As the hazy light filtered through the trees I heard the distant sound of bombs whistling through the air and the rattling of bullets leaving guns.

I sit up, clutching my chest. I look around wildly for the enemy, but I see none.

Staggering up I grip a tree branch to stay on my feet and I begin heading towards the sound of war, ready to rejoin my squadron.

Then a voice speaks from behind me.

“You’re not in shape to go back.”

I snap around, seeing a little ways from me in the narrow river a small boat with a figure whose back is turned to me.

I grit my teeth, “Maybe not, but I still have to help them.”

I stand there, waiting for a response.

Finally I get one as I’m about to turn away, “You should rest first. No point in getting there to help when you’ll not be able to make it back in your current state.”

My legs give out and I fall back to the ground, gripping my chest and panting hard as the stranger’s boat slowly floats towards the tree line.

“What do they fight? People? Monsters?”

I suck in some air and give the back of their head a grim smile, “Something like that.” I lean against the thin tree behind me and try to breath, “What’s your name?”

“悠輝 (Yūki), and yours?”

The question catches me off guard and I narrow my eyes at the hazy sun, “I... can’t seem to remember. I’m sorry.”

“That is quite alright. We don’t need names.”

I sit up, “I should get back to them, they need me to help.”

I strain my legs but I cannot get them to move.

悠輝 (Yūki) offers a hand to me, and I see their face. There’s a long scar running from their mouth and through their eye. “You should come with me, you need to rest.”

I hang my head and focus on moving my legs, “I can’t. My friends need me, they can’t do this alone.”

悠輝‘s (Yūki’s) voice begins to strain itself, “If you wish to keep them safe you will come with me.”

Their words leave a spark of anger in me, and I kick out at their boat, “I don’t need your help!” their boat rocks in the water and they grip the side, their eye wide in wild in fear. The newfound adrenaline in me gets me to stand up again, “Obviously you have no idea what we’re fighting, but I’m not going to let a hermit tell me when to rest!”

My legs begin moving and I find myself having no time to say anything more to 悠輝 (Yūki).

As I’m running towards the battlefield I hear 悠輝 (Yūki) call after me, “Wait! You’re not meant to go back, you’re going to become the very thing you’re fighting!”

And then it dawned on me, and my adrenaline is replaced with terror.

This war was unlike anything humanity had seen before. It was a fight against our ancestors that lived again in decaying bodies, the living dead, the undead, the walking corpses. Zombies.

And I died.

—————————

The dead man runs, looking at me over his shoulder in wild fear as he hurtles towards his friends turned enemies.

Humanities’ anger and denial in light of death was not new, but most of the time they became ghosts capable of very little. This was new, and we all knew it. Too many ran from us, too many came back more than once.

I sigh, and finally I decide enough is enough, and I begin making my way to The Up Side to speak with the higher ups about this matter. Perhaps Hades would help, or Osiris or Anubis. Or maybe one of them caused this.

Either way, it needs to be fixed, and whatever brat, human or god, caused this needs to pay.

It hit the news station two days ago that an unidentified flying object had been seen entering Earth’s atmosphere, specifically above Antarctica.

A large storm had halted immediate investigation, but now it’s clear.

Unlike the rest of the public I had more access to what was seen, and it either has to be one of the world powers lacking to announce a secret spaceship program or some freak of nature asteroid that out of an infinite amount of chances looks like an alien ship.

Either way I’m only here to take photos of the site, which as the transport truck pulls up too I see many people clad in red at the base of the... ship. Spaceship. Definitely spaceship.

The truck comes to a stop and I get out to be greeted with a wall of sharp cold. Digging into my pocket for the baggie with new memory chips, I pluck open the camera’s slot for it.

“You must be the photographer, Beth, never met a man with that name before.” I assume it’s the leader of this investigation that’s approached me.

I don’t look him in the eye and instead fiddle with the settings of my camera, “Isn’t it more formal to refer to each other by last names? Or are you doing fancy code names out here?” I raise my eyebrow more at my camera than him.

