Consistency: 08/02/2022

I grab a brush and dab it into the pastel brown powder before bringing it to my face. Every stroke, spray and swipe was filled with purpose, that purpose being beauty. Tonight was a battle no one could prepare me for, it was the battle that stood the test of time and the only thing in the way of my happiness. It was the third date. Now, to most, the third day was simply another date, but this date is where everything goes awry for me. They start expecting things from me, things I can’t deliver, things that make me shiver, things that require vulnerability. They expect me to talk about myself… ugh. I always find the good ones, the ones that want to know more about me rather than talk all night about themselves - something I would prefer. I decided to change things up tonight, I won’t stand small in the face of adversity. No, instead, I shall bloom like Mulan did, even if our battles were different. The look was perfect, the night was young, I opened the door and greeted his smile with my own. The couch was set up, Netflix was on, I wasn’t going to talk much tonight. No, I was going to make him watch a brilliant movie and his mind will be far from me, his thoughts shall never turn to me. Fight Club played and I sighed happily as he devoured the movie, mansplaining it to me like I was a child. The situation was handled, there would be no more dates, as per usual, the third date is the last date. He didn’t turn to me like someone once did and ask for my opinions, he didn’t make my heart flutter, he simply stared at Brad Pitt and let his own heart wander instead. He left before 12, I was too tired, you see, and I lay alone in my bed, wondering why I waste my time with these pointless endeavors. Wonder and stare at the photo of us, days before you left us all forever.

Even Alsa gets on their knees for whatever god, deity, or divine being up there to ask for more time. Or maybe insta-thought-to-paper-translator. Or maybe both.

But as it is, no such god, deity, or divine being exists up there. The evidence is clear (at least to Alsa)—it was 11 pm, cans of soda and coffee were scattered around their desk, and their left hand has developed a near-constant twitch.

Still little to no work done.

How on Earth could Alsa make a literal data table in their head about the evidence of deities or such sorts existing, but they couldn’t fucking do this?

‘This’ connoted to the ever-flowing river of homework they have to get done. If they did do these in the time they were wasting for random, useless experiments and such, then they wouldn’t have to do this…Eleventh-hour rush. Literally eleventh hour.

But the thing is they hadn’t, so now they’re here to suffer the fucking consequences.

And boy, what a consequences indeed it was.

…..

The thing is, Alsa is tired. When Alsa is tired, their mind wanders to…truly questionable things and priorities.

Such as making another data table about if the sun’s light entering the Earth’s atmosphere could reach the temperature that would melt glass in ten years—

“Oh my god,” they mutter. “Why the hell am I doing this?”

That will truly be—or is the question—that will keep them up at night.

…..

Only 20 minutes left, and Alsa is left with the only thing, the only subject that could kick their ass.

Education of Human Psychology.

The thing is—Alsa understands formulas and data tables and hypotheses and theories. But, do they understand why people use sarcasm from time-to-time? Do they understand why people sometimes just frustratingly don’t say the truth directly? Do they understand why people say ‘dogs and cats are raining’ to say they’re busy?

No. Of course not. They’re not even sure if the last one was the right metaphor for that situation. Which, of course, doesn’t bode well when they have 8 literal activities they need to answer and pass before midnight.

It’s the one subject that has Alsa pressing their palms on the edge of their eyeballs, as if that would make the material easier to understand.

15 minutes.

Alsa has 3 activities fully answered—even though it seems like most of it is gibberish—now there’s only 5 activities left to go.

10 minutes.

4 activities answered. In their defense, that one was three questions that needed essay-long answers.

8 minutes.

6 activities answered. The multiple choice questions are always the easiest.

5 minutes left.

7 activities answered. Why oh why did Alsa need to map out the thought process for when people lie? They don’t even know like lying! Why would they need to study it meticulously now?

3 minutes left.

All activities answered. Now just the name, the date, the subject—oh shit, oh no, where’s their pen?

2 minutes left.

The tremor in Alsa’s hands is honestly not making the whole ‘take a picture of your work’ thing easier. But they’ve done it, and now—augh would this thing please hurry up in refining the pictures?!

1 minute.

Come on, come on, come on…..Alsa tapped their phone impatiently as the tab loaded.

45 seconds.

Gods, why is their online classroom so unorganized?! They need to find the Psychology class now..!

30 seconds.

Please, please, please, please, please—Alsa bounced their leg as the pictures loaded.

10.

One picture was stubbornly not loading. Alsa nearly threw their phone in the window then.

5.

Yes! With all the pictures loaded, they scrolled down to submi—oh come on, it can’t take that long to—

4.

