often feels inescapable, like the good times in life never were and never will be again. Saying it’s a rough mood (is mood the right word?) is an understatement.

Not to Ignore my ADHD

I can’t really tell where my ADHD begins and ends with my other disorders. But I can tell you I have two rather distinct fixations in my system (what you call someone with DID’s group of personalities). Writing or maladaptive daydreaming. Depending on which personality is out, I want to do nothing else but that fixation, which is really helpful. For my system, balance is hardly a thing. Not to mention that it isn’t really useful to do either of those things all day and nothing else. It feels like if I have one fixation, the other one is completely locked away, which can be super upsetting. I don’t even know if this constitutes a mood switch, but it’s honestly pretty distressing, so I’m going to count it, anyway.

The Big One: DID

I have DID (Dissociative Identity Disorder). We talked about it once on Substack. But I guess it’s a big component in why I feel like my “moods” are a mess. It’s because my personality will change throughout the day, often having very different feelings about our actions. Our abilities change and it can feel really disorienting to suddenly be incapable of writing, or write in a totally different style. Sometimes we can hardly function because we remember horrible things, and other times we only remember good things so we go crazy and jump into opportunities headfirst without thinking about the parts who can’t swim. So yeahhhh…it’s a mess, and I’m tired, and I felt like ranting about it, and I don’t know if any of this made sense.

So all in all, it’s hard to exist sometimes. For a lot of reasons. I’m sure I’m not alone in feeling like their moods are chaotic, and everyone has their own personal flavor of chaos. This is mine, and I wanted to share.

-The Aetherias System.

If you enjoyed this blog, you may like the one where I talk about my DID, or my other casual blog I Want to be The Type of Person who Writes at Cafes.

If you enjoy poetry you may like my poem about dissociation, Dear Dissociation.

If you like short stories you may like to explore my Short Story Collection

If you enjoy the idea of a woman going to the underworld to try and marry the god of death you might like my serialized novella The Mark of Death

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Enos, the God-King of the underworld is holding a tournament to decide who he will marry. Unfortunately, trauma of his past wife has made it so that the competition is torturous for him. Especially with the addition of Celeste, the woman he had an intimate night with and then reincarnated in the underworld. She is determined to marry him, and as his feelings heighten for her, so does his fear of moving forward with marriage.

Part Seven: Enos

Enos laid in bed, the darkness pressing into his eyelids and smothering him. His mind kept trailing back to Celeste. The way her touch had sent the nightmares away, how for a minute things were simpler, better even. He turned onto his side, pressing his palms against his eyes. He knew it wasn’t only her magic, it was her. His lips tingled and he tried to chase the ghost of a kiss away. Celeste with her black hair and green eyes, full of life. Celeste with her white hair and violet eyes full of power she barely understood. He couldn’t get either version out of his head.

His mind strayed back to that night where they had made love. It had been as intense as it had been playful. He hadn’t thought anything serious would have come from that night. Now, he had to consider whether to marry her or not.

Remond had proposed that he get married many times over the years, but he hadn’t wanted to. Even the argument that he should have an heir didn’t matter much to him. In the end, he had gotten curious. What would it be like to have someone by his side again?

Then Genevieve had returned with a vengeance.

The nightmares of her had mostly stopped before the competition started, but almost like she didn’t want him to get married again, the thoughts of her had come running back. But he knew better than to believe in hauntings. He knew Genevieve had gone away for good.

He had made sure of it.

Now she lurked as a ghost in his mind alone. His body grew limp and his consciousness faded in and out. All he wanted was a peaceful dream.

Enos stood in a field of flowers. Pansies, mixed with aster and other wildflowers swayed in a breeze. Out in the center of the field, stood Celeste in a white flowing dress. She turned towards him, a pansy in her hand, and smiled seductively. Enos ran towards her.

“Don’t crush the flow-”

He pressed his lips against hers. He bent her down gently until she lay between flowers. He leaned over her and kissed her again and again. Treasuring her vanilla scent he nuzzled her neck, grazing her with his lips.

Heat hit him, and he pulled away from a breathless Celeste. In the distance stood a woman with fire for hair and eyes like hot coals. But he knew her. He would always know her. The meadow turned to a blaze. They were surrounded. Enos put his body over Celeste. He would protect her no matter what.

When the flames came, he screamed in pain. Celeste fought against him and she pulled away from him slightly.

