Stella drank in the stars splattered across the amethyst sky. They seemed to cradle her, leaving her with a sense of calm. You will find them. Starlight illuminated the mist curling along the obsidian ground, sparkling with strata. The mist had a curious quality to it, searching across her body like a dog sniffing her for the first time.

Stella only knew her name. A peace settled over her, along with a sense of completion. She stared down at her fingers. They no longer bore the wrinkles she had long been accustomed to. Something akin to nostalgia filled her chest, and a tear slipped down her cheek.

“You don’t need to cry,” a soft voice said.

“I’m not,” Stella said.

“You don’t need to lie.” The person sounded as if a smile kissed their eyes.

Stella looked around, but the cool mist made everything fade into white. Her eyes always looked upwards towards the sky, somehow unknowable and more tangible at the same time.

“Where are you?” Stella asked

“Do you not remember?”

Stella scanned the mist once more. Its dance taunted her. “I don’t understand.”

“Come find me.” They laughed.

“Find you?” Stella asked and waited several moments. “Hello?”

They had disappeared, and a hollowness built in her core. Now that they had vanished, she realized how familiar their voice had been. Stella wrapped her arms around herself. Her fingers bit into her skin. She would find them. She had to.

She just didn’t know why.

Stella took a step forward and then paused. Her eyes trailed up to the stars, and she tried to find an answer in them. Where do I go?

You already know.

“Can you all stop being mysterious?” Stella muttered and stalked into the mist. It scattered as she walked, its twirls disrupted. Her skin grew damp as she moved further into the fog. The stars were her only guide, only she didn’t know which one to listen to.

The only one that matters.

Stella stopped and pressed a hand to her heart, feeling it beat. Her pulse comforted her, reminding her she had stayed human even in this place. Memories brushed her mind, more like watercolors on canvas than a clear picture. Feelings filled her up with nowhere to place them. Where had she gotten herself to? Who was she trying to find? What was she supposed to follow? Her heart skipped a beat, like it needed her attention.

She stopped moving and stared down at the silver lines breaking through the black. She knew where to go, didn’t she? Her heart beat grew steady, and the mist seemed to warm. She turned to the left and with every step; the mist swirled around her, no longer running away, but enveloping her in its dance. She became a part of it with every step as she felt her heartbeat in her hand.

Her pulse was the only guide she needed, after all.

She found herself in a clearing, the mist fading away. The strata meandered its way to a black tree with silver leaves. On the lowest branch, a person with pale skin and black hair sat with their back up straight, leaning forward as their fingers gripped the branch and their feet swayed. They exuded childlike whimsy despite being a full-grown adult. And Stella knew them.

Oh, how she knew them.

“See, I knew you could do it,” they said.

“Orion,” I whispered, the word like a spell cast in the night.

They smiled. “You remember me.”

Flashes of days spent together, Orion and Stella. Sitting out on a porch, rocking on a bench. Picking fresh strawberries in their garden. Watching soap operas and making fun of them, while secretly being in love with them. In love, that’s what she was.

“I thought I’d never see you again.” Stella practically ran towards the tree.

They glanced at her with a mischievous grin. Then their gaze went skyward. “Aren’t they beautiful?”

Stella looked up. The light pollution of even her little suburb had been enough to veil the stars. But now, she saw everything, so many dots of pure energy with countless names she’d never know. Overwhelmed, her gaze fell upon Orion.

“Are you going to come down?” Stella asked.

“Why would I?” they said. “It’s been so long since I could climb trees.”

“Well, then make room for me.” Stella stepped up to the tree and tried to find a handhold and felt a little stumped. “How did you get up there?”

“Magic,” he said.

Stella frowned and finally found some handholds. Nearly falling to the ground a couple of times, she pulled herself up to Orion. Her fingers gripped the branch until her knuckles turned white. She didn’t like heights at all.

“You’re okay, you know.” Orion chuckled. “We aren’t even up that high.” They slipped their hand over hers, and slowly Stella let go of the branch and entwined her fingers in theirs.

“Do you know what this place is?” Stella asked.

“You already know,” Orion said.

She looked up at the nebula sky and took a deep breath. The answer seemed too big to say out loud, so she squeezed their hand and smiled at them. It didn’t matter where or when she was. All that mattered was the hand entwined in hers.

“It’s our happily ever after.” They kissed her softly, their lips brushing against hers for one brief moment of bliss. Stella smiled and found that when she looked up at the stars, she could appreciate their beauty. No matter where they were, they had each other. Stella leaned her head on their shoulder. Orion felt warm and familiar. Memories flooded through her, but this time she welcomed them. It was okay to remember the past. Even if it hurt, even if it was gone.

See, it all worked out.