“Nah, me and the crew are on a first name basis, wouldn’t make sense to leave you out.” He offers a gloved hand to me, “Finnegan, he/him.”

I take his hand and shake it, “You already know my name, but, Beth, he/they”

I see a slight panic take his eyes and he smiles embarrassed, “Ah, sorry about a moment ago then.” He says it more as a question.

“It’s not a big deal, just a misunderstanding that’s been addressed. Anyway, where should I start?” I look back to my camera and wonder if I should go get the other one.

“Ah, over there perhaps?” I look up to see him pointing to a part of the ship that seems ripped open, “Maria and Jamie said the hole in the side of this thing should be analyzed first from what they’ve seen of it so far.”

“Okay, but I’m gonna go get my other camera before that.” I turn and start heading back to the truck.

“Okay, come talk to me if you need any help.”

I signal a thanks as I hike my way over to the truck. and hop inside.

The driver has the engine turned off and it’s already as cold inside as it is outside. She looks at me, “Something wrong?”

“Camera is unhappy. Airport bag handlers must have thrown it around or something.” I reach under the seat and take out my pack.

The driver looks at the ship, “Or maybe it’s an alien electro magnetic wave signal that’s messing with it.”

I look at her until she looks at me, and in that second I decide to humor her, “I guess we’ll find out.”

I close the door and pop a memory chip into the camera. It seems to work so I make my way to the rip in the side of the ship.

I see either Jamie or Maria wave to me, and then begin to point at the rip... or, the inside of the ship?

Whichever one isn’t waving stumbles backward and the ship suddenly lights up, a loud whirring noise coming from it. Then just as suddenly as it happened it stopped. I see Jamie and Maria run to who I assume is Finnegan as the whirring stops.

I raise my camera up to take a picture and snap a few, then I wait to see if it’ll turn on again.

A loud, metallic creak comes from the ship and a large hatch swings down, narrowly missing someone. A long shadow is cast from the light inside and I hold my breath as my camera clicks rapidly.

The figure steps forward and... it’s a human? In red. I can hear them from where I am “Finnegan! You won’t believe this!”

I hear Finnegan spurt swears and concern as he marches towards the person, scolding them for going inside.

I laugh in a relived but panicked way for a moment, but a small chirping on my left takes my attention. I turn to see an alien... Towering over me... Looks like a mini Cthulhu...

Well then.

Not every child has an imaginary friend. Often times imaginary friends are born out of some level of necessity, to fill a gap. It doesn’t mean the child was abused, it might just mean the child was creative enough to make something to achieve a certain want.

I’m one of those imaginary friends. I’m not a ghost or a spirit, not a manifestation of an angel or a demon, but the figment of a child’s imagination.

I have no limits and I go unseen, and one day I shall fade into nothing more than a memory.

You’d think I wouldn’t have control over myself, but to be honest, that couldn’t be farther from the truth.

You see, imaginary friends aren’t just made to fill something a child lacks, but to protect.

When the child does not actively think about you, you are still there, fighting off little sprouts of poison. Some imaginary friends don’t have to do that, some on occasion, and others... well, let’s just say imaginary friends don’t always succeed.

The darkness born in a child’s mind, either from trauma or genetics, is what we fight off when no one is looking, it’s what we help to distract the child from. We are there for the child when no one else is, we are there when they have no one to turn to. We might be physically capable of anything in the eyes of a child, but far from emotional and psychologically everything. We are a cushion, a shield, something to reflect and evolve in the eyes of a child as they traverse a world not in their favor. We don’t do anything more than stand beside the child to hold their hand and keep them entertained.

Not every child has an imaginary friend, and for those children I pity.

But we are all different, some don’t need imaginary friends, others aren’t capable of having imaginary friends, and some aren’t allowed to have imaginary friends.

They all have their baggage, but imaginary friends are always trying to be there for them.

Someday they’ll grow up and remember us as nothing but childish hallucinations, and with that think something is wrong with their own children, telling them not to have an imaginary friend.

