Hello. I am a young writer in my teens, and I am excited to share my writing on the internet. I have been writing for a long time, but never before have I had the confidence to post it online. My top preference for prose is short stories, especially those that end with sharp twists. I usually do academic writing (as my high school is a specialized program focused on similar aspects) so writing prose is a nice break from highly frequent essays. Although I’m trying to hone my fiction skills, my studies are actually focused on science and mathematics, surprisingly; many people think that such interests typically do not coexist, but I heartily disagree. I hope to be as active as I can in the Prose community and, from the experience I have already had in participating in a few challenges, I am truly enjoying the ride.

@justaperson

Dear Haley,

I know right now you're afraid, anxious about the future that awaits. Everyday, you're worried about Mom and Dad, concerned with the substance taking over their lives. On a daily basis, you pray and hope things won't go awry again. But, you have great blessings in your life, too, rays of light that shine through. You have three caring brothers who will always be there to protect you and make yours days a bit brighter. You have wonderful friends who understand and just want you to be happy. You have three adorable kitties who love and want to cuddle with you. Despite all the darkness, there is light, and better days await you in the future.

At the moment, you're doing what you love most: writing. Currently, you're not skilled enough to make a living off it, but no matter what, you adore to write. It brings joy and clarity to sometimes colorless days. And who knows, maybe someday you can make it your career; we'll just have to wait and see. You've experienced some sadness living with Mom and Dad. You don't understand how a simple substance could damage your family the way it has, especially when everything was so great before the alcohol thundered in. But things were once great, and they can be great again. Besides, you have a part-time job you're working hard at, saving money from. You want to help them, but if need be, you'll take the money you have and leave Mom and Dad. Sometimes, you have to think of yourself first, but I guess what really happens here will be another mystery for you to debunk.

What I'm trying to say is this: Haley, no matter what, there is always a chance for things to become better. The present, no matter how bleak, can always become brighter in the future. And above all, there's always something to continue living for; whether it's to see your best friend smile at you again, to laugh and joke with your brothers once more, or to cuddle with the kitties you so dearly love. There. Is. Always. Something. After all, you're living proof of that.

With Love,

Your Present Self

I woke up at three o’clock. My phone was too bright and It made me nostalgic for a good old analog alarm clock. I ate too much take out, it was creeping up my throat and singeing my insides. I live alone so there is no reason to wear pants. I haven’t had anyone in my life for some time now. They all seem to leave. Go somewhere, do something better. That was me for a while, so I dont blame them, just miss having a voice of reason around. My therapist says I should go out more. See more. Do more. Experience life instead of just watch it scroll by in my timeline feed. I tried that, I did all of that. I spent years going back and forth across the country. Backpack and bicycle. Helmet and med bag. Sure there is more to see, there is always more to see. I guess I just pay the guy to hang out with me. To talk to me. To take an interest in what I’m saying. He says I’ve isolated myself from my friends and family. That the quirks that I find appealing are demonstrative of disassociate disorders. I’m paying him remember? I don’t spend half my weekly paycheck on the guy for his medical opinions. I just have a lot to say, things only someone your paying would listen to. I had to find some one to talk to about this. Someone that wouldn’t understand, someone that would bother, someone that would try and find answer; or at least feign to.

I woke up at three o’clock and made coffee. I sat at my kitchen table and I thumbed through a 1995 edition of a sears catalog. The same one from when I was a kid an thought Santa Claus could really bring me anything from his book if I just said please and didn’t start any more fights at school or cleaned my room and got good grades. I remember circling water guns and gaming consoles. I sat decided that if I had these things, I would have friends. Just like in the commercials. I never got the consoles or water guns. I never got those friends either. Good thing. For them.

I drink too much coffee. I don’t see a cardiologist, but if I did I’m sure they’d say i drink too much coffee. I think its more a security blanket. The few memories I have of my family, all of them involve coffee. I would wake up early and catch my grandmother on the front porch. She would watch bats eat breakfast while she sipped her black coffee. She understood me. She never said anything like the sort, but I could tell. She knew I was going to be different. That something just outside the realm of knowing was in my future.