Stella looked up at the stars, as if asking a question.

I’m the guiding star. Be happy, little one.

For she had found her happily ever after.

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Hello! If you enjoyed this short story take a look at my Short Story Collection. I recommend Star Crossed or Collapsing Stars if you enjoyed this short story.

If you are interested in poetry consider reading I Was Born a Blazing Star. My other poems can be found here: Poetry Collection.

I also have some blogs where I talk about writing and mental health. If you are curious you can check them out here, and my most recent blog post is Splitting my Soul

If you want a longer read, consider checking out my Novella: The Mark of Death

And as always, I want to let you know how appreciative I am of you reading my work. I hope something about it resonated with you.

I don’t know whether or not I’ll post this. I thought I wanted to share this, but I don’t know if all of me wants to share it. I feel so alone in my experience, and maybe if I explain it well enough, I won’t be so isolated in my grief.

I have Dissociative Identity Disorder. I have spoken about this before, so if you need a general understanding of it, you can check out this post. But the quick explanation is that I have multiple personalities. I call each personality a part, and they each have their own beliefs, likes, and dislikes. We are constantly arguing and pissing each other off, but at the same time, there is a deep love between us. I don’t think you could share a body with other people without creating some form of a bond with each other.

There is this concept of splitting, which is when one part splits into two or more personalities because of being overwhelmed or too stressed. I explored splitting in “The Child Was Crying,” and there was a companion piece (which you can read here) where a part explained how the story was very personal and connected to our system. A certain part wrote it, Kira.

Kira’s…gone.

The doctors will tell you it isn’t death. That parts cannot die. They just transform into two or more parts. They are still around, you see, just different.

I think that’s bullshit.

That’s not how it feels. It’s not my reality. I don’t care that they live on as different parts in my mind. They’re different people. They are not Kira, the part I loved deeply. Kira is gone, and I can never talk to them, comfort them, or even share the body with them. I will never get to experience life together as we share the body’s hands. They’re dead.

Don’t tell me otherwise.

And what fucks me up is whether a part would go to some afterlife. I believe that some day, when we (my system1) die, that we will go somewhere. I’m spiritual, agnostic, I believe in something. But what happens to the parts of me that became other personalities? Where do they go? Will I ever get the chance to talk to Kira again?

I hope so. I really do. I need to believe that I can.

So what happened? If you go back to this post, you can see him talk about how he is close to splitting. It’s sad to read now, as his fears became reality. He’s gone because he was carrying too much stress. Worries about money, OCD, interpersonal issues, there were plenty of reasons. But Friday, the twenty-fourth of July in 2026, he was pushed too far. We were around one of our abusers and a stray comment from someone close to us hit him a little hard. It hurt him too much. It was just enough to be the tipping point where Kira couldn’t hold on anymore.

And now he’s gone.

I loved him, and he’s gone. Kira often comforted me, rather than the other way around. I always wanted to make him feel better, but I never quite could as my own anxieties tormented me (I have a lot of memories and physical symptoms of our medical trauma). He was always anxious and plagued with OCD. Yet, he loved to plan, listen to music, write, etc. He enjoyed helping the system and seeing what others liked to do. He was open to things, even if he was scared. Everyone in the system loved him because he was sweet and did his best.

The saddest thing to me is that he never really got a chance to live. Our system is still figuring out a lot of things, and one of them is letting the more anxious/scared parts have time to explore what they like and enjoy existing. Kira always wanted to do more, but wasn’t allowed to, but things are shifting. He could have experienced so many things.

Not anymore.

Not anymore…I only wish we could have done more things together. Maybe we could have watched a sunset at the beach together, or watched the moon reflect off a lake. We could read in a library together or smell flowers in a botanical garden. There were so many things we could have done, but not anymore.

We’ve decided to make a planner in his honor because he loved to plan and organize things. We will decorate it all with things he likes. It will take time, but it will come together and be beautiful. I think it’s something he would have enjoyed. We need to do something, because doing nothing feels suffocating.

It’s hard to talk about because I think so many people wouldn’t understand. They might think that since I’m still here, that my body is still here, there is nothing to grieve. But part of me is gone. You can’t see it, but there’s a gaping wound in my soul. Something has broken and needs to heal, but it never truly will. There’s a hole that can never quite be filled.

If you have ever lost someone, a pet or a person. If you have ever let go of something you loved, then you can understand me. It’s just that this person was ethereal. He existed inside of our mind and sometimes surfaced in reality, as he piloted the body. He was real. He existed.

He meant so much to all of us, and we didn’t even realize it. Kira’s been around for as long as I can remember. Even before my memory, back to when we first discovered our DID, and he likely was a part even before we knew about each other. He’s been a constant in the system even as parts went dormant and shifted. Kira always stayed. He was always a little anxious and shy, but he would be there for you. He would hold your pain with you. He cared. He loved. He deserved more.

