Abandoned Stories (Part 1/6)
Many little secrets that writers don’t share are often because we are meant to be seen as constantly working our craft who start an idea and finish it, even if it takes months or years; but, that’s not quite true.
What a lot of writer’s don’t want to admit, is that we abandon ideas (half-started poems, short stories, drafts) and leave them for years despite saving all of them in a hard drive. So, in my usual format of being an oversharing writer—you will now know my shame…I have abandoned more than a baker’s dozen of short-stories, I’ll even further and mention when the word document was created for each, just so you dear reader can get a sense of how long I’ve been holding onto these in the hopes of picking them up again.
Here are several short stories that I came up with at various times, whether it be the first paragraph or the first page, I want to finish them. So this will be part 1 in a continued series. These are taken from my laptop, but there will be some from my phone as well because I am a devil-may-care writer with very little self-discipline.
The original portions of the stories I will make purple (or #7600FF) and the new additions will be traditional black. I will also put notes at the top and bottom in bold and bracketed off.
The oldest one is from November 25 2016: “Random Brabbles.” It has been too long so I have no idea why I named them nonsense words buy making looking at it again will jog my memory.
“Random Brabbles”
(This one appears to be sort of like a diary entry-type story and the title might be because the entries might not be easily connected or easily followed as an accurate depiction of this character’s life. I’m not sure what my original plan was for this but I am going to try to make a this span a year—let’s see how it goes.)
February 19th, 2016; 12:45AM:
It's like finally being able to make something of my experiences. When I watch people, I see how they express themselves and expose themselves to their peers, society, and themselves. All three are intertwined in such a way that you have to look on carefully or you will miss it. The fragile person within. The moment. It can be seen when a joke is told and there is that split second where their group of friends doesn't laugh and you can almost see time stop as their heart beats a bit faster in panic. Or when you make eye contact with a stranger and smile, most of them pretend to not see you because it's easier than showing emotion to someone who isn't worth their time. But that's the beauty of it because you can see the flicker of guilt when you pass each other. It's so fascinating that we care so much about how the many think even when they will never effect our lives unless we give then that power.
February 19th, 2016; 10:21PM:
It's sort of tragic isn't it? All the lucky people can change their minds with a few positive thoughts but those of us with mental illnesses try so hard. So fucking hard to keep the demons at bay that plague the mind. We constantly fight them and fight them but we always lose. It's hard to wake up and get out of bed when there's a war going on inside. Telling your friends about the intricate details of the battle isn't an option because they don't fully understand, they can't help. My theory is that when some of us are born, we are half dead. My mother had several miscarriages before she had me. And as an infant I had multiple seizures and got sick often. Maybe that's why? People who are suffering, have to or else living would be pointless. There's a quote that goes "human mortality forces the best out of us"; when we are aware of our end we start actually living. When I'm happy it's the best feeling, I'm just floating while feeling so freaking light. But when the nagging thoughts creep in, I realize that there's no point. I hate that anyone suffers and feels this even more so than I can describe the crippling nothing.
March 25th, 2016; 1:09PM:
The shadow is getting bigger. This crippling nothing that follows me and threatens to take my family away. I pretend it’s nothing, since I only see it when I’m only. It follows me into my dreams and shocks me awake with clicking and the beating on my walls. I take pictures with my family so I know I’m real and not it in disguise. I don’t want to hurt my family so I’ll bare this for them. Protect them from it’s gaze and whispers. “Kill them, burn them, eat them; kill them, burn them, eat them…” gaining in noise as it shakes my desk and rattles my windows as I squeeze my eyes shut. My one solace is writing these entries…It reminds me of my goal when my eyes burn from keeping them open for 48 hours, even my legs refuse to carry me to the bathroom at night. I hold it as long as I can close to sunrise and the shadow disappears. Maybe tomorrow will be different.
