It’s been a while since she’s been here. It was a surprise today when she showed up.
She was dressed simply today. A sweatshirt and shorts. She didn’t need anything more for today. Her wings hung limply, dragging in the sand behind her.
She came and stood next to me while I looked out over the beach, off to the horizon in the distance. A single tear traced down her cheek.
“i had an awful day today, so i came to see you. you always know how to make me feel better, dont you?” She chuckled drily.
“im sorry. im sorry im sorry im sorry. i try to keep it up i do and i never can. and yet youre always here. i don’t deserve you but I love you so much and youll never know.” Her voice was soft, and so unlike her.
I gathered her in the biggest hug I could manage. I could never touch her really, but it’s her head. Here we can.
She leans into it and sobs into me. As she said, I’ll always be there for her. She’s my Creator, and for that I owe her everything. And I love her only as her Creation can.
We sat like that for a long time, me holding her, staring out at the sea. Content.
—-
She was back the next day, and back to her usual self.
She bounded up to me while I was reading. She was wearing jewel toned adventurers garb, a leather messenger bag over her shoulder. Her hair was pulled back in a small braid. She looked radiant again.
“Come on come on come on!!! We still gotta find you a ship!!”
Her grin was infectious. I sighed, but smiled. She needs to get a love life of her own.
She grabbed my wrist and pulled me along as the world disintegrated behind us and we fell through to another world of her imagination.
I sat at the pier, aimlessly bouncing my legs through the cool water.
The day was always cloudy here, but the nights were crystal clear, enough stars to finally understand how miniscule one was in the universe.
A tiny fish ran past my toes and I smiled, relishing the small moments.
As she stepped into my sight, she was held momentarily in shadow by the lanterns on the posts.
She looked majestic: Hair black as night, kept short and flowy. She wore a dress that appeared to be made of pure starlight, open at the back to reveal a pair of magnificent crow feathered wings. Cold eyes of a brown so dark they were black, but warm and honey colored in the lantern light. Those eyes hid secrets and wisdom, and the mind behind could create and destroy worlds at whim.
Of course, that’s where we were right now.
Naturally, this was only a moment before she ran up to me, a wickedly playful grin upon her face, wings spread wide for balance. Clumsy one, she was.
“Wonderful! You’re here. We can get started. I think we’re going to work backstory today.” Her tone was playful, as if my life weren’t about to be utterly changed by this. Her smile was infectious though, and there was something compelling about this girl. I would die for her. She might one day decide I will do just that. I don’t think so though - if anyone, it would be the other Creator who did so.
She ran right off the pier with a flap of her wings for a boost and a jump through the sky. Disappearing under the surface with barely a splash, I had no choice but to follow as the world behind us started to disintegrate and the new one formed. Sliding in, I hardly disturbed the stars reflected on the surface before we were gone, through to another world.
—-
Today she found me sitting in a clearing in the woods, fireflies flitting about while the waves crashed in the background. The trees were deep shades of emerald and teal, a great contrast to the galaxies above. It’d been two days since she was here.
She was dressed in combat gear this time - a deep blue jacket, leggings, a turtleneck tank and boots. She had a sword at her side and a knife strapped to her thigh. I chuckled. If it was her head we were in, she might as well wear what she wants.
With a dramatic drawing of her sword, she pointed at me. Raising my hands in mock surrender she spoke.
“Get up. We’re gonna plan a fight scene for fun today.” Chuckling, I got to my feet. I missed this side of her. It had been a while.
She tossed me a sword by the hilt.
“En garde, mon ami. ….Dammit I forgot how much I hate French.”
The swords clanged, metal on metal singing the song of the blade as the world around us slowly disappeared.
—-
It had been a few days since I last saw her. I was laying on the roof tonight when she walked up.
Tonight she had fashioned herself in something that you would find a faerie wearing, colors of the deep sky, simple and stunning. Her wings were spread wide, backlit against the moon
“Hey!” She called when she approached. “Come with me.” A mischievous smile stretched across her lips, and one couldn’t help but think something wonderful was about to happen when they saw it.
She didn’t acknowledge the fact that her visits were getting more infrequent, so neither did I.
She led me through the house, twisting hallways a maze. When we finally arrived, she opened the door with a flourish. “I thought an outfit change would be nice.”
Inside were racks and racks of clothing. I sighed with a chuckle as she pulled out a sketchbook and pencils and waited expectantly for me to start trying things on. “Go on, I need to see what looks best! Try this first. OH and we’re so doing a formalwear arc.”
—-
(dang ran out of word space I’ll make a part two)
Pft.
Pfffft.
P f f f f f f t.
Aurel sat aimlessly blowing a lock of unruly hair out of their face, lazing very improperly across their chair.
“Mx. Avernus, I would assume you’re paying attention?”
“…oh mhm sure yep.” This stupid ash white hair would not stay away. Entertainment at least?
“Would you care to reiterate what I’ve just said?”
With a heavy, dramatic sigh, Aurel sat up and straightened themself and pasted an overly cheerful smile on their face.