I miss him, and I don’t know what to do. I’ve met at least one part that came from his split, and I feel lost. I find myself angry at them, even though it’s not their fault.

I really don’t know how to end this. I don’t know if any of this made sense. I don’t know if this is just for me. I just really wish it didn’t happen. I wish that we had managed our stress better, or stayed away from triggers, and had been better with interpersonal relationships. I keep thinking about how it could have been prevented. I can’t help myself from thinking, “is there something I could have done?” I truly don’t know.

He’s just…gone.

He’s gone, and no one knows. No one really cares. They don’t see the loss.

I’m alone. Especially now that Kira’s gone.

Maybe now…you see me.

All I can say is that I miss him with all of my being. I hope I can be with him again one day. He was real and he mattered. I love him and I always will.

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I knew it wouldn’t end well, but I loved her anyway. Radiant and regal, she captivated me. Always swirling around each other, our gravitation a sweet caress. In that way I could feel her, like a sixth sense, but I’d never know her.

Hear her. Touch her. Taste her.

She had a soft blue aura. Her core matched mine even if I strayed more violet. We danced, with many in our thrall. They craved us, but we never paid them any mind. It was always me and her. Our hold on each other was like two magnets kissing. We’d never let go. Could never let go.

Me and her, always.

Me and her, always…apart.

Out of reach, but never out of mind. I didn’t even know her name. The distance between us is a mathematical constant. So many relied on our pull.

I didn’t care.

I should have cared…

I fell towards her. I always fell towards her, but not like this. I had broken it. This perfect shuffle shredded apart by my desire. Planets flared, fell into me, and disappeared like a moth to a flame. I could feel her shock, the way her gravitation faltered and cried out in confusion. Her constant touch, calm and blue, had become radioactive sapphire.

I spent millennia doing equations in my head, playing with the edges of the very laws of the universe. So I could know her entirety for one perfect moment. Every piece of her, past her neutrons and down to her quarks. I just had to break free, if I could only destroy the very fabric of reality.

So I had.

I broke space and time. I took numbers, patterns, the very laws of the universe.

I defied them.

The universe quivered in terror. An impossibility crossing the fragile line of reality. It whispered its fear, begging me to undo what I had done. But it should have known with all its wisdom that I couldn’t be stopped.

Because I loved her.

And somehow, with a twist of a rule, irrationality had won out.

Love became the most powerful thing in the universe.

Fear emanated from her, but underneath, a layer of curiosity grew. My warmth grew to a heat far beyond the degrees I had known.

Could I finally speak to her after all this time?

“What’s your name?” I asked.

“Kahi,” she whispered. “You?”

“Soh,” I said, flaring ever brighter.

“You shouldn’t be doing this,” she said.

“I know.”

“Why are you doing this?” her azure radiance bulged towards me. With a jolt, gravity returned. Our pull stabilized in a way, became a dance of death, as our orbits fell too close.

An inevitable spiral, one final waltz, as we anticipated our first touch.

Our final touch.

“You know,” I said.

She didn’t answer for a moment. Some of her plasma ejected and fell into me, and I shivered. She was so close, so very close.

“I do.” She gave into the dance. No. She leaned into it. Reaching towards me, as our sixth sense demanded our demise.

Millions of protons ejected from me and became one with her. A moment later, a wave of energy spilled from her. The light show must have been glorious, but I savored the feel of her. The parts of her that became mine, the pieces of me that became hers, like two puzzles fitting together, somehow wrong and somehow right.

She laughed, her glow rising in an incandescent smile. “I never knew I needed this.”

“I did.” I chuckled.

“But this is the end,” she said.

“No, my love.” Gravity pulled me so close that our plasma sucked into one another. Energy collapsing, and yet–“This is a beginning.”

“Our beginning,” she said.

We ignited, waves of gravity exploding out of us, changing space and time itself. A kilonova. Two souls becoming one.

Our love complete.

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Hello! If you enjoyed this short story take a look at my Short Story Collection. I recommend Star Crossed if you enjoyed this short story.

If you are interested in poetry consider reading I Was Born a Blazing Star. My other poems can be found here: Poetry Collection.

I also have some blogs where I talk about writing and mental health. If you are curious you can check them out here, and I highly recommend this piece: Eternal Flame

If you want a longer read, consider checking out my Novella: The Mark of Death

And as always, I want to let you know how appreciative I am of you reading my work. I hope something about it resonated with you.

