Consistency: 08/25/2022

WC: 300+

"Grief...is something that always stays. Even if it doesn't hurt as much as it did, it's always going to be there. It's as if they left a huge hole in you, and it just got smaller by time, although never fully disappearing." Phoduen said to himself as he stood in the middle of the road.

"Grief feels like having been stabbed either in the front or back, and being paralyzed to the point you can't do anything about it." He walked along the line in the middle, as if he were in a tightrope. The blaring honks and lights of several vehicles wooshed by him, but he was far too deep in his own world, in his mind.

"Grief makes me feel human. I hate it when I feel it, but I want to keep feeling it. I want to keep feeling human. Because I do not know if I can handle realizing the fact I am not a human." He stopped, looking up.

"Maybe that's why I do the things I do. I hurt people who I care about, and I even manage to care about people, even if they point a weapon at me." He hummed, continuing his little walk.

Phoduen huffed, looking around him, and then back to the line below. "I have no idea why I am the way I am. And I'm a god! I'm an all powerful being!! I can go through worlds, because time exists everywhere! I've lived millions and billions and I continue to live, and yet here I am. Questioning my own being." He squinted his eyes turning around as Time's Embrace, his weapon, began to materialized in his hand. He pointed it at the sky.

"Gah, that's enough crisis, it's time to have fun now!" He exclaimed, as a beam shot up in the air and several time rifts began to pop out in the air. "I wonder if I will feel grief when I see people losing all they have."

(cw: blood and also overuse of ellipses and commas)

And still, his ears rang, the sound vibrating through his head, echoing, echoing, echoing…

The tunnel before him was cold and dark, and he sat on the ground before it, cross-legged. A strange sound came out from the cave, not just the whistling of the wind through small crevices, but an extraterrestrial noise, astral and empty and floating and harmonious, music to his ears…

But wait. Space had no air. Space was silent. And yet here he was, being consumed, washed over by the sound, that sound, that marvelous sound that everyone had screamed at, and called it screeching, ears bleeding, ears bleeding, ears bleeding…

He opened his eyes, and felt a warm iron tang on his lips, seeping through to his tongue. Blood, dripping from his nose, first slowly, and now faster, flowing, onto his shirt, his pants, his hands…

The sound was wonderful, and he knew that. The others, they couldn’t hear, they couldn’t hear, they couldn’t understand at all! He, he knew the beauty of it, of all of it, he had been chosen, he knew and understood…

The universe had chose him, and him alone, to be sitting here in this very spot today. And for that, he laughed, he crowed, but no sound came from his voice. There was nothing to hear here, except for the sound. That beautiful, crazy, wonderful, spinning sound…

“Help.”

And through the sound, he heard a voice, a clear voice, small and scared, and he turned and looked, and saw a child standing there, and it took him a second to recognize him, but then he realized, it was himself, himself from long ago, so long ago, when he had been innocent and undefiled, unknowing, unknowing of the sound…

“Help.” His younger self whispered again, his plea piercing the sound, shattering it, and tears came to his eyes, as the sound vanished, slowly, gradually, but it vanished, it vanished from his sight, his ears, and there was only the child’s cry, lingering before him. The child, and him, and nothing left of the sound…

◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤

His voice lingered in her mind, repeating those same handful of words over and over again, echoing across her very soul; jabbing violently at her heart.

“See you in a second”

A second for him. Long, agonising decades for her. But she was used to it. That’s been her life for well over three-thousand years. Always the one left behind, always the one to remember, to remain; to linger. An immortal body containing a fractured soul.

So why… Why was it so different this time? Why did his words have an effect unlike anyone else’s before him or since? Why did it hurt so much when he smiled at her for a moment longer than he used to before disappearing? Why did she feel tears aching in her eyes when he was gone? Why was it so hard to lose him when he wasn’t even hers to lose?

She didn’t know. Ever since she met him, nothing made sense anymore. She stopped trying to find rhyme or reason in what she felt; it was far too suffocating for the little results she actually got from centuries worth of soul-searching.

Years later, his presence continued to accompany her. His words, his smile, his laugh; if she zoned out long enough, she could even see him next to her, only to be gone when she looked his way. He wasn’t there. Not really… The only thing that kept her company throughout a miserable existence were his lingering words and the promise that she would see him again.

WC: 255

Quick to start, slow to end.

I sit together with my daughter in front of the tall mirror she never got to outgrow. A white gown with frills at the shoulders is her chosen dress, only missing the necklace I had picked solely for this day.

