It’s Monday morning and I woke up 11 minutes before my alarm. A win.
Getting out of bed isn’t too difficult. It’s cold, but not enough for me to wear warm socks. My cat is dosing at the foot of my bed, and I pet him on my way to open the door.
The living room is lit up with soft, grey morning light. It’s quiet, inside and outside the house, even though we live in the city.
I pad on quiet feet to our little kitchen. I refill the kettle, the soft shhh of the water the only sound besides the distant honking outside.
I turn it on. Blue light from the kettle breaks through the early morning colorlessness. For a moment, I stand and watch as the water starts to boil. My cat makes his way into the kitchen on soft paws, pauses, and slowly stretches his back.
The house is quiet but not empty. I have two roommates, both still enjoying their sleep as the world around us wakes up. I like this time of the morning. It’s a liminal space and none of my thoughts have any weight yet. Time isn’t real yet.
The tea bag makes its way into the cup, and then the sugar. Finally, water and milk. Soft vapors drift over my face and I close my eyes to the heat.
I pick up my mug, take a small sip of tea, and make my way to my bedroom. My bed is pushed up against one wall and my desk is on the other. It’s still quiet inside. No one is moving but me.
It’s here that I think about dying.
It’s not a serious thought. I wouldn’t put a gun to my head or swallow a handful of pills. The desire isn’t strong enough to cause any sort of violent action. But I do think about it, about how it would maybe allow me to stay in this liminal space a little longer.
Nothing bad happens here. I wake up to normal mornings, where I have normal breakfasts, sit at my desk, and do normal work. I make enough money to make it through the month and I have friends to laugh with in the afternoon. I get to choose the food I eat and go to bed when I want. I can go to the movies, meet new people, have crazy love affairs on a whim, and do all the things I dreamt of as a kid.
But instead, I pick up my phone and move to my bed, where I lie down. The phone’s glow slowly becomes the only point of light as my room darkens until everything is dark and quiet again. Still, it’s normal. There is nothing sinister in the shadow and I can leave my door open without fear.
It’s in the shower, with the mirror fogged up and my reflection ambiguous, that I start to dream about changing my life. Tomorrow, I’ll get fit. I’ll put my phone away and spend my time reading like I used to. It’ll get healthy and put out enough content to get my name known and gain some recognition. I’ll swim in hotel pools and say my country’s name with pride so that others can support our creatives. I won’t think about money anymore and I’ll wake up without needing that liminal space.
After my shower, I rush to my room, where I make lists and strategies for getting to the top. It makes so much sense and it feels so easy. For a few hours, my heart is beating again.
I get into bed, determined.
I wake up. It’s Tuesday morning. I woke up 14 minutes before my alarm. I’m already on a winning streak.
I get up, and the weather is fine. I pet my cat and make my way to the kitchen, where I put water in the kettle and watch the blue light and bubbling water. My cat joins me and we quietly watch the city come alive. It feels so far away.
I think of death again. It’s soft and comforting, and it’s sad too. Hopeless and hopeful.
Back at work, I do what I need to and not a thing more, before picking up my phone and getting on my bed.
The gray afternoon turns into night, and my Tuesday is gone.
This is peace. It’s everything I ever wanted. Nothing bad happens here. And yet.
The world ended on a Tuesday. Maybe it’s the second time it ended on a Tuesday, I’m not sure.
It was everything you’d imagine! Big mushroom clouds, plumes of smoke, dark skies, and weeks of sepia tones. Children’s toys lay tattered and bloody and artfully placed.
I, of course, survived. But when the world ended, I didn’t have anywhere to go. The people who had taken me in were dead.
So I walked. For hours, and then days, and then weeks. Sepia skies turned to grey tones and the bodies, which up to this point looked human, started to look like wax and very non-human. Sometimes I’d crouch down and inspect them.
I’d lie down on the road, eyeing the grey sky through my hand, and pinch my flesh to make sure I was alive. No, not alive. A thing. I was a thing and with so many other dead things…
I stood up and continued my trek.
I walked around, lazily got food, and walked some more. It was on such a normal day that I found the house.
Between the grey smog of the ashy sky and dead ground, the house stood out like a big, wild heart. Deep, dark purple, something royal, with a wraparound porch and a swing. The windows were open and while no breeze was blowing, the curtains fluttered in the air.