“Celeste-”

She caressed his cheek. The pain ceased, his worries faded away, and all that was left was a slight warmth. He held Celeste as the world burned. Celeste cried out, but in the end, he couldn’t protect her. Still, calm kept him safe from the agony she felt.

They burned away, the pain never reaching him, Celeste carrying it all.

Protecting him until death.

He woke up sweaty with his sheets sticking to his bare skin. His gaze locked onto his wardrobe, the upper corner glowing in his mind. He pressed his head into his hands and tried to forget his dream. Tears coursed down his cheeks, clinging to his fingertips. He breathed deeply, trying to forget Celeste turning to ash in his hands. Trying to forget the way she had protected him from the pain. Some people said dreams meant something. If that was true, what did this one mean?

Panic struck him as he remembered what today was. Dueling, the event the underworlders most clamored for. Enos even invited commoners to watch the competitors duke it out. Celeste had never fought before, she had told Remond that, who had relayed it to him. She only had one month to learn the basics of fighting. Her winning hardly seemed realistic. The other three competitors had learned to fight from a young age. Any nobility contended with the constant threat of duels for their place in society. No one took fighting lightly.

Celeste wasn’t from the underworld. She stood out. They already thought he favored her, and yesterday…well the kiss wouldn’t have helped anything. Danger hung over Celeste like a scythe.

At breakfast he couldn’t eat, waiting for Celeste to show up. She arrived late, wearing a tight-fitting tank top and shorts that grazed the thigh and not much more. He looked away.

She didn’t sit down, and he met her gaze once more. She scanned the ground.

“I’m sorry,” she said.

“For what?”

“Manipulating you. I really didn’t mean to. I don’t know what my powers are, I’d never want to coerce you. But I guess I have, haven’t I?”

Enos smiled. “You’re not that strong, Celeste,” he said, but she broke through his mind shield.

“Oh,” she said. “That’s good. Still…”

“I forgive you,” he said.

She smiled, her eyes crinkling. Finally taking a seat, she observed him. “Not hungry?”

A servant brought her food, and she dug into the breakfast sandwich.

“Celeste.” He rubbed his sweaty hands against his pants. “You should withdraw from the competition.”

Her eyes widened as she took a bite of her food. She quickly swallowed it and frowned. A crumb of food stuck to her cheek.

“Why would I? Unless you’ve decided you’re going to marry me already?” Celeste said.

Enos shook his head. “It’s not safe. You’re going to get hurt in the duel today.”

“I’ve been practicing.”

“A month isn’t enough time.”

“I’m already strong, have great balance, and good mobility. It’s not like I came into this as a frail princess,” Celeste said. “I’m sure I can hold my own.”

Enos groaned quietly. “They’ve been practicing since they were children.”

“And I’m clever and a fast learner.”

“I don’t doubt that, but you can’t work miracles.”

“Why not? I’ve already come back from the dead.”

Enos had nothing to say to that. Except maybe, it was him that performed that miracle.

“I’ll be fine. It’s not like they’re going to kill me.”

He really didn’t want to find out what the competitors were capable of. Especially Acadia, she had looked at him with bloodlust after he kissed Celeste. The fault lay with him in that case. Enos had done something dirty, dancing with Acadia so much just to run after Celeste wasn’t right.

“Please retire if things are looking dire, okay?” he said. “Could you at least promise me that?”

Celeste chewed on her sandwich, looking thoughtful. She still had the crumb on her cheek. “I’ll consider it.”

“Why must you be so reckless?”

“So you will choose me,” she whispered.

He stood up, Celeste stared at Enos and he brushed his thumb across her cheek, removing the crumb.

“What is it?” she said.

“You had a little bit of food stuck to you.”

She blushed. “Th-thank you.”

He leaned down and brushed his lips against her forehead. She exhaled, her eyes soft.

“Be safe,” he said.

She nodded.

Right before the duels started, he told the referee to call the match if it got too serious. He kept wiping sweat off his hands. The time for the fights approached fast, and he got to the arena where Remond waited for him.

“Are you okay, your majesty?”

Enos nodded, but his heart recklessly beat.

The duels started, Alna, a young man with dark skin and a muscular build stepped into the arena. On the other side, Shina, a woman with pink hair and violet skin came out. They readied their stances and on a call from the announcer the duel began. Dull metal clashed as they pounded their swords against one another. Shina raced around the arena, easily evading Alna’s overpowered attacks. Their magic erupted in colors, crackling against one another and creating pressure in the air. The people in the front row leaned back, almost afraid. They weren’t in any danger with the invisible barrier he had placed around the arena earlier. Still, he could understand their apprehension as the clashes became more violent.