She is a fit of giggles and smiles, and I try to hold on to her laughter so the bucket holding the tears in my eyes doesn't completely tip over. But she notices, just as quickly as I find some in her own.

"You can visit anytime you want, okay?" I say, clipping the back of her necklace together.

"Of course, Mom, I won't forget you." Her voice sounds weaker now, as if to tip on the edge of a balanced scale. She reads my thoughts just as easily as I read hers. I walk in front of her and place my hand on her cheek.

We hold back no more, and she sobs in my arms. Seeing her like this, and having to go through it anyway, I cry as well.

She's going to be happy, I say, bouncing the thought around the corners of my mind. All our life, we've always wanted her to be happy, and this is how we're going to keep her like it.

I am reluctant to let her go after we finish recollect ourselves. It feels like the last I will ever feel her with me. She gives me one last hug, one I savor for the ten seconds it lasts.

Age taunts me with a wrinkled smile, and I hold her a little closer, keeping this picture in a golden frame for the collage of my memories.

As she goes, the feeling wavers only slightly. A piece of my heart has just gone through the door, and given her whole one to someone else. It seems like a slow way to go, lingering until it swallows me whole eventually, but all I want to know is if she'll be alright, and if I'll see her again.

[WC: 340]

The first time her hand lingered against yours, you were on a school trip together. Despite the fact it was high school and you were nearly adults, buddying up was required, so the two of you were attached at the hip all day. In a burst of excitement, she’d grabbed your hand to drag you into a store, but when you’d made it through the doors she had never let go. It wasn’t until you were ready to check out that she realized she still had a hold of you and slowly released your hand. Her touch lingered on your skin for an hour after and you felt a little dizzy with what it might mean. The second time had been harder to ignore. Summer break was on the horizon and as you hugged her goodbye before separating for two months until you’d see each other again, the hug had lasted longer than you were used to. Even as she pulled away, her hands stayed steady on your sides and that strange dizzy feeling washed over you again. It was in your head, surely. Obviously, there were times after that, where it seemed like she was reluctant to be away from you, but none of it really stood out until you’d gotten hurt. Dislocating your shoulder was something only you could do that flawlessly and when it came to certain tasks at school, she was your designated helper. That being said, the feeling of her fingertips carefully moving across your shoulder as she helped you change in the locker room for gym made you nauseous. (Because of course you had to change even if you couldn’t participate. Assholes.) Everything seemed to blur together once you made it to her house that day and she pressed a quick kiss to your lips. Silence filled the space between you, lingering until she blurted out an apology and tried to rush to her room alone. That strange dizzy feeling hit you again as you grabbed her arm before she could run and dragged her into a kiss. Your lips lingered against hers momentarily before you whispered a soft, “It’s okay,” and pulled away. There was a lot to talk about, but it could wait.

WC: 872

"Are you okay?"

My eyes fluttered open to meet the source of the sweet, soothing voice of the beautiful young lady sitting at my bedside. My eyes met her misty cobalt stare and my face went red within seconds. I tried to look away and feign ignorance, but the electrocardiogram machine I was hooked up to refused to cover for me.

The rush of adrenaline from having fallen head over heels for this bewitching blonde bombshell wore out within seconds, and a pang of pain washed over my right shoulder as I tried to adjust my body into a more comfortable position. I let out a soft yelp under my breath.

"What's wrong?" she asked.

"It hurts…"

"I'm sure it does." She placed her bony, manicured hand on my head and began combing my hair with her glossy nails while asking me, "Do you remember anything that happened before you passed out?"

"No, ma'am," I answered. "All I know is that my shoulder is really sore." I tried placing my hand on the spot that I found sore only for an even more intense pang of pain to rush through my body as soon as the tip of my finger grazed the tender flesh.

The young lady giggled. "You can call me Melody," she said. "I want you to know the alien you tried to fight impaled you all the way through your shoulder," she said. "You passed out due to blood loss, and the only reason you're alive is because you happened to have a magic healer around."

"Melody… I'll remember that," I told her. Turning my head towards her, I looked at her, flashed the most quizzical stare I could muster in her direction, and asked, "What's this about a magic healer, though?"

"Yeah. Me." The girl's smile was radiant, beaming even, and I could make out a healthy helping of pride in her tone of voice.

With the hand that wasn't attached to the injured shoulder, I rubbed my chin and mumbled, "So magic is real… I have a question, though."