--scroll down to the submit button! The bouncing of their leg increased as their phone lagged.

3.

Alsa nearly broke their screen the moment the submit button appeared.

2.

Loading, loading, loading…..

1.

The activities were successfully submitted.

Alsa pumped their fists in the air, bouncing around their bedroom.

12:00 pm.

Now, Alsa lay on their bed, eyes fluttering asleep. In their mind, they tried counting sheep.

Until the warmth of the darkness came, and finally pulled them to sleep. WC: 703 What I listened to while writing this: Stonebank - The Pressure: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=45eSOGguEew&ab_channel=MonstercatUncaged Stonebank - All Night: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FsHhh8gEY10&ab_channel=MonstercatUncaged

God, I can’t sleep.

Xinglian threw off his covers and sat up, swinging his feet over the side of the bed. His shirt stuck to his back from sweat, and he pulled at it, debating on taking a shower. No, that would just keep him awake even more. As he brushed his hair back from his forehead he checked his phone for the time: 2 AM. Not this crap again…

He had tried melatonin, but he had ran out last week, and he kept on forgetting to buy more. Sure, maybe he could run down and make a trip to the drug store and come back, but that felt like a waste of time at this point. Instead, Xinglian got up and began preparing a bowl of instant ramen. His stomach had been growling earlier, and he had been craving it all day.

As he waited for the water to boil, Xinglian checked his phone. Yihuan had been messaging him again, asking if he wanted to go to the party on the weekend, but Xinglian left him on read. There was probably going to be drinking and drugs and whatnot, but he’d rather stay at home playing video games. To help his sleep schedule, he had limited his gaming sessions to the weekend, and he really didn’t feel like waking up with a massive hangover at someone else’s house.

He was too lazy to add any vegetables so he merely threw in some dried seaweed, eggs, and the last slice of cheese he had in the fridge, and sat at the counter, slurping it with a pair of old chopsticks. There was nothing much going on social media, just friends posting wherever they had gone on vacation. He swiped and liked and nothing else. Ugh, how boring. How distasteful. And he had caught up with most of his manga series earlier…

Xinglian shut his phone off and placed it far from him, and decided to enjoy his ramen in peace.

Wordcount: 153

The sun sets below the churning sea, waves and waves of orange spilling across the horizon. Far below the surface, tiny schools of fish scatter and hide amongst the corals. They are afraid. Even the seagulls soaring above retreat to their homes as the first stars appear within sight.

The world quietens as if everyone decides to hold their breath.

Darkness falls.

The monsters come out to play.

They creep through the unsuspecting people who were late to return home, slipping through the shadows and stealing through the cracks of homes. No one is safe in the dark.

In the dimming night sky, the stars shine with full force as if by sheer will alone, they could banish the monsters from this world. Alas, their efforts only result in failure.

The moon stays hidden behind a dark expanse of clouds. It does not want to glow. Not tonight.

Tonight, no one is safe.

WC: 189

Is the morality of an act judged by the act or the intention behind it? Whitish eyes, with curtain eyelashes witnessed an explosion of crystals, ungrateful fragility composed of sorrow and friendship…

He did not understand, in the instant of clarity that followed an uncontrolled action, everything lost its meaning. Why had he done it? Screaming in horror and blind rage, he glimpsed his bloody hands in the dim illumination of the nearest lamppost in the middle of the night, only to end up with the monster inside himself while he still could. He never believed he would succumb to what he had feared the most, and at that moment he only begged for forgiveness from the only being who would know his pain and guilt.

------

Nearby there was the murmur of a kitchen in use, a lady then hears the heartbreaking cry.

“Ah, those children again, it is because of kids like them that there is terror and violence in the streets,” said the lady in scorn. “I wish they would shut up soon.”

And right after that, the weeping of agony ceased. The woman smiled. “How nice.”

Victor can't sleep. Or maybe he just doesn't want to yet. He was hoping it wasn't going to be one of *those* nights, but here we are. He sits alone in what he thinks -- hopes -- is the kitchen. He's sure he knows where he is, why wouldn't he? But there's always that voice of doubt in the back of his mind that makes him question that, just as it makes him question every little thing he does. Doubt. The voice of reason speaks clearly, but the voice of doubt is very loud. And Victor himself, unfortunately, is very quiet in comparison. The muffled surroundings, the cold air, the occasional noise that he can't determine is real or his imagination ... the very essence of the dark ... it's a scary notion, but an inspirational one nonetheless. It could make for a good song, certainly. Maybe something about the calm before the storm, since people often seek the night as a sanctuary, as long awaited time to themselves before the next day starts. Victor smiles at the thought of it. If only they had the whole band together ... ... He misses Anya so much. If only he'd have been there. If only he'd have done *something*, if only ... The time where he isn't supposed to be awake, that interval between the close of day and when dawn draws near, is what really gets him thinking. He finds sources of inspiration, motivation, but also uncovers realities he didn't want to be reminded of. Regrets that he will never be able to rectify. Sometimes, Victor is convinced that he thinks too much. Nighttime is strange that way. Funny. He wants the moment to himself to last a bit longer; privacy is something seldom had in this environment. But Victor hears a familiar voice cut through the silence, turns to find no one looking back, and decides rather abruptly that maybe it is time for bed, actually.