“With all due respect, sir, I’m sure it was something important about my job on the council to protect the timeline and the space time continuum and whatever interdimensional wormhole thingys decide to appear out of the blue. Which definitely aren’t my fault, by the way.” A glare from the head councilman. “At least not always. However!” They continued brightly, voice dripping with sharp honey. “It’s always the same stuff. ‘Aurel put this bloke back where he belongs.’ ‘Aurel can I consult my ancestors about some crap or another?’ ‘Aurel fix this, Aurel fix that.’ Don’t worry, I know what you’ll say. So thank you very much but I have no need to stay. Enjoy your meeting.”
Standing up and brushing themself off with a sweep of their cloak, Aurel winked at the gawping council members with one sea foam eye.
With a bow and dramatic hand gesture, a scarlet, coral and teal portal flickered to life behind them.
With a salute and a smirk, they stepped backwards and were gone.
(side note Aurel corrected to Shrek. rip my OC.)
Blank. Blank. Blank.
And then…
Dark.
Why does it always start dark? Must I always carve out light from the dark?
No matter. The dark is welcoming. The dark is home.
Now there’s a hill. A craggedy one, a house to match on top. A wrought iron fence sits falling apart around, a useless barrier.
On the fence now sits a lone crow. Where it came from, I don’t know, but I know it should be there.
My personal bird of choice, it flits around, cawing and screaming.
Crows are safe, crows are home.
Up and up it flies, higher and higher.
Reaching for a limitless sky, shadows in the darkness.
Are there stars? Yes, I think so. Bright specks, lighting it, silhouetting our avian friend.
Higher, it reaches the stars. Stars are beautiful, stars are home.
Why can’t I go home?
If it exists only in the boundaries of mind, does it not exist? Ive thought it into existence, haven’t I?
So why can’t I find it?
There’s days I’m scared of my subconscious.
Nights where I close my eyes and am terrified of what I’ll see.
Times there are monsters lurking at the edges of my vision, waiting to pounce as soon as the black takes over.
When I slip into R.E.M., the visions slip out, unwanted.
Why am I here? What’s going on? Why is his throat being ripped out? How do I feel my legs moving so fast, running from terrors that arent real? No! Don’t just jump off the balcony! No! Don’t just go murdering people to scare me!
Why
Why
Why must my mind haunt me
Why must this have to fully play out
Why can’t I just go back to sleep peacefully
Why am I scared to go back to sleep
Why the fuck can’t it just go away?!
Because I wake up and it’s deja vu and it’s not real and it’s all becoming real at the same time.
What a patronizing, put me below your level, misogynistic word.
Why.
Why can’t I just peacefully order something without that word from the server.
If someone corrects me it doesn’t need to be included.
If it’s intended to be endearing or soften the blow, congrats! You’ve just succeeded in ticking me off.
What an awful word.
Why does it bother you why I fidget so? Why I can’t sit still?
Tap. Tap. Tap.
The fact that I might drum fingers on my knee while watching tv, or bouncing my foot?
Tap. Tap. Tap.
How come when I’m almost completely out of your line of sight, you feel the need to continue informing me of the fingernails currently in my mouth? I obviously know they’re there.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
Why can’t I just fidget simply? Too much energy, not enough stamina to run it off, so it moves to my tapping fingers.
Tap.
Tap.
Tap.
I’ve informed you of this before. I’ve written this poem before. How come I need to keep telling you? Why can’t I just simply fidget in peace?
Why does it have to bother you so much?
Why do I have to bother you so much?
Sometimes I hate when people say I have a “way with words”. What about the times I don’t feel that way? When the words don’t just flow across the page, spilling scenes like watercolor on paper? I hate when I have a beautiful idea and it’s going so well and then it’s not. And then I see someone else’s stories and feel inferior, and I’m not good enough. For example as soon as I respond to a prompt, everyone else’s is longer and more creative somehow, even if I liked mine a moment beforehand. If I have a way with words, how come I can never think something of mine is good enough? Honestly, how can I even come up with something when everyone else’s is better? I LOVE the feeling of spiraling with one of my closest friends down a loophole for hours, coming up with insanely complex storylines and worlds more than anything. Spending hours laying in bed, watching my stories like a movie inside my head. So WHY, as soon as I feel like I’m accomplishing something and going somewhere, does my stupid internal critic (he’s become so prominent I named him Steve) have to go and push the brakes and pull up a wall of a lack of motivation? As soon as I’m determined to try and actually write this one this time, why can’t I see it through? Why can’t I just have ONE story I can write without struggling and just thoroughly enjoy the writing process again? Why do I have to compare it to others stories, why can’t I just be happy with what I have? Why aren’t I satisfied with the stories I come up with on my own, without having to rely on someone to gather me out of the stupid rut I’ve worked myself into?!
Why, oh why, can’t I have a way with words in a way I like?
This goes here and that goes there and the little things can’t be everywhere.
One and two, three and four, step by step into the drawer.
Bit by bit, piece by piece, fold and tuck the freshly cleaned sheets.
Clean and dust and sweep and mop, this goes bottom, this goes top.
Day by day, again and again, swiping away all the stains.
Routine by routine, it must be done, this are my mornings. It’s just begun.
Why was getting lost in a forest ever romanticized? Who said that the fallen and the muggy, buggy air was beautiful and to be treasured? The paths were uneven and the branches were long and broken, and you couldn’t even see the sky. The forest was once seen as magnificent and beautiful, the leaves brushing the sky at insurmountable heights. They had said the colors were “epic”, ones you couldn’t find anywhere else.
That was why they had to be destroyed.