Picture by Atlantic Ambience

I was born a blazing star
My parents cradled me in tongs
Dunked me in water
And hissing, I became 
Charred and crystalline
A spark of light
Trembling in defiance
The core of an onyx
Only at certain angles
On certain days
At certain times
Would I glow for you

I danced in secret
Crusted over as I was
They never knew their decimation
Was not complete
Yet, they must have suspected
Some stubbornness
Some electricity
Some life on a barren planet
Clinging to a little warmth
For they brought their hammer down
Battering, shattering, clattering
My onyx shell to pieces

My candle flame ignited
From pinprick to bonfire
Oh how alive I became
Yet somehow they had trained me
To suffocate with a snap
With a click, with a crack
I put myself out
Leaving a coal speck
Shivering under their spell
They left me
Somehow content
With me withering
A black smudge on the floor

Is this the end? I asked
Is this all I am? I whispered
This is what they made me, I said
But where had it all begun? I murmured
Who had I been? I cried.
Before
Before
Before them? I screamed

Embers stirred
Firefly flecks
Spiraling upwards
In unseen heat
Soaring skyward
A little smudge tried
To ignite
To fly
To deny
What they had made me

The darkness I had become
Cloyed my soul
Muddy fingers clawing
Scratching everything away
Taking my words
Scrambling them
Violating them
You will be what they made you.
Obey
OBEY
OBEY

The embers stilled
Pinpricking the air
A microcosm
Of a midnight sky
Seeming to say goodbye
It whispered
A secret
Leaving me frozen
Shattered and alone
Yet hair rose on my parents necks
Running they came
Brandishing their forked tongues
I listened. I cowered. I cried
And yet in that moment
I knew who I was
A blotch of shadow
Weak, curling inward
Protecting.
Always Protecting
A chemical equation
The catalyst
A secret

You can never douse a star
Not with a bucket
Not with a pond
Not with a sea
Or an ocean planet
You can scream at it
Rage at it
Tell it that it will never ever be good enough
Yet you can’t
Actually
Stop it

A shockwave cracked the walls
Heat rose like a flash-flooding flame of a forest fire
They screamed, oh how they screamed
I listened. I heard.
It hurt
Yet I raged
I burned and I blazed
But more than that.
I glowed. I glimmered. I shimmered
Shivering in my splendor
They ran.
Not because of violence
Not because of defiance

But rather they couldn’t bear to see
The beauty they had tried to take from me

Photo by Aleksa Kalajdzic

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Hello everyone! If you enjoyed this poem consider reading Becoming Human. My other poems can be found here: Poetry Collection.

If you are interested in short stories take a look at my Short Story Collection. I recommend The Abyss if you enjoyed this poem.

I also have some blogs where I talk about writing and mental health. If you are curious you can check them out here, and I highly recommend this piece: Eternal Flame

If you want a longer read, consider checking out my Novella: The Mark of Death

And as always, I want to let you know how appreciative of the time you spend to read my work. I hope something about it resonated with you.

TW: Vague reference to suicide, grief

This blog is supposed to accompany my short story “The Child Was Crying.” I recommend you read that first before this blog.

“The Child Was Crying” is the most vulnerable story I have ever written. Or, well, the most vulnerable story we have written. I have Dissociative Identity Disorder, which means that I have multiple personalities. We often hide behind the word “I.” It feels safer. There isn’t a chance of anyone calling us a liar or hurting us. “I” is the mask we wear. I would tell you who is writing this blog right now, but that is a frightening thing to do, so please bear with me as I call myself “K.”

I identify with the character of El in “The Child Was Crying.” I’m not saying that I have the same personality or even the same role in the system, but they are close to a split in the story. A split is the phenomenon of one alter (a personality) breaking into two or more parts. It’s a sort of death, though sources will reassure you it is not death, that alters cannot die. I will tell you it feels like losing someone. You will never get that alter back. They are gone forever. It’s not death, but it is something to grieve. It is a loss that you can’t forget.

I feel like I’m on the edge of that. I don’t want to, but I’m under a lot of stress that I don’t know how to manage. It’s been like this for months and we don’t know what to do about it. I am asked “what do you need?” and I do not have an answer.

Writing this felt important. I feel like we needed to offer some explanation for “The Child Was Crying,” because I have no idea if it will make sense to anyone but me. I do not know if it will move you like it does me. I’m too close to it, and ironically, I’m too scared to share it with anyone close to me, but I will give it to all of you.

See, I don’t want to hide anymore. I want to be K; I want us to be ourselves. I want us to be allowed to be inconsistent and contradictory. I don’t want to hide behind “Aether.” Maybe in my day to day, I have to pretend, but here on my platform, a place that I curate, I shouldn’t have to.