April 12th 2016; 3:45AM:
School is getting harder to balance, since COVID-19 I’ve been working from home, which for my friends is fine but it just gives me more time with it. I wish I could go back to school and be out of the house. I wish I could walk among the tar-like paths of the park with my cat hooked up to her harness. I wish I could dream of anything instead of the whites eyes of the shadow as it peaks its head into my periphery. I wish I could reassure my cat as she lays on top of me, but if I look at her or pet her fur I’m afraid it’ll draw its attention to her. So I study as well as I can as I hear the floorboards shift under my feet waiting for the fading of the light. I watch shows and movies to occupy my mind with distractions, sometimes I even nap.
June 5th 2016; 10:08AM:
My friends have stopped talking to me, its for the best, I think. Less people to try and keep out of the house so it doesn’t learn their scent. Though, I would like the bully to stop, it’s somehow worse online than it was in-person. I guess because their verbal comments are a permanent fixture on my eyes like they are on my phone. I told my mom about them and she hugged me and helped me block them. But its not like what they were saying was wrong, I am weird, it was the fact that I heard that darkness cackle as it read the words alongside me. In daylight…
June 5th 2016; 4:18PM:
I scared my mom today. We were watching Pride & Prejudice together on the couch with my cat in-between us, she made popcorn and was playing with my hair. It was nice to forget. We were halfway through the movie where Elizabeth goes to visit Charlotte when I felt another hand join my mother’s. I didn’t feel it at first, my scalp is my weak spot and my mom’s fingers softly run through the strands, and it lulls me to relaxation and bonelessness. But the new hand didn’t, it pulled at my hair like it was trying to find a way into my brain, I screamed and mom jumped. I think she might have felt it a little because she was rubbing her hand. She looked at me and asked what was wrong and I…Well I couldn’t tell her, so I said I must’ve fallen asleep and felt like I was falling. I hope the red marks go away on mom’s hand.
July 20th 2016; 12:59AM:
Mom felt it again. A similar scene, I had my head in my mom’s lap and she was playing with my hair. This time I felt where the hand came from, it traveled up my throat into my hair. My mom must’ve thought it was mine because she looked down, her hand stopped moving. I’m not sure what it looks like to others, I’m too scared to mention it at all but I’ve grown used to it’s form and presence. My mom wasn’t so lucky. I think it scared her more than the last time when she could only feel it but now she, she saw it. I tilted my head back and mouthed “Don’t acknowledge it” and my mom’s eyes widened and her hand trembled as it joined the tendril in tracing the hair follicles on my scalp. It disappeared within the hour, knowing there was no entry point. Mom booked a therapist’s appointment that same night. And we both lie to dad and say nothing’s wrong.
August 31st 2016; 9:34PM:
The therapist thinks I’m haunted by trauma. That it’s an auditory hallucination I’ve somehow convinced my mom I have. I guess it could be worse, my mom could’ve sent me to a priest or a convent. Or killed me for being “possessed.” I don’t know when it started, I just felt it one day, walking beside me. Its breath filling my lungs, its limbs moving mine. Only recently, it has manifested outside of my body. Did it start because I was unhappy? Did it start because I spent too much time looking at other people than focusing on myself? I didn’t mean to be unhappy, just like it manifesting; it just sort of happened one day. Maybe it started in my mind and then moved to my eyes and as I feel more inadequate the more I gave it a body inside me. I told my therapist this and they gave me that diagnosis and medication to help…Maybe I’m not explaining it right or since I feel responsible for this creature, I created a trauma?
September 14th 2016; 5:17PM:
The medication has been helping me sleep. The shadow is still there but I can sleep finally. My mom says I look healthier, but we both still see it surrounding me. My grades aren’t bad anymore, now that I have more brain power to do my homework after school. I’ve even been helping mom cook again. But mom’s stopped touching me, I can’t blame her but it does hurt. I didn’t mean to summon it, if I was capable of something like that. How do you even summon…a demon? Is it a demon if it doesn’t have a body? Is it a spirit, maybe a poltergeist? Was I cursed by someone at school or being haunted somehow? I do walk in the park a lot, who knows how many people have died underneath all the wood chips and big boulders in the manicured grass? I’ll have to do some research when I go to the library later today. If I am cursed, let’s hope it’s just me so my mom and my cat are okay.