I woke up at three oclock and I stayed awake till seven that evening. I listened to my fire alarm chirp rudely every four minutes as I stared into the void of my cabinets. I felt like someone was playing a cruel joke on me. That I was the butt of their laughter. I also felt like I was participating so that was good enough. I thought about trying to go back to sleep. To wander back through my shit hole apartment, a refurbed motel on Route 66, till the four steps brought me back to bed. That doesn’t suit me so well tonight. There is someone here. Someone is listening to me. My therapist is gonna retire in Florida with this one.

I lit a candle. I only had one of those mason jar ones, half price from the craft store. Ordered it online. I should go out more. There are people who might find me interesting, if I meet them on familiar turf and only let them see the layers that suit the need. I had to use a piece of dry spaghetti to light it, but I got it done.

As I looked around, I saw no reason to believe that I was anything but alone. I had no roommates and the apartments near by were empty. I guess there is only a certain type of person who finds this pod living comfortable enough to call home. It was a twinge in the mind, something like that, I don’t pay my therapist for his vocabulary, but he had some variety of fanciful words to fixate himself and make him go, mmmm. I made more coffee, a second cup to suit the visitor. Kept it black. I pulled the chair across from me out, just enough. I sat and cradled the warmth radiating off my mug. I just listened. For four minutes I had peace. Then the chirp reminded me to remove and put away the fire alarm.

There was just silence and a cold breeze for hours. Time moved without consent, as it does, but without a clock to measure it, hours were mere minutes. I asked a for a name, and it was silence. I sipped my coffee and gave my own. My name is Thomas Stonewell. Silence spoke nothing in return. Still, in the fragments of reality that still wander this mind of mine, I know that I am not alone.

—

My therapist says that its not my apartment that is haunted, that its my mind. That I’m on this hermit syndrome kick and the way to break out is to explore the world outside; more importantly the people that occupy it. I care little for them. I care about who occupies my apartment.

I decided that even without a name, or a fancy degree, whomever visits when the night is deep and silent, has a better sense of understanding me than my former therapist. Even if the cold winds I feel are simply the frigid return of my exhaled breath stirring in the cigarette smoke.

—

I got more candles. Went to the store and everything. Not to overcome a hurdle, or confront any hypothesis presented by my therapist. I just chose not to wait the two days for shipping. I work as copy editor. Ive never met my boss or coworkers. I don’t even know how many of us there are. I just get my assignments on Monday, most are due by Wednesday but the bigger ones have till Friday at noon. It was now the early hours of Saturday so I had some time. Time for an interview. I slept most of the day. So that I could be awake at three. I made earl grey for my guest, two creams and two sugars. It tastes the best that way. I kept my coffee black.

I was met with more silence and cold air. That was, until I extinguished the candle on the table. It’s absence allowed the void of darkness to engulf the chair now occupied by my guest. He, I shall call him HE, for there was no name or way to distinguish anything further about him. Blame the patriarchy. He sat in darkness, veiled in fabric of stars and night sky.

We sat, I sipped my coffee.

I woke up at the kitchen table, the morning light scattered on the old tiles of my apartment. My mug still full. His was turned over on the coaster.

———

My mother called while I was in the shower. I muted her call so the music would play. She would leave a voicemail. That she did. My sister in law was going into labor. She was two weeks past due. I needed to get to the hospital to meet them. There was something else in the message. Something in the buzzing of dead space between her syllables of hysteria. The mug overturned. The buzzing. The fog in the mirror. A blurred pale figure reflected in its opaque glare. More than just my own. A bitter wind blew past and the mirror turned back to its silver sheen. I was alone. The mug shattered and the tea inside ruined my favorite table runner.

#fiction #stream #thoughts #depression #journal