Nighttime is when reality bleeds into fantasy. It’s when the bright blue, clear, and perfect sky fades away and shows what lies behind it’s masterful façade. It’s when the mismatched skies hide behind the cerulian lies. Instead, the stars burst from their cages and shine with their light, assisting the moon in how it shines so bright. The stars and the black sky, now gone but still seen, just as stunning as before yet with a different sheen. The night is just as beautiful as the light it left behind, the light from the sky, the light from the divine.

It is still there. The time after the evening and before the sun, hiding from it as it rests, running away when it have return. The nighttime, the dusk, the twilight, and the dawn. It is so beautiful in its magenta auroras and violet lights, so beautiful as the darkness prevails yet it is not evil. It is only true.

Nighttime. The time where you can be you.

Time has often wondered who keeps guard over life at night. He knows a guardian is out there. One to put birds to sleep and softly lets flowers close their blossoms. One to keep guard over owls and the animals awake at night. But he knows just as well, that this guardian does not only protect the sweet and innocent. He gives cover in the shades for thieves and assault. Cover for hunters looking for their weakened, sleepy prey.

Time starts wondering around to look for this guardian of the night.

He searches mountains and caves and forests and seas, but he finds no trace of this mystery.

At last he comes to rest at shore and watches the sun go down.

“Who might you be?” he asks into the vast open all alone; not expecting an answer.

“If you’re looking for the guardian, you won’t find the answer down on earth, dearest Time. Look up into the sky at night. There you’ll see.”

And so he followed the seas advice and looked up, just as the sun goes down and stars illuminate the sky. And between these tiny suns he sees: the Moon. And so he smiles and bows deep. For the the moon it was that Time was looking for. The moon, who watches over nighttime, over hunter and pray. The sleeper and the sleepless. The lover and the liar. Over you and me.

Nighttime.

Definition: the time between evening and morning; the time of darkness.

Biurnal species sleep, while nocturnal ones are active at this time of the day. Typically, you can see a plethora of stars hanging overhead on the deep dark sky, which usually is a shade of blue beneath all the black.

Among the stars is the moon, which has a 28 night long cycle of waxing and waning, which depends on how much the Earth covers of the Sun's reflection. Normally it has a bright white colour, but can vary from yellow through reddish to even blue. Its size depends on how close to the Earth it is, which means it can be extremely small on some nights, and humongous on others.

Of course, not every night is so bright, especially in big cities that have a worrying amount of light pollution. This latter phenomena makes the stars' light seem more dim, taking away some of its natural magnificence. Other than that, smoke pollution can also darken the skies, as well as natural cloudy night weather.

If you were to go outside and walk around at nighttime, you would find the world to be slightly different than in the daytime. The darkness and shadows enhance the spookiness of the natural quiet, which in turn may also induce in you some fear, and adrenaline. It makes the night seem more exciting if you aren't used to it.

In truth, there are likely many people out other than you: clueless ones like you, regulars, people working late, the ones handling graveyard shifts, people who stayed out on house parties or drinking too late, possibly shady or morally ambiguous people... the list goes on. Regardless, the streets are mostly free of human bustle.

That's not to say there's no sound at all though. If you listen carefully, you may hear the bugs humming, a car or train passing by, some cats or dogs making noise.

After all, the nighttime is all theirs, isn't it?

Steps, the door creaked open, my mother peeked out.

"It's time to go to sleep."

I look up from my book. "Okay, let me finish this chapter."

"Only this chapter," she warned, as if that ever helped.

I read the chapter, brushed my teeth, and turned off the lights. My eyes were open, my ear pointed at the door.

An uncertain amount of time passed. I still didn't feel safe, there was light shining through the door gap and key hole. My parents were still on and about. They typically rest a few hours later than me.

This is the worst part. Just two or three hours, trying to stay awake. There is nothing to focus on except my thoughts.

