Creative Corner

@Coyearth

I remember perfection.

These days, I walk backwards. Every corner I turn, it hurts. Every flight of stairs I rise, I fall farther into the depths of a pensive reverie.

I don’t know what I did that cost myself the beauty of the love I barely remember. I want to remember. If I knew, maybe I could undo the pain that gnaws upon my soul. Maybe I could undo this tide of loneliness that threatens to pull me down in its riptide every morning I wake up alone.

Companions come and companions go. They exist around me in a monotonous haze. Some try to break through. Sometimes I even hear them, sense their concern, but it doesn’t matter, it never matters.

I’m flawed; I am intrinsically wrong. And so, I build a wall. Brick by brick and stone by stone, I build it higher every day. I must keep them out. I don’t even want them to knock on it. I don’t want to hurt again, not like this. Never again. The wall will keep me safe.

But more importantly, it will keep them safe. I would only hurt them, I would only tear them down and, in turn, they would hate me. No one deserves that. No one deserves to be liked by me.

I was six, six, and I made my father leave. He left and he never came back. I found out he started another family somewhere else, married another woman even though he married my mother.

My mother said it was my fault, and she would know, wouldn’t she? She asked me what was wrong with me. She asked me what I did to drive him away. I was six, and I could not remember. But she knew it was my fault. And so, it had to be my fault. I have no foundation for an argument in my defense.

I remember his love. I remember her love. I walk backwards, moving forward through life while I stare back at a sensation I will never again feel.

I will never again destroy perfection.

No one deserves that.

@coyearth

Edit: Warning for implied past abuse.

I do not remember my youth. I was a disappointment to my mother, who's thinly drawn lips were challenged only by my wiry frame. My brothers, three before me, boasted calves that carried them in races, and arms that fought their way to glory. But I was simpler than them, built without the muscle that my family often boasted. My father was dead, and I was the last of his children. Was this what the final child would be? Small, simple, unsightly?

I did not know kindness. My brothers trained, beating bare feet into sand, faster and faster around the track. They were given gifts, many, and there I was, playing with whatever game the family guards could spare. These pockets of time are brief in my mind; I cannot see the faces anymore, and where am I? What of my family? It has been so long, and I've gone so far. I cannot recall it as I once did. Memories linger, but they are brief and escape me just as quick as they come.

When I was nine, my mother's sickness found her. It was like a snake with how fast it moved, weeping venom into her veins. I did not mourn—none of us did. Even though I did not carry the same strength as my brothers did, I had been raised a young lord. I would not cry, and neither would they. Dry-eyed, we buried our mother a week later.

Now, a man, I sit in some other king's palace. Here, the walls are rich with ivory and gold. The ceiling is made of glass, and light leaks through like liquid. The air shimmers with it, as if I could reach out and swim my way into the sun.

Here, I am alone. There are times I still feel the stinging pain of a paddle on my bare back, or the hissing words of a disappointed relative. My skin bears scars, not of battle with men, but with my raging mother. They are bright on my olive skin, and they catch my eye when I fail to ignore them.

I am scarred, and my mind is heavy with a nearly-forgotten past. But this palace, where no one knows my name, and I am as unknown as the dead...it is perfection, and I do not miss the past. I look only forward. Clearing my mind, I reach up to grab at the sun.

@REDandYELLOWZ Ah, I really enjoyed this. I like how something that's awful can be seen as perfect at a different light.

@humanityxpeople That was really interesting! It made me curious about the context before this.

@razyraspberry Oh man that intense haha. I liked it. :)

@TidalMoonrise That was quite different from the others. I really like where you went with it!

@Chrisondra Ah, that was so sad! It was good though.

@Mypilot I really loved this piece. I'm not sure how to explain why.

The winner is Mypilot, with TidalMoonrise as the alternate. Thank you everyone for entering!

@/coyearth - Thank you for picking me! ^.^

@Moonwater @AwkwardAngel @Tacodoodle @coyearth @nemodave @Jadebird @Kapara @favvn @Xypress @Crazyraspberry @helforestwitch @SeaSweptDreams @MsGrump @Winterreise @agateflame @Rosoidela @REDandYELLOWZ @PhoenixMiko @Maddiebird @ErinQuotefinder @Aiolos @Midgardian @writingandchoco @fabro @Dragonclaw101 @Pearlcatcher101 @MissFortune17 @Lolliipop @luckgandor @frootz @Gannet @Sky93 @riseandshine @WithoutBounds @Artificiary @Slayborn @demonslayr62 @Xayxayx @SpiderLondon @Lastwords @Sillywinter @Aphelium @PurpleHibiscus @neonsharpies @inn @Astomnus @bcrush @Saraceaser @dragonfarmer @Drusha @MisfitsLanding @elthemar @StillInvincible @GladeLockwood @JackOLantern @FireMaster101 @Crumbleless @Oranitha @Silverscale @Tempestral @humanityxpeople @Chrisondra @Karika @Mypilot

The next prompt is: 'what we remember'

Winner will be picked on the 2nd.

@MyPilot

Memory.

Never something that was a strength of mine. In fact, now that I think about it. I can't remember any faces, pictures, anything. I've seen plenty of them, I know that I have, but each face is blurry, each name just out of reach.

My name....my name. I don't even remember that, don't even recall ever having one. I've been here for a while. It's not natural, something is wrong. Around me are bones, bones which I suppose may be my own. Above me there is wood. It is black, thick and sturdy. I couldn't move it if I was able, couldn't move it if my spindly arms would respond.