Imaginary friends are either born out of creativity or loneliness or some combination of the two. If it’s the later that means you can’t stimulate a child enough, and that’s your fault. And if it’s the first one, I beg of you to let them grow their creativity. Too often parents will destroy a child’s mind for the sake of conformity, and then a whole plethora of terrible things come swinging in that I and no imaginary friend is capable of handling on our own.

So, that brings me to my question for you: Why do you think I exist?

Was I born of creativity? Boredom? Trauma? Take your pick. At this stage in my existence it doesn’t mater, it all blends together under the eye of ignorance. You might think you know better, but that’s you. There’s still seven billion other people and too many of them want to stay unaware.

Click!

It came out pristine. The quarreling couple on their backpacking journey sitting more than a meter apart, their legs dangling over a simple stone bridge with no railing whatsoever.

I wonder what must be going through their minds. Murder? They are alone after all, no one would stop either of them. Or maybe they’ll be boring and put up with each other. Where, I wonder, is their breaking point?

It’s been days now and I want one of them to act out, but they’ve just been quiet. Perhaps it’ll drive them both insane, and then they’ll break? Humans don’t do well with silence, although I’ve seen them survive days. Although I guess some monks and nuns and various other religions have had some believers go years.

No worries though, I’ve got another week and a half to snap them.

—————————

Click!

The picture is clear, although the corner has a bright Sun shining a disruption into it. The couple took to one of them sleeping outside of the tent. They’ll break soon, no human would like to sleep outside for a week and a half.

Come on, let there be blood! Betrayal! Something! Simple humans like this shouldn’t be so dang determined to survive silence! They haven’t spoken since I first spotted them on the trail, and I had been clear another had sewn the seeds of hate in them.

—————————

Click!

The woman slipped, tumbling down the slope. The man doesn’t even turn, not to help or anything. Yes! Yes! Betrayal! Not as good, but it’ll do. Look at him, walking along without a care, it’s like she has no meaning in his life!

A rock is thrown up and hits the wall of the cliff just in front of him. He pauses and turns, an angry look on his face.

The woman finally wants a fight! Haha! This’ll be even better! Run to her and tear her throat out!

Aahhahahaha! He’s sliding down the slope at her, his eyes wide with adrenaline. She waits for him, stanced and ready to fight!

He’s too her now and—! What?! No no no no no no no! What is he doing? Is he making sure she didn’t break anything? A false ruse! He’ll snap her leg and leave her to die! ...o-or she’ll grab his head and snap his neck? ... WHY AREN’T THEY DOING ANYTHING?!

...ugh, humans are so boring and... is that sign language?! They’re deaf?! Then why did—?! How come—!? ARGHH! I give up.

Humans don’t break like they used too. I’m getting too old for this. Why can’t humans go back to being primitive killers, lobbing spears at anyone they don’t recognize?

I guess I am reading too much into my hope of them killing each other. I should really have followed Bill and Dave to where the chimps are, those creatures would murder each other, they are still primitive after all. Or octopi, I think Claire went to see if sea creatures are able to be affected.

Many years ago when the world was still awake, a little boy walked into a forest. Creatures of power and persuasion that lived there tried to turn him away, but unlike the others, he refused.

He found the heart of the forest, and with it the seed of darkness. Humanity collapsed shortly after that, cities destroyed in a wave of endless dark, creatures forming from bubbling and sticky ebony.

Some places managed to get word before it had reached then them, although many of these places did not stand for very long.

One city in particular managed to stand against the darkness for a hundred years. Inside, it was light and people had a hold of all their senses, although some did lack an eye or two, the dark creature’s mission to slash out their eyes before their hearts.

Outside of the city one had no concept of sight, as the endless darkness striped it from them while they wondered.

Research of course had to be done, a need to learn more about the darkness to defeat it, and with that came research teams, and with that more weaponry capable of combating the darkness. Not only that, but magic was aided to them as a gift from benevolent creatures.

One of the researchers was named Relizale, and she had gotten separated from her group and presumed them dead. She reached her way through the darkness, listening closely for danger when a soft breathing came from her left and she froze. It was slow, with a slight high pitch to it, but the sound didn’t move for minutes.