I thought of my school day today. The kids, nice as they were, we didn't really share much in common. None of them read like I did. Devouring. Books on books on books. The weekly visits to the asian supermarket, and the stop by the library. The weight of the groceries pale in comparison to the paper I borrowed.

I thought of the book I just finished, about a boy who lost his memories and tries to get them back. My new favourite book, until I start the next one. Going by the cover, it's about a girl whose family hid away a secret from her: they were trolls. She explores the world using her powers. Somehow they all seem to be my age or older. I wonder why I don't read about people younger than me. The books where the characters are my age are in a different section of the library, for people younger than me.

I thought of my family. I had my parents and a younger sister. She doesn't seem like she is too interested in reading. Actually, I am not sure what she is interested in. We don't talk much about what we are interested in. I could give her one of my books to read, and then we could talk about it. She comes home earlier from school than I do, so maybe I will talk to her in the afternoon. Oh I couldn't wait for tomorrow!

I kicked the blankets—I was excited—but mostly thought about how boring and suffocating everything is. I sat up and put my feet down on the ground, toe-tips first. Carefully I waded my way through the room. Never will I step on a lego again. Slowly and quietly I opened the jalousies, and opened the window.

The air outside was cool.

I sat on my side of the window-bank, and looked down below. Milling about on the street, passants enjoyed the night time, their faces all covered and hidden by street light. From a distance there was the quiet roar of industries, never resting, never sleeping. When I played detective, I saw people enter and leave the fabric every full hour.

In the far back, huddled away in a corner, hidden from light, someone sat on dirty asphalt. I preened my eyes. They had brown locks, and they were intently reading something. I couldn't recognize the word or the title from this distance, I could barely make out their figure to begin with, but that didn't matter. I wasn't expecting anyone to read at this time!

I observed them, even tried to grab their attention, but they were too absorbed in the reading to notice me. Is this how I appear to others?

I looked back to the door. The light was out. Quietly I made my way back to my bed. I grabbed one blanket, and stuffed it under the door so it covers the gap. Then, I felt for the sticker on the table. I left it in an upper corner, bedside. The smooth plastic felt great in my hand. I waded back to the door and carefully stuck it on the keyhole. I would have to remember to remove it when I am finished reading.

I made my way back to the bed, grabbed my other blanket, and pulled it over my head. Only now did I grab the flashlight from under my bed and activate it.

I finished the book—100 pages—and grabbed the next one. On the 200th page, I put it down with a sigh, removed the blanket, and shut the window. My parents had a very light sleep, and it was not unusual for them to randomly wake up in the middle of the night and check on me. I needed to wait another two hours, then I could read… for…

I walked over to the door and stabbed into the sticker. The key could go through it again. Then, I opened the jalousies and stared outside.

In front of the window, a figure was staring at my window. In their hand was a book.

I waved.

They waved back.

Word count: 279 🌘

Less happy with this, but the words decided to be difficult. I don’t even know who these guys are.

The jester flopped miserably across the bench, staring up at the twinkling stars scattered across the darkness. The day had been long and somehow more exhausting than usual. At least here they could get some peace and-

“You’re awfully quiet. Have you run out of words to twist for the day?” their old friend asked, sitting next to them. Of course he’d come looking for them. They sighed and opened their mouth to begin reciting something, but they were cut off by a calmly raised hand. “No, no… you don’t have to. Not on my account.”

“...Thanks, Wiz.”

He looked down to brush some hair away from their face. “Still in your makeup, then?”

Were they? They’d removed their jingles as soon as they could, but… their friend was right. It must have slipped their mind in their desperation to leave for somewhere less overwhelming.

“Here, allow me.” A damp handkerchief appeared conjured in his hand. It gently pulled away their painted face to reveal their more natural complexion, eyebags and scars and all. The gesture was… soothing. Touching, even.

An owl hooted in the distance. It really was getting late.

“Hey, Wiz? Do you want to just… stay out here for the night? I’m sure as hell not going back to the noise just yet.”

He smiled, sliding off the bench to sit on the grass. “Of course. I wouldn’t want to miss the clear sky tonight, anyhow.”

They both returned their gazes up to the constellations above, though the jester’s eyes were becoming heavier and heavier with each blink.

If the sun’s rise was delayed ever so slightly that night… their friend would deny knowing about it.

Arccy the Shroomie again <3 A light tap interrupted Cecil from his midnight reading, causing him to look up in confusion towards the window, expecting to find a bug or maybe rain, but there was nothing. He frowned, swearing to himself that he heard something, but upon waiting another moment with no other sound, he returned to his book.

He didn’t even make it past the next sentence when a tap interrupted him yet again. “The heck?” he exclaimed in annoyance, setting his book down before getting up from his bed and walking over to the window.