There is one thing that I can remember. Sure, it's blurry, shaded almost. Yet the details are there. It is a soothing memory of a summer field, the grass ripe with golden petals, the air fresh with th smell of daytime. The sky is blue- rich and bright- the clouds are sparse and shimmering. A glorious day, the best I have ever seen I'm sure. Behind me sits my car, the engine is silent, it's silver paint job seems to beam in the brightness. It's about a year old, judging by the '67 plate. I'm not looking at the ca though, my eyes are focused on the distance. I feel weak, so, so weak. I'm off balance slightly, my breaths wheezing through my lungs like every one will be my last. I'm clad in what feels like a hospital gown, yet I know the nearest hospital is miles away, through the thick trees and sloping country roads. My head feels light, I begin to see black, wobbling around on my feet. I fall.

That's when the memory fades, becomes too blurry to understand.

It feels like something major happened, but I'm unsure what. Did I die? Was it a dream? What was so important about this scene? I roll my eyes now, looking for what must be the hundredth time for a reprieve, a way out of this dark box.

The darkness closes in, closer, closer, thicker. It whispers. So peaceful, so relaxing....

@mypilot

I walked through the trees, old and ancient, that sheltered the overgrown path. To my chest, I clutched a flute crafted before the trees around me were even nestled within their acorns. It was black and silver with the moon lovingly engraved just above the mouthpiece.

I could feel nihility crumbling the memories of the world. Slowly and steadily the races forgot. They forgot the pool and the moon and how life had come to exist on this world that was once nothing more than a bare rock anchoring the living moon in the depths of the void that filled the night sky.

But the faeries remembered. I remembered. I remembered the gods before they were gods. I remembered watching them in a glade, silhouetted by the light of the moon; the only home the would-be goddess had ever known. I remembered listening to her songs and to his fingers upon the lyre, which was crafted from the pool for the sole purpose of giving life to the world I called home.

Quietly, reverently, I approached the temple at the end of the path. It was not grand, but rather quite humble for the power that was stored within. The other temples rotted, forgotten by the races that were meant to care for them. One by one, they fell into ruin. Humans, dwarves, even the long-lived elves had let their temples fade. The dragons, their temple was slower to succumb to the oblivion of history, but still, I could feel the decay starting to sink into those ancient stones even though they stood hundreds of miles away from my forest.

I passed into the silence of the small hall. Beams of sunlight filtered in through stones cracked with roots. A soft carpet of moss and grass littered with occasional wildflowers added a touch of peace to the sacred site.

I knelt at the altar of stone and wood and set the flute upon its silver stand.

Once a year, I played it so I would never forget. Millennia had passed. Millennia upon millennia, and still I played, once a year for the summer rite.

We, the fae, will remember. And as such, we will stand as the final bastion against the fangs of time that endlessly seek to tear all things known back into the unknown. Memories always have a home with us.

We will always remember.

@MyPilot

As time passes I forget a lot of the way things were back then, but I make a point to remember the good times, even if the bad ones try to overwhelm them. When I close my eyes I can still picture the smile on my little brother's face. I remember how he used to joke around and fill a room with that masculine laughter that gives away everything without saying anything at all.

He was nineteen years old when the virus swept through the city and began to rot people from the inside out. I remember that he kept laughing until the end, trying to keep our spirits up even as our friends began dying around us. I remember how strong he was, to not let me see any more than a slight flinching around his eyes as he was forced to shoot people who had once been his friends, people who weren't really people anymore.

I remember he protected me, even though he was the younger of the two of us. He'd always told me I was too serious, too much of a stickler for the rules. I remember looking down at his ruined face and thinking that if he had just paid a little more attention to the rules, maybe he'd still be able to smile at me once more.

I remember that his eyes had been sad that last time I had seen him, but there had been none of the empty hunger in them that I had expected to see, become used to seeing in the other people around me that were no longer people. I remember that his eyes were sad, and how much I just wanted to see him smile one more time.

If his arms had reached for me I would have been tempted to embrace him one last time, my little brother who had always protected me. But unlike the rest of them, he did not get back up. I remember being confused by that, but more than anything I remember being greatful.

I remember the way he always smiled, and now, even as I wander alone in a world that is teetering on the balance of complete anhilation, I remember how to smile, the way that he taught me to, because I know that is what he would have wanted. Because of him, I will remember how to survive.

@MyPilot

"They cut our tree down," I said while she's in the process of checking her messages, making sure things are running smoothly back home.

"Our tree?" she asked, her tone told me she didn't remember the most important place in our childhood, where we spent so many days climbing the brances and leaning against it to watch the sun go down. It was a marvelous view, easily seen through the big, vast space of hills.

"You know, the one we--"

Her eyes widened as her phone rang through the room. "I'm so sorry, I have to take this."

It was our little secret. Now it was gone forever. Forgotten by those who knew it best.

Soon, our meal ended, and we said our goodbyes until tomorrow.

After the high school reunion, I told her to meet me at the tree. I sat on the stump, waiting, as the summer sun slow cooked my skin. With my fingers, I traced the circles in the stump, wondering which ones were growing in when we had the tree.

She came and sat down next to me.

"I remember," she said, staring at the tree. Her eyes were sad as she looked out in the distance, where the sun would eventually set, and to the fields that we used to run around in.

"I thought you had forgotten." I smiled, glad that our past had not drifted into nothingness. "Do you know how to read these?" I glided my fingers against the smooth wood.

"I couldn't forget those sunsets or spending whole days lounging in the trees. That was back when things were simpler."

I nodded.

"And I have zero idea how to read trees."

We both smiled and laughed, all the awkwardness of the day slipped away. Now we were in our own little world.

We spent hours sitting on the stump, guessing which circles represented the years of our lives, and we remembered everything, until the sun was long gone and the stars shined in the sky.