Finally Relizale worked up the courage to look, it was her duty after all. So she slowly turned and began walking towards it, feeling that there was a slope in front of her.

She climbs up and looks around with a wide eye, trying to see anything at all, then spotting a small, white patch on the ground and nothing more. It was like a beacon, beckoning to her as it rhythmically breathed

So she came down and clutched it in her hands, a hope for the future.

She tucked it into her backpack, not wanting to attract the attention of another, more dangerous creature. But it was a dead prayer, as a trembling screech erupted from her right, followed by pounding steps.

Relizale had been out enough times before to know it was a large beast, too big to outrun, so she raised her hand and snapped her fingers. Yellow burst forth, outlining fangs and reflecting back in large eyes. It screeched louder and fell. Relizale ran, knowing more like it were coming.

She could hear her heart pounding as she ran, but she knew the feeling of home and reached it in fifteen minutes. When she took out her white hope people were mortified. It was a much smaller version of the very dark creatures they had been fighting, but with white eyes and a pristine white patch on it’s back.

I watched as Oursta rose over the horizon, painting the landscape in shades of white and yellow, blinding the far off city from being seen. I stretched my arms and tail out, lengthening my spine, and nudged my partner.

They stirred and opened their eyes, looking at me sleepily, “Did we make it? Or is there an afterlife after all?”

I smile, “Look.”

They turn and see Oursta rising, “Thank the Notear. I thought Kileve had our heads for sure.”

I close my eyes in relief, “Thank you for trusting me, Iloyo”

“Forever and always, Mylo.”

Then the wind picks up. Something feels off and I look around. In the distance I see a sky craft, but it’s unlike any one I had seen before. It’s big, and metallic, and... there’s a strange creature standing on it’s bow. It’s horrifying, it’s face devoid of feature other than two sockets for eyes, a thin line for a mouth and a little pointed mound in the center of its face.

I want to run, but I’m transfixed. Are they nice? Evil? I don’t know, and neither does Iloyo.

A smaller bit of the craft jumps off, startling Iloyo and me, but we still can’t find it in ourselves to run.

It comes towards us and lands several dozen feet away, a door swinging down rather than up. Three of those terrifying, fascinating creatures come out and wave their hands at us. The look in their eyes must be the same as my own.

One of them carries a box and offers it to us... I think. The creature’s hands are extending it towards us, it’s little, sharp teeth bared wide.

I take it and Iloyo spits at me, “Why would you touch it? Did you see those sky crafts? What if they’re here to kill us?”

And with that the box lit up, a blue line waving as little symbols below appeared underneath.

In a start I drop the box, and the creature extends one of it’s hands to me as it picks up the box. I see it has a little bit of hair above each eye, and it turns to it’s cohorts and discusses. Then the creature taps the box and in our own language it says, “We do not intend to harm you. Come with us.”

And we do.

We answer their questions about our culture and experience and they answer some of ours. They are strange, and they let us poke them, so we let them poke us, though it’s clear where the boundaries were when we passed them.

Then we find ourselves at the front of the ship. And I feel my stomachs drop.

Below is nothing but the ash and fire of what once was the kingdom we had escaped.

The creature looks at me and speaks, the box translating quickly, “If you want to live, you’ll help us wipe out this continent of yours. We want to colonize. Now tell me, what do you fear?”

“Alex.” The voice is clear in my ears and I open my eyes, glancing around the curtain and into the crowd. Many people are chatting, but no one seems to be trying to get my attention. The show hasn’t started and I’m just stretching.

“Alex.” The voice comes again.

I ignore it this time, just some person toying with me.

Then a more familiar voice chimes in, “Uhhhh, Z, I think that might be him.”

A second familiar voice joins, “Holy... I think you might be right, Y. Can he hear us? Hey, dude speaking into Alex’s head!”

I stand up this time, walking back stage and finding an exit door. It’s cold, winter just around the corner, and I can see my breath.

I grit my teeth, “seriously, guys?! Are you trying to wreck this for me?”

Y is the first to speak, “Listen, if I’m right and that’s who I think it is you stay out of this until he comes up to you.”