Shina won with a precise hit that would have gone through her opponent’s throat in a real battle. Alna stomped away, but Shina beamed at Enos. He lifted the corner of his lip slightly. He had never really paid attention to Shina. But he guessed she could win the tournament and be the one he’d supposedly choose. But he made the rules. He could marry anyone he wanted to. Couldn’t he also not get married? Marriage seemed cursed more and more.

His thoughts snapped shut when Celeste entered the arena, wielding a set of daggers. She had strapped a couple to her bare leg, while she held one.

Acadia entered the arena carrying a massive great sword. He knew it would be dull, but it had a dominating presence that emanated menace.

Celeste found him in the crowd and waved at him.

He didn’t wave back.

Smile fading, Celeste got into an awkward stance. It seemed she hadn’t fully figured out the basics yet.

Acadia grinned and got into a proper stance. This fight would be over in seconds. He could only hope that Acadia wouldn’t hurt Celeste too much.

The announcer called for the fight to begin and Enos balled his fists. Acadia raced towards Celeste who didn’t react. He wanted to scream for her to get out of the way. Acadia swung. Celeste flipped backwards, dodging the attack. Landing swiftly, she threw a knife at the befuddled Acadia.

It hit Acadia in the face; a red glow thrummed over Acadia as her shield activated to protect her. The shield could only take so much, and when it broke that would be the end of the duel. The shield waned or waxed in strength depending on the person’s command and strength of magic. Acadia’s shield would be much stronger than Celeste’s. He estimated that one hit from that great sword would take out Celeste’s shield.

Acadia growled and chased after Celeste who flipped out of the way of another attack. A series of slashes were met with Celeste’s surprising evasiveness. Seeming to move to her own song, Celeste danced out of the way of any blows.

Acadia released a blast of energy, plasma rocketing towards Celeste who slid to the floor, pressing her belly to the ground to evade it. Acadia came forward and slashed at the ground, but Celeste pushed up into a handstand and cartwheeled to the side.

An extremely frustrated Acadia chased after Celeste who didn’t even bother to attack. She wasn’t given the time to, as Acadia’s slashes were relentless.

Acadia slammed her sword down; this time Celeste didn’t dodge.

She moved into it.

The blade cut into Celeste’s shoulder. Blood splattered onto the ground. Celeste didn’t react. She covered Acadia’s face with her hand. Power pooled out of Celeste, blasting the arena with intensity, not so much an emotion but an instinct. Almost like adrenaline.

Acadia crumpled to the ground, her sword clanking to the floor.

Celeste had knocked Acadia out by overwhelming her emotions. How had she known to do that? How had she done it?

The whole room went silent.

Enos jumped down into the arena, breaking through the shield with a vicious crack. He ran over to Celeste who held her bleeding shoulder. He picked her up and carried her over to the medic station, hidden underneath the seats.

“I won, I think.” Celeste said.

“You got yourself injured.”

“I had to in order to win,” she said. “I’m not strong enough otherwise.”

“Taking off your shield and getting hurt, so you’d win on a technicality is not winning.”

“You’re just mad.”

“I’m concerned.”

She stared up at him, her teeth clenched in pain. “Why don’t you make things easier?” she grunted.

“What are you talking about?”

“Just marry me already!”

Stunned, Enos sat Celeste down at the medic station. A physician immediately got to work disinfecting the wound. Celeste winced, looking at him with one eye closed.

Enos didn’t know what to say. Everything seemed much more real. The prospect of marriage, finding love again. He hadn’t truly believed in either. He knew he could back out of marrying someone if he didn’t feel ready. And the idea of love seemed like a faraway concept that would never reach him.

“Seriously,” Celeste said. “Can’t you at least tell me why you’ve been acting so weird?”

Red hair engulfed in blue flames, a horrifying contrast.

“I have to go watch the rest of the duels. I’m disqualifying you from competing any further because of your injury.”

“What?” Celeste stood up, making the physician call out. “You can’t do that.”

“Yes, I can,” Enos said, his voice deeper than normal.

“But that means…”

“I’m not marrying you,” he said. He couldn’t risk it, not the chance of love. A cold, political marriage he could handle, but not something real. Not something that set his heart ablaze, confused and tantalized him.

Her silence was deafening.