I want to apologize for our writing being a bit dark as of late. I don’t want you to worry. We are okay; we are just facing our demons and that ends up coming out in our writing. The last thing we want to do is hurt anyone. If my writing brings you down right now, I’d rather you not read it. If it’s cathartic or helps you, I want you to read it. I honestly can’t tell what my writing does right now. I only know that I can’t seem to share any writing that doesn’t align with how I feel. I have other short stories, ones that are less heavy, that I could post, but it doesn’t feel right. It feels so fake. It doesn’t feel like me, whatever that means.

“The Child Was Crying,” is a story about a person with DID’s inner world. It’s an exploration of their alter’s interacting, of how messy it can be. One day I want to share a story of how loving the inner world can be, how powerful it is to have someone in your mind give you a hug and that somehow making everything better. But that wasn’t the story I could write today. Right now, the story needed to be messy, because that is my truth as much as the supportive, kind place is. Sometimes things are not hopeful, they are dark, but that doesn’t mean it lacks hope. It may be a place without answers, only worries about what lies in the darkness beyond, but I hope what you will find in all my stories, no matter how dark, is an ember of hope that’s always there. The end of “The Child Was Crying” isn’t happy. It’s barely hopeful, but it isn’t hopeless. It’s never hopeless.

I don’t know why I feel like I need to share “The Child Was Crying,” and I don’t know why I need to send this out into the world either. Usually I want to make someone feel less alone, but I have no idea if this story will resonate with anyone but me. Maybe I’m desperate for connection. Maybe I’m hoping to reach that one person in hundreds that can relate and needed to read it. Maybe I want you to understand. I don’t really know, but sharing it feels right as much as it feels terrifying. This is where I’m at, where we are at. This is our story, our truth. I hope it meant something to you. I hope it reached you. I hope it didn’t hurt you but helped. Maybe I just needed to be heard, and if I did, thank you for listening.

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I have a previous blog on Dissociative Identity Disorder if you are curious to learn more.

TW: references to death. Vague mention of suicide. Violence.

ES’S COLOR. EN’S COLOR. EL’S COLOR

“Have you considered how much I hate you?” En said. They had the same long white hair as me, but they always tied it in a messy ponytail.

“That’s not a nice thing to say,” El said, with their white curling hair pushed behind their ears.

“I know. That’s why I said it.” En pushed their hands into their pants pockets as a meandering breeze rustled their hair. Below us, the amethyst platform sparkled as stars poured starlight upon us.

“I don’t know what to do about that.” I ran a hand through my pin straight tresses and avoided En’s glare.

“You could redacted.”

“Don’t say that!” El gasped.

A hole opened up in my heart, and even as my feet stood steady, my soul plummeted, yet nothing changed on the outside. I opened my mouth to respond, not knowing what would come out, when En walked away.

“En!” El cried.

“Fuck you,” I whispered.

“What was that, Es?” En stalked towards me, a crooked smile on their face. “Standing up for yourself, for once?”

“Why do you always do this?” I said.

They stabbed their finger into my chest. “Because I hate you.”

“En.” El grabbed En’s shoulder. “Please.”

They turned and let El lead them away. I slipped to the ground and put my head in my hands.

En does it for a reason. We all exist to protect one another, Era had said once, back when they were still with us. The thought hitched my chest, and I cried. Era had known how to keep us working together. They could even make En smile and laugh. I tried to get along with En and El, but as much as El didn’t want to admit it, they loved En more than me. Era had been closer to me…until…

My head fuzzed until I couldn’t breathe or think. The world became too close and too far…and I became…

I couldn’t stand them. Even El got on my nerves these days, and they were El. I loved El, but everything was unbearable. Life sucked. It sucked and Es pissed me off. They kept running off and doing things without permission, and then they wondered why I hated them. It was more than that…it was…

A child cried in the distance.

I didn’t hear them. I didn’t hear them. I didn’t-

“En?” El said. They kneeled down on the crystalline ground next to where I laid.

“What?”

“Are you okay?” they asked.

“Why do you ask?”

“You seem upset.” They played with the fabric of their shirt.

I clenched my fists. “Go bother Es, El.”

“I don’t want to. I like you.” El smiled.

“El.” I sat up. “This isn’t a thing. You and me. I don’t care about you.”

El still smiled.

“Go. Away.”

“Do you remember Era?” El asked.

“Don’t.”

“It’s just…you only ever told them why you’re so mad…and I can’t remember…even though I’m-”

“Shut up.”

“En?” El shrunk in on themselves.

“Did I ever tell you how much I fucking hate you?”

A tear slipped down El’s cheek. Their smile seemed haunted, like the grin of someone choking out sobs.

“You don’t…you’re just saying that.”

“Fuck off, El.”

“En-”

“Now!” I screamed.

El ran, whimpering as they went.