"Fire away," said Melody. "I'm sure you have a ton more where that came from at this point, so—"

I cut Melody off before practically yelling out, "Can you make me feel less pain?"

Melody's flirty, prideful demeanor shifted into a disappointed squint. "Nice try, kiddo," she said. "Do you have any idea how much magical energy I expended to stitch up your damned shoulder? I'm gonna have to wait a week, maybe two if I want to get my magical energy back to full."

"Yikes… was it really that bad?" I asked Melody.

"Was it that bad, you ask? Of course it was! Would you think I'd be here if it wasn't?"

"Well, I'm willing to bet you just wanted to capitalize on the chance to earn points with a stud muffin such as myself." I couldn't believe I managed to say this with a straight face, but there we were.

Now it was Melody's turn to go beet red. "In your dreams," she said. "After I sat next to you in the ambulance, this is the thanks I get…" she grumbled to herself. "You were really brave out there, though. It's not everyday that a commoner without any powers steps in to try and fisticuffs an alien that's a head taller than him. You'll always be a hero in my book, even if you took a pretty fat L back there."

"Maybe it's for the best I don't remember, then," I told Melody.

"Yeah. I got secondhand embarrassment watching you fight, honestly," she said. I hoped she was joking. She stood up from her chair and dusted off her skirt. "I'm really glad you're okay now. I hope your wound recovers fully, and soon." The way that last sentence was phrased, implying that there's a chance my shoulder would never heal fully, struck me as concerning, but I decided to shake the thought off, as I had more important matters to address…

…like the fact that this beautiful woman is standing up and leaving while I'm strapped to a hospital bed! I called out for her as she was midway through opening the door and called for her, practically screaming out "Wait!"

She stopped at the door frame. Without turning around, she asked me, "What is it?"

"I haven't gotten the chance to thank you the way I'd like to. If possible, do you think, uh…"

Melody cut me off, saying, "If you're going to ask for my number, I already wrote it down on a sticky note. You should check in your drawer. Give me a call when you get discharged; we could get some ice cream or something."

"Ice cream sounds nice. I'll let you know."

"It's a date, then."

"Is it?"

"Shut up."

With that being said, the door closed. The pain started seeping in little by little, but the feeling paled in comparison to the thrill of the moment. This was how my crazy adventure began, with a broken shoulder leaving lingering aches in its wake in exchange for a flood of hope and joy that I wouldn't trade for the world.

My name is Ben Pearson, and this was my story.

(CW: two curse words) Hailey never thought she’d be selected as a lab rat of sorts. She had no connection to the scientists running the tests, after all. And yet there she was, at a laboratory, nervously taking a seat in a chair that looks suspiciously like it’s from the orthodontist’s.

“So, all we’re going to do is put this—“ the scientist indicated to a helmet-looking machine “—on your head. Afterwards, you should have an increased intelligence for up to thirty days.”

Increased intelligence. Perfect. She would need it for what was next. And she would only need a month.

She nodded, and was instructed to close her eyes. The scientist put the metal machine on her head; it was lighter than she expected.

Electricity fired through her head, sparking, hot in some places and sharply painful in others. It only lasted a minute. The scientist took the machine off her. She felt no different than before.

Of course, it’s not like it would feel different, physically anyway.

More scientists came in and they wanted her to solve puzzles, most of them easy for her. Never did she like Geometry, but she was excellent at it today.

She received an A+ or in other words, a one hundred percent score.

After she left the laboratory, the first course of action was to pick up a suit. What type of confident nemesis was she without the proper attire? The dry cleaner wished her good luck, presuming, and correctly so, that she was dressing for something important.

It definitely fell under the important category. She considered it life-changing.

Back at her apartment, she changed into her suit. Tie, gold cufflinks; watch, gold to match. She slicked back her short hair with gel. Ready for her “date” with the city’s hero, a vigilante without a name.

Of course, the hero didn’t yet know about their date. But somehow, last time Hailey and her fought, she’d gotten her number.

So she dialled the hero.

“Hello?” The hero’s voice was mellifluous as always.

“Ready for our date tonight?”

“Our date?”

“Yes. I thought it’d be nice if we talked things out. Over dinner, maybe?”

“Oh, ah…okay, that sounds reasonable.”

She smirked. “You’re surprised at me being so?”

“No! No, sorry, I didn’t mean to imply you weren’t reasonable…Not that you even care if I think you’re reasonable or not. Not that you should.”