I spit fire at him, “What are you even talking about?!”

Z perks up, “Well, to be fair, Y, we should at least let Alex—“

“No! You know the rules, Z! Alex cannot know, otherwise it’ll probably wreck our chances and we’ll have to wait another thirty, fifty, or even a hundred years! I’m sick of this!”

I bring my hands to my head fast, “Shut up! Tell me what’s going on! I don’t think I can do a show with you two bickering like this! At least go back to my subconscious for a few hours and talk amongst yourselves!”

Y sounds annoyed, “If we go back there we won’t be able to see or hear or feel anything you do. We only came out because of that one guy, he gives off a... signal of sorts.”

I throw my hands up, “I can’t do the show. With you guys. IN. MY. HEADDDDAHH!”

I do the show with them in my head.

I hated every second of it, two internal voices talking as a third one speaks lines completely unrelated to their mind.

Friends approach me after and give congratulations, some take pictures. Then I hear the same voice from before, this time calling out a different name.

“Alice? Are you here? Can you hear me?”

I look around but I don’t see him. Is this a new voice?

Z erupts, “HE DIDN’T LEAVE!”

Y snarls, “Shut up! You’re gonna make me deaf!”

“You’re nothing but an internal monologue, Y.”

“Goes both ways.”

I feel a rough hand take mine and I flinch. A man stares down at me, early twenties, and he smiles shyly, “Um, hi,” he says in that voice, physically speaking this time, “Are you by any chance Alice? Or is it Alez? Aley? ...is it Alex?”

I narrow my eyes.

He frowns, “You forgot. We knew each other in your past life... three lives ago. I should have known you don’t go by Alice, I still have that one.”

I’m autistic and I’m going to try my best here to explain what it feels like to me when having a sensory overload, and how I get out of them and enter my happy place.

—————

You know that feeling when you’re driving up hill quickly and your ear drums begin to build up pressure, and you feel like you’re hearing things perfectly fine but with a delicate pain?

If you can’t get your ears to pop you forget just how you’re supposed to hear and how your ears are supposed to feel.

Then they pop and it’s a wave of relief.

Now try having your ears never pop, and you’re in a car with the windows down and music at full blast, and what occupants are in the car are talking loudly and you’re surrounded by bright and dim lights circling around you. Although you can’t see the shifts it feels like you’re looking directly into strobe lights and you become dizzy, you want to ask them to stop. And you do.

They ask what’s wrong, not aware of the chaos you sense. They cannot see or feel the pressure changes in the lighting, they cannot sense the vibrations rattling your body’s core, causing your stomach to churn.

So they continue.

You pull on your hair, you curl up in your seat, squeezing your eyes shut and begin rocking back and forth. You hold your hands over your ears pushing tighter and tighter until your head feels like it’s going to crack open. Your nails dig into your scalp, leaving marks no one will see.

The lights are there, taunting you on the backs of your eyelids, the pressure is building up and breathing spikes between hyperventilating and holding your breath until your face turns pale. The seat belt scratches you and you want to rip your skin off, the bass drum punches your stomach, and the simple, common smell causes you jaggedly jerk your head back and forth in attempt to get the scent out.

Nothing works.

No one stops.

Nothing stops.

And then your brain hits a point where it can’t take it anymore and it shuts down.

Suddenly everything is there at once and it’s clear, your eyes splitting open to take it in. It’s loud and your body rattles still with the vibration, but it’s all in focus and you find yourself unable to react.

So you close your eyes and take a deep breath. Your hands hadn’t stopped digging into your scalp, and they don’t lack with this breath either. You steady your breathing, focusing on that and nothing else, not even the throbbing pain in your head.

Your nails retract and you nod off into your mind.

Dark purple with the occasional pulse of red. White lights dazzle in front of you as entertainment and you pick out it’s shapes. You feel your hands soften and you nod along to a beat unmatching to the one playing on the radio.

Your brain stops screaming.

The note in the bottle they found was simple:

“ URGENT: Magic and monsters are real, and will be awakened soon. Prepare. — Konnor “

At first the couple laughed at it, some trick a person from far off was pulling, but it wouldn’t be until a week later that reports of the exact same message were washing up on shores all around the world, in every written language. The laughing stopped.