I crunched across the gravel, eyes wide as the beautiful mansions filled my vision, blocking out the grey skies above.
I paused and looked down at the porch. I put a foot on the first step.
And then I was inside, where the colours were just as beautiful and deep and dark, like a cave for a desperate animal seeking shelter.
I explored the beautiful hallways and the bedrooms and the bathrooms and every other room. But at one point I paused and looked down at my dirty shoes.
The hardwood floor was deep red. And it was sticky.
I lifted a foot. There was a sucking sound and I saw red lines connecting my feet to the floor. I put my foot down and carried on exploring. It was nothing I couldn’t handle.
I made my way through the house and finally found myself in the kitchen. A massive island waited and like every other room, you could see this was the type of house built for a family. Maybe not cosy – the place was too big – but still warm. Or at least warm coloured.
The pantry was stocked and it didn’t take much snooping to realise the water ran and the lights worked. The house always had a pleasant breeze and when I ate something or removed a can of food from the cupboard, it would be back the next day.
Never one to look a gift horse in the mouth, I settled into my new home. I showered, ate, rested, and lazed around like a dog waiting for its owner to come home. The sticky floor didn’t bother me much – I wasn’t moving around enough for it to be an issue – but walking barefoot made me vomit. So I put my shoes on, no matter where I was in the house.
Time carried on as it always does. The sky outside my home stayed the same and like a ghost, I haunted my paradise.
On a normal Saturday, as it was always Saturday for me, I was lazing around, blankly gazing at the wall. I was breathing so slowly my heartbeat was sluggish.
It was then that the first foot banged on my porch.
I shot up from my couch, eyes to the front of the house. It couldn’t be.
“Hello?” A voice called. “Anyone here?”
I sprang up, fixed my clothes, and rushed to the front of the house. Through the screen door, I saw a person. I rushed forward and jerked it open with a bright smile.
“Hello!” I exclaimed, gesturing into my home. “Come in, come in.”
The woman who’d knocked walked in like she owned the place, her drab and dusty clothes gross on the clean walls and floors.
She looked around, took off her tattered coat, and put it in my arms without looking. I instinctively grabbed it.
“Nice place you got here.”
I beamed, smoothing the dirty coat over my arm. “Thank you! Do you-”
But she was already walking, my nervous steps sucking on the sticky floor behind her. The ground didn’t seem to grab her as it did me. “How did you keep this place safe?” she marvelled, running a dirty hand on the wallpaper.
I opened my mouth but she paused and turned to me. She pointed to her feet. “Mind if I take off my shoes?”
“No, not at all!” I rushed forward, almost tripping over my shoes, and untied her shoelaces. “Make yourself at home.”
She gave me a soft pat on the head once her shoes were off, her eyes lines of mirth. “So kind.” I preened under her praise.
She moved on again, and the silence pulled me along behind her.
I spoke. “As for your earlier question, I stumbled across this place.”
“What, really?”
“Really.”
“And you’ve been enjoying your time here?”
“I have food, hot water, and no children! What could be better!”
“Hahahahah!”
“Hahaha!” I laughed back at her.
She finally finished her tour and plopped down on my couch. The one I spent my days in.
She put her feet on the small table and looked up at me with mournful eyes. I leaned forward, expectant. “Darling, do you have any food for me?”
The words were scarcely out of her mouth before I nodded, almost wild. “Yes! Just wait, and I’ll bring it for you.”
I rushed away on my sticky floor, leaving her to relax on my couch with her feet on my table.
I was preparing food in the kitchen when there was another knock on the front door.
“Mom?”
I dropped the food and dashed down the hallway. The next dirty visitor was a young man. He looked at me. “Are you my mom?”
I opened the door, eyes wide. “I could be?”
He stepped in, hugging me so hard tears sprung to my eyes. It hurt.
He pulled back, looked deep into my eyes, and then at the house around us. “This house looks sturdy.”
“Thank you! I built it myself.” I laughed and took him to the room with the woman. He sat down.
“Darling, where is the food?” She asked me, eyes wide.
“Can I have some too, mom?” He asked.
I nodded and beamed down at my guests. “Just give me a few minutes.”