October 31st 2016; 7:30PM:
Halloween, in typical spooky fashion, I did some research at the library. The “Supernatural” Book of Monsters, Spirits, Demons, and Ghouls didn’t have anything on my shadow. So I’ve hit a pretty big wall in identifying it. Mom’s been trying to distract me by decorating the house in spiderwebs, witch’s hats, and watches horror films with me despite hating them. She also decided that I am the candy-giver (official title bestowed to the youngest child in the house, I am always the candy-giver as I am an only child). I love how kind and patient mom’s been, I was worried she would ignore it. I brought some of the books back and she read them with me. One of the few things that has kept me going because although I’ve been sleeping…my sleep has made the shadow stronger too.
October 31st 2016; 11:59PM:
Someone’s been knocking at my window since I ran out of candy. Normally, my first thought wouldn’t be to write in my diary, but I can’t leave to use the landline and my parents are down the street at the neighbour’s party and they told me to not bug them for anything except emergencies…I’m not sure if this qualifies or if I’m just scared. I know mom’s really there for information on spirits. Apparently one of our neighbours has spiritual experience. Anyway, the knocking is—it’s just noise, a constant rattling—for all I know it could just be a branch hitting the window. It was windy before and though we don’t have any trees close enough to the house, or right outside my door where the knocking is coming from, I’d like to think the wind is just very strong.
December 1st 2016; 3:43 AM:
Last night reminded me that I want to move. I found a nice apartment on the fifth floor, and I’m moving tomorrow. My hallucinations are getting worse and my therapist recommended a change of scenery…so here’s hoping the shadow follows me to the new place, because if I can keep my family safe then I’ll do it. Maybe one day it’ll just leave…but with how noisy and present it has been, I’ll probably never get to see it gone. I’ll miss mom and my cat but it’s for their safety.
(Like many things I write, it takes turns towards the gothic and dark—gothic in the sense that it is an isolated character talking to themselves about problems they face. I’m not sure if it’s specifically because of how long ago I wrote this or if this is where this story would inevitably end up but it is now complete.)
The second oldest is from March 17th 2018 (four others are on this date so I might do these as well)
“Autumn Things”
(I have no idea why I named it Autumn Things, maybe to be ironic about finding a dead body in the leaves of fall? Who knows.)
Carl was having a bad day. That would be an understatement, really.
The wind was warm for autumn, leaves finally changing to vibrant yellows, oranges, and reds but not dead enough to fall just yet. People were outside enjoying this rare moment, the smell of bonfires and laughter filling the air. Yet, the kind of laughter that held an almost sinister echo as it rang through the usually quiet streets.
Then there was Carl.
The laughter turned into screams as the first leaf fell from the maple tree. Limbs scattered as he lay on the slightly damp ground. His lifeless eyes glassed over, indicating he had been dead for a while. Not that anyone noticed the drifter’s disappearance. Nor would they care that he was still present, and could see everything that nature was doing to his body.
“How did I get here?” Carl wondered. He knew how he died, sleeping in the woods was always a risk. What was a surprise was why he was currently, a ghost, “Maybe I didn’t pray enough, or my soul wasn’t holy.”
Carl shook his head, of course that wasn’t the issue; but, looking at his severed transparent body he wondered again about how he got there. Ghosts were typically thought to be the spirits of the dead linger for unfinished business. Carl had no lingering business and he certainly did want to be a ghost. He became homeless and nomadic after he decided university put too much stress on him. Lucky, he had taken an anthology course about nomadic tribes that stuck with him; he packed up a hiking pack with a sleeping bag and one cup and never looked back. Sure, some nights were cold and chilled his muscles into locking and yes, the lack of food made him malnourished but the lack of direction suited Carl well.