People got concerned. In what world could this happen? Was it an elaborate prank pulled off by some kid that had connections everywhere? No, the bottles and notes that were analyzed came up blank on finger prints or any sign of human interference.

As weeks went on Konnor became a well known name, and dedicated groups popped up trying to figure out where or who or even what Konnor was. Someone said that Konnor was a god of sorts, a new being born of some other world.

And then a new wave of bottles came and all they said was:

“ Next daylight will bring darkness. Forgive her for she has no control over what she does. — Konnor “

This left some people with seconds and others with hours.

And with that the world held it’s breath, and then erupted all at once.

With lack of understanding and control over these newfound abilities cities crumbled in minutes, countries dismantled in hours, and before anyone could process what had happened the human population had dropped by 38%.

Of course, no one could tell since most communication dropped, no one but me that is. No, I’m not Konnor, he wanted to warn the world, but in a way that would grab their attention, and fast. And the thousands of bottled messages were his solution.

He used what little magic was available to him to do this, and he utilized it impressively. I give him credit for his dedication to the craft, to connecting with me and preparing. He did what he could, and I must say if he hadn’t tried then the world would be in a much more grave position.

...Konner, he died shortly after it began. Already having magic and then having even more pulsing through his veins caused his body to react poorly, overloading itself and causing arguably the worst damage in the world. Most previously existing magic holders didn’t survive, and those that did won’t last much longer.

The monsters were born from the bodies decaying from this overload. Squirming and crying as magically fused atoms formed unnatural illusions of violent life.

I watched hopelessly as the events unveiled themselves to me. I spoke with as many as I could, preparing them through visions.

Now only time will tell if they’ll survive.

...I tried to stop this. I really did. But I messed up, and like Konnor said, forgive me, for I have no control over what I did.

I’m not human, as you’ve probably figured. Instead, I am the magic and the monsters pushing its way through into your world.

It was peaceful, unmoving, as I walked through the now abandoned and decaying refuge of the city. People were gone, much to my relief. They had gotten out in time, otherwise bodies would have been everywhere... or maybe they all stayed inside and I just can’t see them?

I doubt they stayed.

An entire month in the city’s catacombs is where I had been, exploring, lost, unexplainably not starving or growing thirsty. If I hadn’t seen a calendar when I had gotten out I would have been inclined to assume that I just lost track of time and was only down there for perhaps two or three days. But then again, given what happened I may have been down there much longer than a month.

Pausing in my tracks I look up at the sky, squinting against the Sun, my mind tripping over itself and asking a question I’ve had for an entire month below and the entire three months above since: “Am I dead? Did I die exploring the catacombs?”

Then I hear a shout, and I turn to see a person, waving at me, asking if I’m okay, if I’m hurt, if I encountered something dangerous.

Why did you stay?

I don’t want to do this but I no longer have control over these things.

Stop looking for survivors.

The person walks up to me, asking if I’m in shock, if I have anybody with me, if I need help.

Humans are so trusting and caring, they didn’t deserve this.

He’s alone.

And now he’s on the ground bleeding out at my feet.

Tears are streaming down both our faces, and for the first time in over half a month I feel deep regret. I shouldn’t have come out from there, I should have stayed down there and rotted. I shouldn’t have opened that tomb and brought this out. If I had stayed down there bombing the city wouldn’t have been necessary.

But instead I keep walking, finding a dirty puddle to wash the blood off my hands, new clothes in an abandoned department store.

I don’t have control over where my feet lead me, over what my hands do.

I want this to stop, I want it to end.

The man is standing in front of me now, staring at me, blood leaking from his throat. Had he followed me? If he had it was clear he had gotten this far before loosing control, and without any further advances on me he walks away. Calmly, put together, and into the city to make himself look normal.

I wish I could stop him, kill him again so he wouldn’t have to endure this life. But my feet walk away.

I just wanted to go home, but whatever this is, it won’t let me, and I don’t think it ever will.