“I’ll pick you up at six,” she said, giggling only after she hung up. Six should be enough for the hero to get ready.

Now, time to plan their evening.

* * *

As scheduled, Hailey was at the hero’s house at six. She stood by the passenger side of her red convertible, waiting for her date to exit her house.

She didn’t take long to, and she walked over to Hailey with a puzzled expression. “How do you know where I live?”

Hailey blinked. “How would I not? Don’t worry, whenever I think of setting it on fire, I remember I shouldn’t make rash decisions. Plus, you’d probably escape before it killed you, anyhow. And there’s the fire department.”

“...Right. Well, if you know where I live, I should know where you live.”

“Is this your subtle way of suggesting we go back to my apartment?”

The hero laughed. “Sorry, don’t do that on the first date. And I don’t trust you enough.”

Fair enough, she thought.

“Oh, where are my manners?” She stepped aside to open the car door.

Once they were both inside, she noticed the dress the hero wore. Navy blue, sparkly, off-the-shoulder. She had nice shoulders. “You look beautiful,” she complimented.

“Thanks. Wait, why are we going on a date again? Aren’t we enemies?”

“Yes, we are, usually,” she said, starting the car. “But if we’re going to fight each other, we should know one another first. Besides, you know the saying. ‘Keep your friends close, but keep your enemies closer.’”

The hero looked unsure.

“Oh, and if you don’t trust me enough to come back to my apartment, why would you ever trust me enough to get in the car with me? I mean, there are lots of people in an apartment building, but in a car, I could take you somewhere secluded to kill you.”

“Is that what you plan to do?”

“I’m not sure yet. That’s up to you. But you should know that I didn’t bring any weapons.”

She raised an eyebrow.

“Really. On another note, I should know your name.”

“Oh, yeah, you know where I live but you don’t know my name?”

“Yes that’s right.”

“Elizabeth.”

Hailey smiled. “That’s a nice name.”

“What’s yours?”

She entered the highway. There would be no restaurants for a while, which she was sure would make Elizabeth suspicious, but the car doors were locked and she didn’t see how she could’ve snuck a knife in her dress.

“I don’t like my name,” she answered.

“But what is it?”

“Hailey.”

Elizabeth snickered. “That does not sound like a villainous name.”

“Then you can see how I hate it, right?”

“No. It’s fitting. You’re not very villainous at all inside your heart, are you?”

She froze. The car veered to the right, heading for the gutter, but Hailey didn’t notice. All she could think of was someone else who once said, You have a good heart, don’t you?

The same person who used it to their advantage, who broke that good heart.

Elizabeth’s shout brought her back to the present. “Okay, okay, don’t crash the vehicle!”

Back on the road.

“You’re wrong. I don’t have any good in my heart left.”

The car pulled into a gravel-paved street, and then to a stop at the end of it. Nothing but forest surrounded it. Destination reached.

“Everyone has a little bit.”

“Sorry, you’re wrong,” she had to say, laughing bitterly. Because even if she had some good in her own heart, she was sure her witch of an ex didn’t have a molecule of good.

Also, what Hailey was about to do was not a bit good.

“Get out of the car,” she instructed Elizabeth, and they both did.

“What did I do wrong?”

“What?”

“You said whether or not you bring me to a secluded place to kill me depended on me. Tell me what I did wrong.”

She couldn’t say.

“Was it because I said you have good in you? You didn’t like that.”

Maybe.

Elizabeth put her hands around Hailey’s waist and shifted Hailey to look at her. “Why am I going to die?”

Why aren’t you running if that’s what you predict?

“I lied,” Hailey whispered. “I was going to kill you all along.”

“But you said you didn’t bring any weapons— Oh. You lied about that too.”

Hailey wondered if she should correct her about that. She decided not to.

Time to get rid of an enemy.

“Sit by that tree,” she told her, getting the rope out of the car. To her surprise, Elizabeth did so.

But as she looked at Elizabeth’s face, smooth with youth, features adult but childish in their look of innocence, she didn’t want to imagine those lively eyes glazed over. So beautiful, so good.

She saw herself in her. Her old self. Maybe a better self. Someone that wasn’t broken. And why did she have to break Elizabeth like she was? It’s not like she needed to. The hero would try to stop Hailey, but hell, so what if she succeeded? Why the fuck did she need to kill someone over her plans?

Tossing the rope away, she conceded that maybe some goodness lingered in her heart. Or maybe this was the increase of intelligence telling her murder was stupid.