His life had a plan before. Study in high school and get the best grades, neglect personal relationships, graduate with full scholarship to prestigious university, follow in parents’ career paths, get married to someone powerful and hate each other for the rest of their lives, have children in attempt to salvage marriage, get divorced, pay alimony, get joint custody, have heart attack, after leaving hospital have a mid-life crisis and start dating a questionably young person, then die. It was a simple plan.
But Carl underestimated his own unpreparedness for the stress of second-level courses under the curve grading system and how high his own stress would make him question if he should just walk into on-coming traffic on a daily basis, so he left.
He couldn’t change the university he attended, so the easiest solution was to uproot his life and cut-off any support from his family to focus on himself. He was happy and content, if not a little frostbitten and hungry. Then, Carl just had to sleep in the woods during autumn when animals were trying to gather food for hibernation.
He supposed it could be worse, he could’ve woken up and been back in those university courses were his nails were bleeding and cracked from being bitten at every hour of every day. He could’ve woken up several years after that at a job that paid well but he absolutely loathed but stayed for his parent’s pride and to piss off that one coworker who bragged too much for his tastes. If he did wake up he’d want to wake up back in those woods. The sun’s light just catching on those little drops of frozen dew hanging off the pine needles, he’d wake up to the crisp air that burned his lungs and he’d stretch his numb toes and take one long look at the sky which was barely visible through the tops of the trees as he sipped some stale tea from a thermos someone gave him two weeks ago at a homeless shelter.
He would’ve gotten up, packed his things, and walked further into the forest to find a group of outdoor survivalist (the same group who discovered his body) and traveled with them. And when they set up camp, he would’ve had his first home-cooked meal since he left home—he’d been eating canned food for years now—and after they ate, Carl would mention his story and how he never regretted a thing, except maybe never learning to cook.
Carl laughed to himself as the survivalists contacted the police and covered his body with a sheet. Or the body parts they could find anyway, and Carl waited with them until the police arrived. He didn’t know if his ghostly self would be transported with his body or if he would remain in this little cloister of trees and slivers of sun. Either way, he was very warm.
The police arrived and his body was arranged and stuffed into a body bag, witness statements taken, and just like that he was a closed case in some dusty archives room. The thought didn’t give him any comfort, it wasn’t like he was murdered. He just slept somewhere he shouldn’t have but still less than two hours and he ceased to be in the minds of these authority figures. Not even 3% their brain power was used for this.
Carl felt very small. Granted he never felt big, even when he got the best grades and only listened to his parents’ advice without complaint, but he expected a tear to be shed for this loss of human life… even if he was a drifter. He still had parents, that he abandoned, and…and…huh. Carl had no friends, a stipulation of his parents; no one else to mourn for him. He wasn’t sure if his parents would—he let go of their dream, the life they wanted him to have—or if they opened a missing persons query. Carl realized he would most likely be a John Doe, too mangled to identify even for his parents who missed no flaw on their son’s face.
Carl felt very minuscule.
Humbled by nature and the nature of his decision; he sat in frozen dirt surrounded by imposing wooden eyes, silent seers of all, until Carl’s transparent limbs faded into the ground as his body elongated and stretched until his face was fully in the sun, becoming jaded with needles to catch and store water, his arms reaching desperately towards his eyes to shield them from the direct sunlight but becoming locked in place at a 45 degree angle, and his feet and legs firmly buried kilometers and kilometers down in the dark soil below. With one last exhale, Carl joined the silent seers in an eternity of watching.
(Again, stories have a way of getting away from the writer, certain vivid details scream at the forefront of our brains and we are helpless to ignore them, but I think this is a weird little story that I can say is complete.)