He pulled the curtains away in order to take a peek into the bleak night but just as his face emerged before the window a pebble landed on the glass right in front of him, hitting with the same tap he had been hearing previously. A gasp tore from his lips at the abrupt occurrence but once he collected himself he found none other than his friend, recently-turned-girlfriend, Octavia standing outside his house grinning like a dork in the dark. She waved excitedly at him, gesturing for him to come out onto the balcony.

With no better option, he opened the door leading to the balcony and stepped out into the chilly night, leaning over the railing as he watched Octavia in confusion. He was about to ask what all the commotion was about when he saw her pick her guitar up from the grass and start strumming a few cords, beaming up at him as she did.

“This one goes to you, mi amooorrr” she exclaimed loudly, her slight accent seeping into her words and Cecil found himself smiling lovingly at the fact, resting his face on his hand while Octavia played the intro to a song he didn’t know.

“I love you, babe… I ain’t never gonna stop lovin’ youuuu– baaaabe” Her voice filled the silence of the night with its scratchy sound, but despite the fact that she really wasn’t a good singer, Cecil couldn’t help the blush that spread across his cheeks. His mind occupied with only one thought.

He f*cking loves that idiot. WC: 349

Word Count: 491 words As the city of trees fell asleep below, her mind wandered off to images of home— of castles amidst a grand oasis, of bright laughter and merry song. Rina's fingers fiddled with the cigarettes she had kept tucked in her chest pocket. She didn't light one, nor did she take one out of the box. Yet, the box itself seemed to have a weight on its own, as if throbbing in her hands was a reminder of her undoing in her foster world.

A soft breeze blew past her, rocking the elden leaf she sat on. The cold flittered through the gaps of her jacket. Hugging her jacket closer and breathing in, she closed her eyes before looking up.

The stars shone more brightly tonight that it did the night they arrived here. Golden and rosy flecks of light danced in waves around the full red moon, which by itself was a hulking symbol in the midnight fabric of the sky. A full red moon, Rina mused, trying to remember the words their guide said, is a sign of upcoming winter. She hadn't deigned to understand it the first time they were told, but two months in this world were enough to teach her.

Here in Elvhetica, red brought cold and blue brought heat. Rina first thought it was a stark, chaotic difference, but many beautiful nights later of bright stars blanketing night skies and the peaceful, bustling life of these thriving Tree Elves, she understood that opposites were beautiful too. Change could be beautiful too.

"Not going to sleep yet?"

Rina flinched, almost moving to a defensive position before she registered the voice. Glaring behind her, at the figure prancing across the thick green stem leading to her leaf, she muttered, "Not sleepy."

"I can tell," Nighel said in the light, easy tone he always held. Now stood behind her, he smiled. "Though we're leaving tomorrow, I figured everyone would want their own space to think."

Scoffing, Rina turned back to the skies. "So why are you here then, intruding my space?"

He laughed before settling down beside her, scooting to a comfortable distance from her. "Come now, I know you don't mind my company."

Rina rolled her eyes, plucking tiny emerald brushes off her seat and chucking them at him. "Don't expect me to talk to you."

Letting those tiny leaves sprinkle over his dark clothes, Nighel tilted his head. "I know," he said. His voice filled with assurance as his eyes shone with understanding. He was always like that—he always, for some reason she had yet to grasp, strived to understand her more than the others could.

And so the breeze continued to dance, bringing with it the scent of summer lilacs and elven incense. Nighel looked up to watch the same stars she was watching, and though the night didn't change, Rina felt a shift within her and her world.

Still, strangely, she didn't mind it.

"Were you taught to fear the world after the sun comes down, too?"

Stephanie's question came off as a little out of place, considering it was just the two of us, alone on a hill at midnight. I turned to face her and shot her the most quizzical stare I could make, telling her, "Yeah, I was. I think everyone with a decent enough upbringing was raised to be careful of the streets after dark."

"Yeah, I should know better than anyone." she said. A soft chuckle escaped her lips as she thought out her next question. "How long did it take for your mom to stop putting 9:30 curfews on you after we'd started dating again?"

I scoffed. "Don't remind me," I told her. "You have no idea how much convincing it took to get it through to her that I'm a grown man who can fend for himself out there?"

Stephanie couldn't help but burst out laughing in response. "You tried to convince her by saying that!? I bet you don't believe that yourself, big boy."

"It's true, isn't it?" I asked her.

"Perhaps... Maybe it's because we met during high school, but you've always been the same dork who'd spend his lunchtime eating in the farthest corner of the lunchroom and would play Pokemon cards at recess instead of studying for his tests."