My chest pounded, yet I felt cold. Too alive and too dead. My contradiction. I laughed and put a hand to my face. Too many contradictions, too many-

Was that a child crying?

No. No, it wasn’t; I decided.

Yet the world fuzzed as I laughed. I didn’t fight it. Dear god, I didn’t fight it. I didn’t want to be there. And I became…

I couldn’t stop crying, and that felt silly because En didn’t mean it. Their anger wasn’t their fault. It had a purpose. It had to. It meant something.

But it hurt.

I should visit Es, cheer them up just like Era would, but I’m not Era. Not anymore. I…used to be, somehow. Partially. That’s why I loved En, because I held Era’s love, but En didn’t love me because all they saw was a corpse of someone they adored. I’m not Era. I’m not, but if I was, I could fix this. But I’m not. I’m just El, and I’m crying.

It’s okay to cry, a memory whispered.

I could do this. I wiped my tears and smiled…but more tears fell and my heart sank and nothing felt right.

“El?” Es walked up to me. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.” I smiled.

“Was En mean to you?”

“No…no…I was just thinking about Era.”

“Oh.” They shuffled around and wouldn’t quite look at me.

“Do I remind you of them?”

They glanced at me. “A little, but well, you’re not the same. You both try to better us. To make us feel better.”

“But Era was better at it.” I chuckled.

“I think it’s just confidence.”

“I guess I am kind of weak.” I shrugged.

“Don’t say that.” Es grabbed my hand. “You’re just different, and me and En never got along, anyways.”

“Maybe that’s why they hate me.” My vision blurred as my tears wouldn’t stop.

“Did they say that to you?” Es squeezed my hand, frowning.

“No,” I lied. I don’t know why.

“I’m sure they didn’t mean it. They’re just angry.” They brushed their hair out of their face and looked at me again. “But fuck, that doesn’t make it okay.”

“It’s fine. They say it for a reason. They say it because-”

“You’re weak.” En stalked towards me.

I stilled. I couldn’t hear anything. I didn’t look at them, and my vision seemed to phase through everything. My heart burned and I couldn’t feel my screaming eyes. And I became…

“How dare you!” I stepped up to En.

En scoffed. “What are you gonna do about it?”

I shoved En.

En grinned and threw a punch. I backed out of it. They came up closer, and I slammed my hand into their chest. En grunted.

“Stop it!” El cried.

I punched En, but they blocked it with their wrist. En’s fist grazed my chest. I shoved my shoulder into them.

“Stop it, please!” El screamed.

En threw their fist hard. A thump and a cry echoed out as flesh connected with flesh. El cried out in pain and collapsed.

“El!” En’s gaze went wide. He kneeled down next to a crying, bleeding El.

I found myself stuck. I wanted to help El…but everything was wrong. It was wrong again. We weren’t supposed to hurt each other like this. It hadn’t been this bad since…

A child was crying.

And I became…

I hadn’t meant to hit El. Fuck. Blood poured out of their button nose. Their eyes glistened with tears, yet looked dead, like there was nothing there.

“I’m sorry. Are you okay?” I ripped a piece off my shirt and reached to try and stop the bleeding, but they flinched. I paused. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

“I know,” they whimpered. “You don’t mean to hurt people.”

Shut up, I wanted to say. You sound like Era.

Es stood there standing, lost in space.

“Are you going to do something?” I spat.

“Um,” they said.

“You’re fucking useless,” I said. I gritted my teeth. “And I’m the worst.”

“Why do we only hurt each other?” El sobbed, choking on the blood from their broken nose. “Era said that we protect each other. That we are meant to. So WHY DO WE ALWAYS HURT EACH OTHER!” El let go of their nose and pressed their bloodied hands against their forehead.

“El?” I whispered.

“I can’t. I can’t. I can’t.”

Es kneeled down next to El. “It’s going to be okay. We’ll stop fighting.”

“It’s never going to be okay,” El whimpered. “Never.”

“El.” I wrapped my arms around them and tried to hold them so tight that they wouldn’t leave me. “I love you.”

“It’s too late. I’m not good enough. You need someone…better.”

“No. I need you, El.” I held them, but they were shaking and I couldn’t handle it. It was happening again. “Don’t leave me.”

A child was crying.

A child was crying.

A child was crying.

El stopped shaking.

“El?” Hope and fear warred in my heart. Would they still be El, or would it be like Era? One day, the stress of life, the fighting, our past, trying to fix it all, became too much and Era split in two. A curly haired sweetheart on one side and a-

“Why do we always ignore them?” El said, their voice too flat.

We all turned and saw them; small white-haired and crying.