This is another story from March 17th 2018;
“Fantasy Battlemaidens’ Ruin”
(I had this phase with mythology, and the word Battle-maiden, so I imagine that’s where this came from since I loved Eowyn in LOTR; I do not believe this is about the Norse Vanir but this one’s a little messy, some of them will be as most of my ideas come during the night when I can barely keep my eyes open, so I’m not really sure what I’m saying here but let’s finish it.)
Female warrior class who uses ranged weapons primarily (spears, bows, etc.) venturing in her mother’s footsteps looking for the legendary Battle-maiden.
The lore is that this Legendary Battle-maiden, Vanir, rose many lunar cycles ago to defeat the scourge of the possessed Shishigami (god of forest life and death). The elders say this heroine disappeared out of thin air and was never seen from again. After destroying the balance between life and death, her remaining bloodline became tainted and cursed with dark magic. The magic gave extraordinary strength and the power to wield the magic affinity of whomever was chosen. This act of bravery simultaneously saved/ruined the world with one arch of her sword. Though it needed to be done, her power is the one thing keeping this threat caged. When she disappeared, unbeknownst to her, she passed the responsibility to her kin.
Davin shared the bloodline of Vanir, so it has been the duty of those born in her family who are warriors, leave (after extensive early training) to find this long lost protector; in the hopes of bringing honour and prosperity to their name again.
The night before Davin sets out for her journey, a stirring of energy is felt in her valley, calling to several individuals to gather around the tomb of Shishigami. Including a mage, Seraph, who recognizes multiple cracks in the foundation, the root of the surge.
The youngest valley elder mage exclaimed, “It is time, what you see here is the curse of Vanir; make haste warriors before the seals on this tomb is broken and the terror is unleashed!”
“My sword is ready, Seraph. Let’s go warriors!” Davin charges forward, stumbling against the minor vibrations resonating from the sealed stone doors of Vanir’s tomb. Her feet catch on the uneven ground as she gets closer and closer to the entrance. “Seraph, tell me again why we are doing this?”
“We need to stop the curse before it breaks the tomb open!”
Davin stops in front of the twenty-foot high double stone doors, “Right, but how do we attack something we cannot see?”
“Improvise, or must I do everything for you!” Seraph swirls her staff in a semi-circle, casting a golden-looking spell at the doors, just before hitting the doors, the spell collides with mist and turns yellow. The yellow figure reveals a invisible giant banging the doors with a hammer. “Is that better?”
“We have an enemy, charrrrrrge!” Davin and a dozen archers ready attacks. “Volley!” and the arrows are loose into the giant’s back as Davin’s sword archs into the giant’s knees. The giant doesn’t turn around and continues to bash the door with more force. A large cracks starts to converge with the smaller ones as the giant’s hammer lands blow after blow. “Volley!” again the arrows are loosed into the giant. “Hey, giant!” But the giant ignores the second attack.
“Archers continue the volley! Seraph, nothing’s working…Why would the giant want into Vanir’s tomb? Is it not only her body that remains?”
Seraph stands beside Davin and ponders, “I do not think the giant would be so adamant about getting into an empty tomb…perhaps the stories are true about Vanir’s power?”
“Power or no, a body is just a body. If she truly continued to have that kind of power after death then she wouldn’t have died so easily.”
“Hmm, what if it is not power but a weapon the monster seeks? Though, the records mention nothing of the sort, it would explain the giant’s persistence and sole attention on it’s goal.”
“Can you change its mind with your magic?”
“Normally, such magic is forbidden on sentient creatures capable of speech…however, it would be utter mayham if the tomb were opened.” Seraph nods and once again swirls her staff to cast a spell, this time to compel the giant’s mind. “Once the spell is cast I will only have—.” Seraph couldn’t finish her thought as the stone doors made a terrible crunch noise as the giant stopped its onslaught. Davin looks in wonderment as the giant simply bows before the newly opened whole in the tomb’s entrance.