“I knew you weren’t a killer.”

“Oh, I could’ve killed you.”

“Okay so I did estimate a fifty percent chance of you killing me, but I knew in my heart you weren’t a killer.”

“...Would you still like to go for dinner?”

Word Count: 457 words

Genshin's Sumeru update put me in the mood for some angst. hehe

Ushered by the sunset breeze, sunlight trickled past the tiniest gaps of sand-yellowed windows. Embers of light twirled and swayed upon the solemn mulberry carpets, their every sparkle punctuated by the tiniest creaks and echoing beeps.

Still, unperturbed within the shadows of dust-laden bookshelves, a three-foot robot bent over its rusty knee joints. Thick tomes fell off broken wood, termites scurried from one side to another, and tin-coated trinkets rolled onto the carpet floor, puffing up soft dust clouds as they went.

It ignored everything in its search; even the steel of its four remaining fingers as they squeaked to and fro.

“Henri knows Master keeps them here,” it droned, each word lilting in octaves. Clicks and beeps echoed within the room as it shoved aside more forgotten trinkets and old treasures.

From its back, thrumming lowly, grimy blades ached to spin and blow despite the blinking red dot on its nape.

Blink.

It threw aside a mud-caked wallet. Its chest thrummed while light peeked from the spaces between books.

Beep. Blink.

Two fingers touched a small plastic box, sealed with the Master’s rose.

Beep.

“Henri has found the battery.” From its gaping steel mandible came a high-pitched thrill, punctuated by two beeps. Twisting in a silly pirouette, the robot might as well have leapt from its pile with its one working leg.

Eyes skipping past book piles and rolled up carpets, the robot gazed at the door and hunkered forward. It creaked, it groaned, yet it did not hear its own body’s pleas. Limp leg dragging across gleaming floors, head hanging level with one goal in its sight, it moved one step and another. Embers followed right behind, sprinkling its steps with dust and shine.

Beeps resounded past empty hallways muddled with gold and shadows. Pausing and bending in front of a newly-varnished oak door, it pushed the door open. The clicks increased, yet it pressed on.

“Master, Henri is here,” it droned. Its leg dragged its body past well-swept carpets and bronze wooden floors. With a series of happy clicks, it shimmied to its Master’s bedside with the childish grace of a crippled boy.

Hastily opening the rose-sealed box, two fingers brought out two batteries. The robot let out three beeping heartbeats as dimming red dots blinked.

It laid the batteries by the Master’s nape. Colder batteries clinked and rolled further back.

The robot’s throat clicked into a hasty, hopeful thrill—the only sounds and movements within the sunlit empty room. Its chest thrummed, stirring, waiting. If robots could wish, that was what it did.

And yet, the Master did not stir; his pallor still pale as snow.

Beep. Blink.

“Henri will look for more.”

Blink.

Legs dragged forward once more as the door creaked closed.

Malice lingers. It clings to his shirt, his hands, his throat like an all consuming tar. It's something that he can't get rid of, and believe me, he's tried. No matter what he attempts, he can't get it off, and no matter what he does, it only spreads further. It's a slow process. Gradual. But certain. It burns. It burns almost as much as the sting of defeat that is starting to set in. His heart drops at the very idea, but he knows deep down that there's no escaping it. He can heal up as much as he wants and outrun his demise as long as he can keep putting one foot in front of the other, but time is a slow march, and like other things guaranteed in life, it always catches up to everyone. Yes, it is certain. It is absolute. Link is going to die like this. And if he doesn't, he'll turn into something that'll make him wish he did. He'll fight against it, oh, he will. He's nothing if not persistent. But that isn't to say he'll succeed, because he won't, and it isn't to say that he isn't aware of that either, because he is. Any effort would be fruitless, but if he doesn't even *try,* then what kind of hero does that make him? What kind of person is he? So he swings his sword around at the accursed mass surrounding him, with less of the precision of a skilled swordsman than the thrashing of a panicked man who knows what will happen if he can't keep fighting. Link has to find something. There *has* to be something. His movements are, for what might be the first time, fueled by fear and desperation rather than determination and a level head. It's obvious in the way his hands tremble to hold up the blade and how every few steps is a stumble. It can't end like this. It *won't* end like this. If Ganon wants to stop Link from using this sword to end his corrupt existence, then he will have to pry the blade from his cold, dead hands first. As the malice slowly gains a greater hold on him, Link notices that he