"You say that like I've changed, Steph."

"Maybe it's me that's changed over the years..." she mumbled. The grip she had on my hand began to tighten. "Ben, I..."

I unintentionally cut her off and pointed at something shimmering in the otherwise starless night sky. "Hold that thought. Look at that, Steph!" I yelled. "A shooting star! You wanna make a wish?"

"No, thanks. I think I'll pass," said a flustered Stephanie. She looked down and tightened the grip she had on my hand further. I knew very well she had something important to tell me, but I just wasn't ready to hear it.

"I know we've both grown up a lot since the day we started dating, but I'm convinced this is more than some high school sweetheart shenanigans," I told her. "Every morning when I wake up, I ask myself how the girl I remembered took the initiative and asked me out herself is still dating me 7 years later. I've seen you change so much, but sometimes I wish we kept the childlike innocence that served as the foundation of our relationship intact... at least, for the time being."

Without saying a word to me or even looking in my direction, Stephanie released her grip from my hand, stood up from the bench, and walked away.

Lauren was always fascinated with the stars. As a child, when she’d learned of the constellations, she’d put all of her energy into learning each and every one of them to impress her friends. No one else her age knew that kind of stuff, clearly, so it was special knowledge. Now, well into her adulthood, Lauren could still recount each constellation and its location if asked, which is what led her to where she was now — atop a rooftop with Rhea. Rhea lifted her head from Lauren’s chest to squint sleepily at her girlfriend.

“Baby, what are you thinking about?”

“Nothing, Rhe, we can talk about it tomorrow. Go back to sleep.”

“Can you tell me more about the stars?” Her girlfriend struggled to stifle a yawn, pressing her face against Lauren’s neck to cover the sound. “I’ll stay awake.”

“Somehow I don’t believe that? I wonder why.” Lauren’s gaze flitted from star to star nonetheless before settling on the pale crescent moon in the distance. Anything would work really. Taking one of Rhea’s hands in her own, she lifted it to trace along the shape of her selected constellation. “It’s a little hard to see, and I’m not willing to move from being your personal body pillow to get a telescope so just trust me on this. That is Cygnus. Otherwise known as ‘The Swan’, it’s anchored by a star called Deneb — that’s the brightest one there — which is by where the swan’s tail would be. On its opposite end is Albireo, which if I wasn’t currently your personal body pillow, you’d see that it’s blue and gold.” Somewhere in her explanation, Lauren had released Rhea’s hand and allowed it to rest against her side again, but hadn’t looked from the sky above their heads. She paused her information dump to look at Rhea whose eyes had drifted closed again. Following the slow movement of her girlfriend’s chest, she smiled to herself.

Of course, she’d fallen back asleep.

Shifting positions, Lauren pulled Rhea further against her and closed her own eyes. They’d regret sleeping here in the morning, but right now she couldn’t care less.

Amara was an 8-year-old girl, an only child of her parents. Her parents loved her and were always encouraging her thirst for knowledge. They were fair in disciplining her, but like for every child, Amara thought them unfair and cruel.

She just wanted one more cup of tea, what could it have hurt. But no, her parents refused and sent her away from the kitchen. Sulking, she had gone and hidden in her dad’s study.

Soon, she got bored since no one came looking. Wanting to entertain herself, Amara looked around the room and came across books that had wonderous and scary pictures on the cover. Curious, little Amara picked up the book and began looking through it. Flipping through the pages, she came across a page with the words, ‘Wish granting Demons – Summoning Rituals’.

Reading through the page, her lips upturned into a small smile, childish glee present in her eyes the farther she read. Taking the book with her, she hurried out of her dad’s study, making sure no one saw her with the book. She didn’t want her parents to stop her yet again. She had found a way to get her tea after all.

The sun was setting as Amara was getting the last of her preparations done. She had collected all that she needed to finally get what she wanted. She had read in her dad’s books, if she did this, the scary person would give her what she wanted. She didn’t know if the figure in his book was even a person but her daddy always said to be kind, even if it was in her thoughts.

Shaking herself from her thoughts, she continued to pack everything into her backpack. She packed the bottle of salt, the book, and everything else that the instructions had said she needed. The book also said that she had to do the ritual in a room that was completely empty, so she had decided to go to their attic when everyone would be sleeping. And it had to be done after the stroke of midnight.

She waited till her mom and dad went to sleep after wishing her goodnight. Waiting another half an hour to be safe, she grabbed her backpack and tiptoed to the door that opened to stairs leading to the attic. Turning back, she looked at the clock hanging on her bedroom wall, noting that it was 11PM, meaning she had an hour before the stroke of midnight, enough time to draw all the summoning circles.