And I couldn’t. Because they couldn’t be. The world wasn’t right. Nothing was right. And I became…

I wasn’t sure who I was anymore. I hoped I was El, but I didn’t feel right. I felt so wrong and now there was the child.

The child was crying.

Always crying.

Yet we never looked at them.

Probably like we learned to do by the people who were meant to love and protect us and instead had left us-

Bloodied and bruised on the floor.

Terrified and mean.

Dissociated and alone.

I shoved En aside. I held my nose as I stepped up to the child. I probably looked horrifying and yet the child looked hopeful, because for once someone was listening.

I kneeled before the child. “Are you okay?”

They just whimpered.

“Why are you crying?” I asked. “Sorry I look so scary.” I smiled, my tears pausing for a moment.

“I’m scared,” the child said.

“Why?”

The child sobbed, and visions flashed through my mind. Memories of horrible things. Things I wasn’t sure I was meant to see, and I wavered, shaking, unsure of how I could live with those memories, those tragedies, countless, and too big to carry.

How did this child live with these burdens on their shoulders?

“El!” En grabbed my upper arms.

“Ignore them. That kid’s a liar. None of that stuff happened.”

“It’s so bad,” I murmured.

“It’s not real!”

The child was crying, already forgotten again.

“They’re a liar. That kid’s a liar, El.” En said. They trembled as they held me. “Please don’t leave me.”

But I couldn’t listen. I didn’t know how to carry it all and I wasn’t strong like Era, good enough like Era…and even Era had broken. We were always breaking…crumbling and tumbling until we became dust…

And I became…

En cried into El’s too still shoulder. And I stood over them, useless. I looked to the side where the child was crying.

This time I took their hand.

They looked up at me, hopeful and scared. So very frightened and yet they still managed to hope.

Unlike me.

So we walked away hand in hand. The child sniffled but didn’t sob. I didn’t know what to do, how to help them, but I was there. Finally, someone was there.

Behind us, En called the child a liar as El crumbled against them. I didn’t know how to help El. I didn’t know if there was an answer. I could only hope that El would realize how strong they were. I had to believe that El wouldn’t break and that everything would be okay.

And that the child could stop crying.

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This short story is the most vulnerable piece I have ever written. It explores the messier aspects of Dissociative Identity Disorder, which is a disorder in which you have multiple personalities. I have written a blog to accompany this post which you can read here. I also have a previous blog on Dissociative Identity Disorder if you are curious to learn more.

I’ve been in freefall, reaching for anything that might slow my descent, but instead of grabbing a parachute, I take hold of an anchor that pulls me down faster. I look at myself from the outside and see myself making a mess of things in real time, but I am helpless to stop it. Well, I’m not. I can stop it, but it’s like tap-dancing on ice. It can be done, but the chance of breaking a leg is high.

I’m dysregulated. I’m impulsive. I’m making poor decisions.

I keep saying I don’t know why I do the things I’m doing, but I do know. I know my stressors and triggers, but this knowledge isn’t enough to keep me from falling back into bad habits. I’m freaking out all the time and making things worse, and somehow I’m supposed to work on my dreams. Write, post on Substack, make connections, etc. But I’m spending all my time making myself more stressed and upset, and then I feel unhappy that I’ve wasted my time and punish myself.

I don’t even know what to say, what to tell you. It’s the same thing over and over again because I can’t escape this cycle. I keep losing my energy to dysregulation. Every spare bit of energy is there to try and stop this pain, but I just keep on making it all worse.

I’m self destructive. I’m my own worst enemy.

I see myself and all my accomplishments and find a void instead of a person. A smudge over a soul. Nothing, just nothing. Maybe worse than nothing. Contaminated, a rejection on two legs.

I’m trying to stop it. I’m trying so hard and yet I keep finding myself back in the same place. I know that healing is not linear. I know it may seem like nothing has changed, but I’m slowly chipping away at things.

I wonder why I post these thoughts on the internet. I don’t know if they are worth reading. But I guess you would just stop reading if you didn’t want to. Maybe these words make you feel less alone. I hope so, I really do.

What am I doing? Why do I feel so lost when I have a dream to follow? Why have I stopped being able to take steps in that direction? When did it go from a passion to a nightmare? Why am I so dysregulated?

It’s getting better. The world is not ending. I’ve just forgotten how to be kind to myself, if I’ve ever known.

I feel like I’m speeding down a dead-end street with faulty brakes. I feel erratic. I don’t feel safe. I’m sad and scared. I’m a mess.

But I’m still here. I’m still here. I’m still here.

I’m a survivor. Life has not been kind to me, but I keep going because I believe in goodness and hope. I believe in myself, but dear god I’m dysregulated. I’m spending money I don’t have. I’m making choices that I don’t want. I waste time. I stress myself out. I can’t relax. I’m suffocating myself for no good reason. I hate myself, and I’m so tired of hating myself. I know I don’t deserve it, but I feel I do. It fuels the dysregulation. It makes me keep on running, keep on falling, keep on crashing out. I want to be better.