I rushed off but jerked to a stop. I looked down and frowned. Was the floor stickier?
“I’m so hungry!” The woman called mournfully. The man started to cry and moan.
“I’ll bring it now!” I cried, rushing into the kitchen.
I threw together everything I could find before rushing back to them and putting the food in front of them.
The woman looked at me. “Do you want to call me mom?”
I burst into tears. “Please!”
“You may.”
And then they ravenously fell upon the feast. I stepped back and watched in satisfaction as they gorged themselves on my food.
“Do I smell food?” A deep voice asked.
I spun with a yelp and felt something pull on my leg. It hurt. Trying to move like that on these floors would break my legs.
In the living room doorway stood a burly man, his beard grey. The eyes he rested on me were dancing and hungry. “Sorry for intruding.”
“No worries!” I clapped my hands together and winced at the sound.
He settled down and nodded at the man and then the woman. “This is a beautiful house.”
My son nodded.
It’s my house.
The burly man looked up, smiling. “Could you bring more food?”
I laughed and pointed to the feast. “Won’t this be enough?”
The room went dark, the grey skies creeping in. They looked at me with expressionless faces. While they said nothing out loud, I could hear it all.
The burly man stood up. “I think I’ll go somewhere more welcoming.”
“Please, stay.” I meant it to sound kindly. But it sounded exactly like what it was: begging. “I’ll bring more food.”
He shrugged. “Oh, alright. I’ll stay.” He sat back down and dug in.
The grey sky retreated. I ran to the kitchen, heaped up another platter, and brought it back.
Over the next few days, I ran between the kitchen and the door and the living room. More guests joined and I let them all in. I was a mother, a lover, and a friend. I was everything everyone needed.
What is my name?
I was just putting more dishes in the kitchen, rubbing at my throbbing knees, when a shriek split the air. “Help! Somebody help!”
I ran to the front door, past the living room and the deafening chatter from within. I would have liked to get to the door faster, but the floor had become so sticky that every step felt like a battle. It hurt but I ripped open the door, my breath heavy.
On the porch was a girl, small and bleeding. “Help!” She begged. She held a small bloody hand over her chest. I could see glistening meat between her fingers.
I stumbled onto the porch and gripped her under the shoulders. I dragged her across the porch and heaved her over the threshold while she screamed, past the curious spectators and into the hallway that ran through the length of the house.
I dropped to my knees next to the girl, panting, but vomited when my flesh touched the floor.
“It hurts so much.” She was crying hysterically, wide eyes on me. I swallowed the vomit and put a hand on her shoulder.
“Please, sister, help me.”
I nodded and moved her hands away from her chest. A gaping hole stared at me. Inside rested a battered heart. I felt the living room party move toward us, looking down with sad eyes. They still ate.
“Can you help me, sister?” She begged.
“Poor girl.” Someone said.
“Help her, mom.” said one of my children.
“I think that would be nice.” Said the woman who felt like a mother.
“Give me your heart, sister.” The girl reached up to me.
“That sounds like a great idea!” Someone said.
I looked at all the faces around me. The sticky floor felt so heavy. “But then who will feed you?”
They all looked at me with dancing eyes. “You, of course. We could never manage without you.”
They caressed my head and I shuddered, tears behind my closed eyes.
Without a word, I dug into my chest and tore out my heart. The floor drank my spilt blood as I held up my heart, triumphant. But they all shrunk away, even the dying girl.
“Ew!” Someone screeched, pointing at my heart. “It’s atrophied!”
And without a word, they ran, snatching up the dying girl as she tried to crawl away from me, her organs dragging behind her. They grabbed food and made a wide circle around my bleeding body, my small dusty heart clutched in my hand.
When my mother and son made their way to the door, I called for them. They paused and turned to me, cringing at the sight of my heart.
“But I did everything you asked.” I cried.
They looked at each other and then at me. He shrugged and she answered. “You could have said no.”
“You could help me.” I begged. I tried to crawl to them but it was hopeless. “Help me.”
It was my mother who answered. “I have a lot going on right now.” She winced. “Sorry.”
And then they were gone, rushing back into the grey world.
The tears were a flood and my face was pulled in a mask of sorrow so stretched it hurt my mouth. I wept and wailed and tried to move. But every time, the sticky floor sucked at my feet and I could feel my joints pop with every movement. There was no escape.