Backpack strapped onto her shoulders, she slowly and carefully made her way up, not turning the lights on in fear of getting caught. The only light guiding her way was the moonlight peeking in through the skylight in the attic. Once she reached the room, she set her backpack down, and got everything out. She looked through the pictures and began to draw the pentacle and the warding circles with the salt she had brought with her.

An hour later, she had drawn all the circles and the pentacle. Standing back up, she wiped her hands on her clothes, the slight stickiness of her fingers making her frown at the icky feeling. Shrugging, she went back to the book and began chanting the ritual spell.

Repeating the spell over and over, she screwed her eyes shut, her hands clenched together, really wishing for it to work. She really wanted more tea. Since her eyes were closed, she missed the room lighting up as if it was day for a moment.

Hearing soft, sibilant sounds, Amara opened one eye and looked to the circle, finding a childlike figure in front of her. Seeing something so small, little Amara opened her other eye, tilting her head to the side in confusion.

“You-you don’t look scary like in the book!”

“Foolish mortal, you summoned me in a circle of sugar. Sugar makes us revert to a childlike form for a short time.”

“No! No! I used salt. Mummy had said that this was the bottle of sal-“, Amara refuted, bringing the bottle for the demon to see, stopping short when she saw that the bottle was labeled sugar. She had missed the name on the label because she had grabbed the bottle in a hurry, not wanting her mom to see her with it.

“Tsk! How utterly foolish! Aren’t you too tiny to be summoning demons any way mortal? How old are you even? What could you want from a demon?”

“I-I AM NOT TINY!”, she stomped her foot. Pouting she looked at the demon, softly whispering, “I just wanted more tea, but mummy and daddy just wouldn’t let me have more.”

Suddenly, Amara started jumping in place, gleeful laughter replacing her pout. Turning to the demon, she gave him a pitiful puppy eyed look.

“Oh Mr. Demon, we should have a tea party together! That way I can have more tea, and uh you get to have some too. Tea is the bestest of best thing. Its my favorite thing ever!”

If someone were to ask Astaroth how he came to be sitting before a child, trapped in a child’s form, holding a steaming cup of tea on the night he got summoned by said child, he would deny it ever happening, followed by denying that person any claim over getting to exist. [WC: 893]

August’s light breeze brushes my face and sways the grass surrounding me. It’s rained recently; I can feel the dew on the grass through my jeans, and on my bare feet. I know I’ll get grass stains on my clothes, but I don’t mind, because the experience is worth it.

The view is worth it.

The sliver of moon works together with the stars to illuminate the tops of the trees. The sky, other than that, is dark and uneventful.

But I know it won’t be for long.

I check my watch: a minute till 9:30 p.m.

The second-hand ticks audibly, not drowned out by the grasshoppers.

Just as 9:30 strikes, it soars through the night sky, and with a loud crackle, bursts into streaks of green. Another follows, purple hued. Then another with a bang, an explosion of white.

I love nights like these. They’re simply beautiful. And though lying on the grass, watching as colours fill the sky doesn’t get me any closer to my goals, still I would never consider this a waste of time. Because it is important, nights like these; they are some of the most purposeful moments in our lives.

Sometimes I think the meaning of life is carrying out our plans. Our plans may be to settle down and have a family, or to publish a book, or to get a big promotion. We believe these plans will lead us to happiness, and of course, the point of life, in my opinion, is to enjoy it. So we focus a lot of our time toward putting effort into achieving our goals. But along the way, at times we put so much effort into following the plan that we forget to enjoy the process of getting there. And it shouldn’t be, “Once your plan unravels, then you can have fun in your life.” It should be equal work and equal play.

This is why nights like these are meaningful.

Whatever sparks joy is never, ever something to feel guilty about “wasting” time on.

The light shunned me, so the darkness became my friend.

I never leaned towards the light. It was exposing, always greedy to steal and illuminate. Never easy to escape, and never easily dimmed.

Night seemed to welcome me with open arms, always underneath the pale moonlight, contrasting to the harsh sun that never hesitated to judge my every move with its thousand rays.

I've lived a thousand lives under the whispers of the dark sky; I live another one tonight.

The crescent ornament hangs at the sky's peak, and a breeze calls the branches of the tree to whisper above me. They are to witness magic more powerful than the magicians on the street who only knew to how scam with cheap fabrics on a bent table.

I count the constellations with my fingers, impossible, but I catch an arrow between its tips. Five stars shine as Sagitta, the arrow of Sagittarius, the archer.