Chapters: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8

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If you enjoyed this chapter, you may like my short story “Reaching You,” or perhaps on a lighter note, “A Tempting Melody,” a short and sweet romantasy story. My most recent short story is Incandescent Land

If you want to get to know me a little better, I explore my mental health and writing in my blogs. You may like my most recent post “I Want to be the Type of Person who Writes at Cafes” or “I’ve Lost My Voice.”

If you’re curious about my catalogue of short stories, here’s a link to my “Short Story Collection,” where I sort all my short stories by genre.

Photo by Adonyi Gábor

tw: gore, grief

The forgotten skies sizzle away. Ashes rage up into the heavens on the wind of a thousand city-sized bonfires. The mother wails her final breath as the givers wait amidst the flame. The givers, the death-takers, the reapers of the land are silent, the only kindness they shall give. This is their reckoning, after all.

Hidden amongst the wreckage is a girl who stands against all odds. Her body dances with the infinite flames, her hair one with the blaze, and eyes so dark they pierce with inverted light. Her pupils are the only shadow in this incandescent land. She clenches her fists, then releases them, only to close them again.

The hunt has begun.

The givers believe that they have destroyed all of their foes. They shift awkwardly on their feet as if to say “what a shame,” like they didn’t orchestrate it.

The girl, the redeemer, the last believer, stalks through broken stone, burns mark where the couch, the kitchen table, and the family were incinerated. The people’s shapes charred into the acrid ground like a child outlining their sibling with chalk. Two small burnt marks lie next to two larger ones. She steps through the carnage and sheds no tears because nothing but flame can exist in this hell.

She bears no weapon. She bears no faith, no hope, no dreams. She carries one single purpose.

Destroy.

What could she do that hadn’t already been done? Nothing remains of her world of color and shadows, of wet and cold, of love and comfort.

Nothing but them and her.

She hears them talking about dinner and women, like they belong on the same plate, and she holds back a scream. Maybe she should have been curious about them, these destroyers of worlds, but she found no solace in that. Who could understand someone so wicked? Who would want to?

The mother screeches in broken howls, and the Redeemer grinds her teeth.

Vengeance remains the only option.

She bursts through rubble, chips of rock dig into her skin and drip crimson onto the molten streets. She grabs a giver and smashes their face into the ground with the force of a hundred arms. The death-taker’s suit shatters and the screams of the man are gobbled up by the wails of the mother. The givers cry out, their voices discordant, and pull guns on her. She grabs the next one and yanks their arm off. Blood sizzles in an arc on the pavement. The reaper falls to the ground crying and holding their wound. She kicks him and sends him sprawling before stomping his head in. Crunch.

A bang sounds, the gun’s metal warping in the heat, and misfires. The death-takers hand explodes with a cry and a smirk from the girl. She takes the globby gun and slams it into the giver’s face.

The others speak to her, but all she hears is her rage. Despite the language barrier, she understands surrender. They bow their heads, defeat seeping off them like the smoke from the broken homes.

She kicks one in the stomach, sending them through a wall. The half-hanging ceiling collapses on top of the reaper. The next greets her knee with their face.

The last one backs away, their hands up in the air.

“Please no,” it says. “I can give you anything you want. Money, people, places, whatever you desire.”

She cocks her head, recognizing the fallen language. She takes a step forward, and it backs up. She isn’t afraid that it will get away. She is afraid it won’t understand.

“I. Want. My. Home.”

Four simple words, yet the death-taker burbles like a baby trying to find a response. She reaches for its neck as it screeches out in some desperate plea. Yet the Mother saved her for this purpose. Not healing, not saving, not fixing. But redeeming.

Through blood.

Crimson splatters her face, a pop and a thump, and iron bites her tongue. She spits it out, and it evaporates instantly. She looks around at the carnage. The blood and bodies are nothing compared to the end of a world.

She stares up at the heavens and sees nothing but ash. Embers float off of her fingers, glowing softly and moving up her arm. Her skin flakes off like paper and her tan skin turns to gray. Her hair shortens, still dancing in the light. She reaches a half-eaten arm towards the sky. What she couldn’t save. There had been nothing to save.

Only blood to shed.

She blinks away a tear as she combusts into flame.

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I wrote this piece when I was feeling particularly angry. Perhaps that comes through. This story may seem a bit hopeless, but I don’t feel that the world we live in is doomed. We are in a dark place, but I have to believe we will overcome it as long as we fight. We wont let the death-takers win.