So I lay there, just as before, my atrophied heart clutched in my hand, resting in a pile of vomit.
I Was Immortal When The World Ended by JR Mercier.
The first time she tried to kill herself, she slit her throat. It was a huge mess. Movies always made it look so easy. A nice, quick death with just the right amount of drama. Exactly what she wanted. Except it took a lot longer to bleed out than she expected and the feel of the knife-edge dragging across her throat, how it tugged on her skin and glided… She shuddered. Never again. The second time, she opted for a bullet to the brain. It scared her a lot more than the throat slitting because a friend once told her a story of a horse that’s leg was shattered. It was sad but the only humane thing to do was put it out of its misery. He was young and new to the farm and it was his first time putting down a big animal. The horse was calm when he lifted the gun. He put the barrel to its head and pulled the trigger. Bang! Only it didn’t die. Instead, the horse just struggled, and thrashed and whinnied like crazy. He freaked out and shot it again and again. But it still carried on. It then proceeded to bleed to death, its head nothing but raw meat. It was only later that somebody thought to tell him that a horse’s brain is quite small and sits high up and that he’d really just been blowing the horse’s face apart. She didn’t know much about guns and had to figure out how to use one, which gave her a smoking hole in her foot. When she finally managed to put the barrel against her head, she couldn’t decide whether it should be in her mouth, behind her ear, or on her forehead. She settled on her forehead, awkwardly placed the cold barrel against her skin, closed her eyes, and pulled the trigger. There was an impression of huge pressure and then nothing. It was the longest she ever stayed down but it sure as shit wasn’t worth the headache that followed when she woke up. With her healing, the meds she took were more like candy with little bursts of goodness. Still, she dug holes through her meds and threaded a bunch of the good shit onto a necklace. It looked quite cute with all the pastel colours. She’d chew on them while hobbling around on her busted foot and rummaging for food. After the gun fiasco, she tried a big office building. It stood proud, a massive glass and steel middle finger in the centre of a dead city with a 30-floor drop to a concrete bed below. Standing on top of it felt epic. The wind whipped through past her, hugging her body with awesome force. The sunset in the distance looked like every travel blogger photo ever, the ones that only seem to happen for beautiful people. It was great until she stepped off the edge. She, of course, hit the ground with a dull thud and popped like a water balloon. There wasn’t as much blood as there were just bits of her body, all cooling on the cement. Consciousness came back surprisingly fast which led to the freakish experience of watching her body parts crawl across the cement and slowly re-assembled. Sunset seemed like a good time to say bye-bye and take the plunge. She regretted it when she had to spend the night slowly growing a body on a deserted street, in the middle of a dead city, with nothing moving in the darkness, without being able to move, and no way to scream and no one-. If she was being honest, that one did some damage. Just a little. When she was fully healed, she couldn’t muster the courage to stand up straight. Her body was fine but every time she’d get too far from the ground or looked at the sky, everything started spinning and the sky looked untethered. She’d end up hugging the ground, bloody nails dug into the ground, and keening like an abused animal. But she didn’t give up. It took a few days of crawling on bloody hands and feet, but she finally moved on to her other attempted suicides. Next was drowning. Walking into the ocean with the express purpose to kill yourself required a lot of determination. Every time she made it below, she’d float to the surface, ass first. Frustrated, she managed to stay under when she weighed herself down with a rock and a huge wedding dress. Except she’d die and then come back to life which left her stuck with saltwater in her eyes and mouth and nose. In between deaths, she’d chew through the rope until she finally drifted to the top only to witness a ship wreck itself on the beach while she bobbed quietly in the water. Hanging; she should have learned from the drawing. Unfortunately, she’d come back to life, flail around for an embarrassingly long time, and then die again. Starvation; definitely the hardest one. She actually never managed to succeed in this one. She banged her head open, didn’t drink water for weeks, and wrecked herself in a car crash – nothing could kill her and keep her dead. Which led her to the present – chewing on a stale chocolate bar, her dirty feet gripping the hot tar road that would only lead to another ghost town. It took her 3 days of stumbling through quiet woods to find the main road of the new town. Cars and corpses littered the road. She paused, resting her chocolate-covered hand on her bare belly, chewing with her mouth open. Should she say a prayer? Who would she pray to? Maybe these people weren’t religious and her praying would somehow make a mess of their afterlife. A few minutes of thinking later, she continued, weaving through the wrecks, eyes steadily ahead while she chewed on her chocolate bar. It’s funny. She’d become immortal just in time for the world to end. She wasn’t a believer in any type of higher force but she had to admit there was a certain amount of irony to having everything die not long after the first immortal was created. Instant karma. Imagine her shock when she left Eternal Life Industries – a big company with big dreams of, as the name suggests, eternal life – only to find that everything had gone to shit in the 10 seconds it took her to sign out at the reception desk and exit the big glass doors of the high rise. There was no warning. People and animals just dropped like puppets with their strings cut. Nothing left but slack jaws and shit and piss. She didn’t remember much of those first few days, to be honest. She finally ‘woke up’ in a small flat where she was painting her body with hot pink paint. Dazed, she’d cleaned up the strange place, apologised to the stiff older lady in the recliner for getting paint on the carpet, took a shower, and left.