Tonight, it will be mine.

Words leave my mouth as a discordant song, a forbidden phrase that shakes the heavens as Sagitta falls. From below, it would seem as the a meteor of arrows came raining down, but as soon as they hit my hand, a wave of tiny lights disperse into my veins, never to be released freely.

"I claim you, Sagitta." I tell the glowing palm of my hand. "And your power shall forevermore be mine, expanded for my personal use, and indefinitely my servant under midnight."

The millions of stars above my head seem to twinkle in retaliation, and I close my eyes, reeling in the newfound power of the arrow. A taste of this power could only lead to wanting more, I tell myself after I open them, right Sagittarius aims his bow at me. [WC: 293]

A clear sky, wondrously full of starlit and moonbeams, spread across the navy-blue nighttime. Mortals took in a lung-full of brisk night air, then frowned down as a stray cacophony of groans ruined the atmosphere he'd been brewing. The army of corpse warriors milled about aimlessly under the high tower. Freshly raised, their flesh still plump with blood and fluids. Life, draining with every moment. It wouldn't be longer than a month before they were no more than rancid, sacks of death.

Mortas tired of their moaning and slammed the windows shut. They always made too much noise in the first few days of their afterlife. As if they were lamenting, and complaining of their new paradigm. This was an illusion of course, the undead had nothing in their heads but failing grey matter. The most advanced warriors had little more than walnut-sized lumps of desiccated flesh, only enough left govern the few motor functions needed to move their bodies to their conductor's will.

It was a dreary life, being a lich. For the thousandth time that day, Mortas told himself he was in desperate need of a vacation. Somewhere with sunlight and tapas--even if he couldn't partake. It was hard being an animated bag of bones, but what was one to do when you were a dark lord?

I'll do it, Mortas promised himself. I'll have a good look a those royal gardens of Avarus I've been meaning to visit, and then I supposed I'll have to sack the place.

After all, it wasn't typical of the living to react with calm when a grand lich barged into their imperial palaces. It was the sort of thing that sparked *disagreements.*

Sometimes, Mortas felt, that being a dark lord was the most tiresome job in the world. All that burning and looting, and what did it get him but more bothersome intrusions of the heroic kind.

That damned Chosen One would get what was coming to him once he finished raising his fifth army. The materials had been harvested that day and needed immediate processing for the best effect. A shame. He had wanted to curl up with a nice book, but what's one to do when deadlines were looming?

He spared a look at the slivers of moonlight coming in through his high windows before cracking open another grimoire. His assistants finished throwing the last body on the magic circle before retreating as he waved them away impatiently. He had so many batches of corpses to go through, he'd likely be at it all night.

Just another night.

The stars were glittering overhead while the people below were singing and dancing without a care in the world. Tonight was a wonderful night for them, there were fireflies all around and people roasting marshmallows, everything was going well so far. Brooklyn also seemed to be doing quite well, she was dancing with one of her friends. Seeing them so joyful when they were hanging out with her made her heart flutter and she was in pure bliss. She had has a crush on this friend for a while now, never really telling them because she was scared it would ruin her friendship with them, but tonight all of her apprehension just seemed to melt away. Maybe it was because she had a little too much to drink, maybe it was because she just didn't feel as stressed out, but she was ready to tell them. As the song ended and the short silence between songs started she took the chance, her heart was racing and she was shaking a bit as she confessed her feelings. They didn't feel the same way though, hearing that shouldn't have been a surprise, but when she saw how uncomfortable they looked she knew that she had done something she shouldn't have. She didn't know how to deal with the guilt, at that moment she couldn't bare to see the other, so she turned tail and ran straight into the forest, she eventually slowed down when she reached a clearing. Her heavy breathing had subsided a bit as she sat down on the grass, just looking around at everything around her. Then Brooklyn noticed an owl right before it swooped down and killed a small mouse. She felt a little bit like that owl, she wasn't killing her ex friends, but she did always hurt them in some roundabout way. She remembers that most of them were just so tired after a while of being friends, just trying to figure out why she was becoming distant and never getting any answers. The owl cannot change, it would kill the little mice or some fish, it cannot just stop. She knew that she was not an owl, but that did not soothe her mind because some things just can't change, or maybe in her case just won't. Over and over again she ruins her friendships and it never seems to get better, no matter how hard she tries. She turned away from the owl, and looked up at the sky. It was about to be the dawn of a new day. She just admired the beauty of the sun and sky for a few minutes, then she made a promise to herself, try to be better with friendships. This will probably be like every other time she tried, but she held out a little bit of hope and no matter how little hope it was, it was still hope. {484 words}