Davin slowly walks around the giant as the dust starts to settle and peeks into the new opening. Darkness greets her, “Seraph, it doesn’t look like anything is in here, let alone her body…wait, what’s that in the distance?” Davin notices a small glow in the darkness, it calls to her. Her form disappears into the darkness before Seraph can call for her to stop. Davin wanders further in and the light from the hole is gone even after a step into the tomb. The air is unnaturally cold and damp. Davin loses the glow and turns to walk back out. The wall has no hole, “what?” Davin whispers to herself, she runs her hands along the wall. No cracks, no blemishes, nothing.
Davin begins to shake, “I have to stay calm…perhaps I got turned around and the opening is along the other wall…yes, that has to be it.” But no matter how many walls Davin touches, they are solid. Davin takes a deep breath and pulls out a match. “I shouldn’t freak out until I know my surroundings…” The effect is immediate as the match lights, her eyes greedily look at every detail of the tomb. The room is square with the tomb resting in the middle. The tomb with the lid slightly askew. Davin takes another deep breath, “It is just a dead body, even if it could move, it is not strong enough to move the golden tomb. So what did?” Davin investigates the rest of the coffin, but there are no markings or rope that could have moved it. Davin closes her eyes and finally checks inside the coffin.
“Wondering why I’m not in there?”
Davin screams as she hears a new voice. She whips around and sees nothing.
“Do not be frightened my girl, I simply need your aid. It was you who sough to protect my body against the giant, did you not? Surely, you wouldn’t mind helping me?”
Davin shakes her head, “I do not know who you are, you cannot be Vanir—she died a very long time ago—you can only be a demon!”
“Please, do you think the Legendary Battle-maiden couldn’t resurrect herself after death? Well, it didn’t go as planned, but I am certain not dead.”
“I’m going crazy, it must be the lack of oxygen in here.”
“You are suspicious, that is fair—after all, you do not know me. but you do know my story. A slew the greatest evil to every walk these lands with my rusty sword and blood in my mouth.”
Davin gasped, “it..it truly is you, then?”
Vanir’s voice scoffed, “Who else would be in my tomb? Now will you help me?”
“What help can you need, a being of both life and death?”
“You see, I was buried with something…special, and I need it back but as I am not quite here, I cannot possible hold it.”
Davin looks back into the coffin, “but there’s nothing in here?”
Vanir doesn’t speak for a while. Davin flicks her eyes around the darkness, hoping to catch a glimmer or wisp of some kind to place Vanir. “The item cannot be seen by mortals, it requires certain abilities…but I can guide you to it?”
“Why do you need it?”
“Will you help me or not, human?”
“Yes, I will help you.”
“Good, then let us begin,” Vanir says and the tomb alights with green light. “Place your hand in the tomb and you’ll feel it…yes, that’s it, now grab it!”
Davin’s fingers circle around air, until her fist is almost closed and she feels it, a small hilt—that of a dagger—presses into her palm. The room swims and Davin’s vision greys allowing her to see a future, her future with this dagger. A future where she breaks down the walls of this tomb and kills the world with Vanir voice in her ear. Davin lets the dagger go. “NO!"
Vanir sighs, “it is the only way out, take it…don’t you want to help me Davin? Don’t you want to leave this place?”
Davin covers her ears but it is no use, Vanir’s voices worms it’s way around her mind and under the backs of her eyes. “I will not be your slave for revenge, demon! I do not know what you are but you are not Vanir!”
“Oh, dearly…if only you knew how many souls I’ve corrupted…poor Vanir didn’t stand a chance towards the end, she was incredibly wounded. Though it was clever of her to lock me in here with her…but my powers extend past this silver vessel. You will give in, if you want to see the outside world and your partner again…I can wait for the hunger to set in.”
Davin rocks herself back and forth, repeating “I will not listen, I will not listen, I will not listen.”
(And there you have it, another finished story. It was not easy, normally I write my posts in a couple hours but these took me all day.)
Join me next week as I tackle three (or four depending on the size) more abandoned stories!