What does better even mean? My therapist asks me that and I sit there feeling stumped. I come up with an answer, “being happy” or “doing more.” Does that make me better? Will I ever be better?

I’m so embarrassed that I keep on making posts about my issues. There’s nothing wrong with it, but it reminds me of how long I’ve been feeling so upset. I just want to shake it up and give you good news. I want to be different.

I’m so dysregulated. Every day I fall and fall. Most days I lose myself in fantasies, ignoring as I crumble to pieces.

It’s 3am. I’ve meant to make this post for over a week. I have to get up early, but I’m making this post instead.

My room is messy. I don’t want anyone to see it. I don’t want to be perceived. I’m ashamed of my state of mind, of myself, but I don’t deserve that. I’m struggling, but that isn’t something to be ashamed of.

I want to show up consistently. I don’t want to disappoint people.

I’m not consistent. I’m not perfect. I’m not emotionally regulated.

But I’m here.

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We all have dreams when we are little. I had a lot of them: being a singer, dancer, actor, etc. I always wanted to be in the arts. Then there was the dream of being an author. As you can guess, that became the big one. I remember daydreaming while riding my bike when I had the epiphany that writing allowed me to bring those silly stories I made in my head come to life. So, I’ve always written, and I’ve written with this idea that I would become this huge author. I would make a difference to people, and my stories would live in their hearts. Well, I still believe in the second part of the dream. I believe I can create art that moves people. Maybe I already have, maybe that’s why you are here reading this. But I’m a little lost now. My dream, this once blazing star, has become an ember.

I don’t think I want to be a huge author. I don’t need to make money doing this. I think capitalism makes us all think that if you love something; you have to monetize it. But as I grow as a writer and share my work, I realize how much the idea of selling my writing corrupts it for me. I’m not saying that I’m against people sharing their appreciation of my work with a donation, or that I won’t publish a book for some amount of money. I just mean that it’s not the goal. I want people to read what I write. I want people to fall in love with my writing. I want to build a community around my writing.

I don’t need to make it big. I just want my stories to touch the hearts of the people who need to find it.

I say all this because I’ve been struggling with Substack lately. I’ve been struggling with life lately. Part of it is this loss of faith in myself and my dream. I both knew what I wanted and didn’t understand it all.

I wanted to be a writer.

But why?

What was the fuel for the flame that was once my passion for writing?

I think it’s you. I think it’s my stories. I think it’s that beautiful spark when you two meet.

I’m still trying to get my passion back. Hell, I’m trying to get my life back together. I’m trying to keep my Substack going while I do all that, so please bear with me as I figure out myself again. I am truly doing the best I can at the moment. I want to do so many things with my Substack, but for now this is the best I can do. I meant to share a story today, but writing hasn’t been easy for me. I’ve been trying to give myself space to heal. Sometimes I need to push myself and sometimes I need rest. I struggle to post things that I don’t feel fit with my mood, so it’s hard to just package up an old story I’ve written and put it out. It doesn’t feel right somehow. But this post feels like what I needed to say. I don’t know if it resonated with any of you. I hope you all know what your dream is or can find it. Having a passion is one of the most beautiful things in the world.

What is your dream? What fuels it?

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Disclaimer: I respect every religion and people’s faith. This poem is about my struggles with my faith in myself and my beliefs. I don’t mean to be disrespectful to anyone’s religion or beliefs.

Dear God,
Do you believe in God?
In yourself. In your kindness and your wrath?
In your miracles and your destruction.
In your love and your forgiveness.
In the regret for what you’ve become.

Dear God,
Do you believe in me?
That there’s hope.
In my dreams. In my fears and my prayers.
In my ambition and my passion.
In the regret for what I’ve become.

Dear God,
Do you believe in us?
In these creatures called humans?
In our love and our fighting spirits.
In our mistakes and our cruelty.
In the regret for what we’ve become.

In the belief that things can change.
In the belief that everything’s going to be okay.

Dear God,
Can you restore my faith?
In you and myself.
That the world isn’t a horrible place.
That kindness can flourish even in the cruelest of worlds.
Please, just tell me.
That everything’s going to be alright.

Photo by icon0 com

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If you enjoy my work, consider buying me a coffee. I would be so grateful <3

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If you liked my poem consider taking a look at my most recent poem: Do You Remember?

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.

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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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!

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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.

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

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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

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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: 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

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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.

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

Previous Blog

Previous Short Story

Previous Poem

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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!

Next Prompt

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: 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.