Her mission wasn’t always to kill herself. At first, she looked for other survivors. She travelled, by car or foot, looking for anybody alive. She paused in front of a clothing store, her naked visage reflected in the window. Her reflection took off a backpack, took out a new chocolate bar and stuffed the old wrapper in with the rest. The bag crinkled as she slid it onto her back. She stopped wearing clothes at some point, opting instead to go naked. She had a pink poncho for when it got cold. She cuddled under it at night, usually in some store or hotel. The houses were too creepy. She gave one last look at her reflection, posed, nodded, and moved on. The world ending had its blessings. Global warming might not be a thing anymore. There were no more food shortages. No fighting or racism or hatred. No animals were being abused. She had no tan lines. She dumped the trash from her backpack into the recycle bin and scanned the town around her. Lots of UFO and spaceship posters. There was even a big UFO above a cute diner, the reflective surface blinding under the noonday sun. Two little green aliens stood on the edge, both holding a peace sign and tipping little cowboy hats. The town really stuck to an aesthetic. She was tearing open another chocolate bar when it hit her. There might not be any life left on Earth. She took a big bite, chewing slowly. But there could be somewhere else. She could get on a spaceship, one of those new easy ones that were always in the news for heralding the start of commercial space exploration. Her chewing sped up as her thoughts raced. She could take one and look for other living beings. She inhaled around the chocolate, eyes wide. She was made for space exploration. She was sociable and could easily make new friends. She could try strange new foods and maybe even have a scandalous affair. There might be planets with cats – or something similar. It wouldn’t bother her if the creatures looked strange. Her mother raised her right and for all she knew, they could think she was the nasty-looking one. But she could win them over. Her sense of humour was universal. She was a nail tech, dammit! She could talk to anyone. She was pretty sure the biggest trouble for humans and space travel was time – something she now had a lot of. The idea lasted a full 5 minutes before fizzling to death. She could probably find the spaceships but she doubted flying them would be as easy as pressing ‘ON’ and putting it into first gear. And that didn’t even start on the issue of navigation and fuel. She stopped, rolling her calloused foot on a piece of gravel. Or bone. She loved art and making people feel good in their own skin. She knew how to get oil from mechanics’ hands without stripping the skin dry and could make a stiletto nail sharp enough to cut steak with. She knew where her talent lay and it wasn’t in a control room with buttons that read three or four different languages. But her eyes were glued to the library in the centre of the town. It was ridiculous. Completely insane. It didn’t stop her from entering the library and finding the educational section. She grabbed a couple of books and settled down. Even if it was a foolish hope, it was still hope.
The library became her sanctuary. Books on aviation, physics, time and space travel surrounded her like towers. Between them were notebooks – pages and pages scribbled with everything she could figure out, which was almost nothing. She tossed her notebook into a tower of books she didn’t understand, stormed outside, drew a massive breath and screamed at the top of her lungs. Panting, she listened to it echo into the night. Nothing stirred. She looked back to the towers of books. She had no idea what most of them were talking about. There were theories and principles that required years of experience and training. Trying to figure it out was physically hurting her brain. She wouldn’t be surprised if these theories were the thing that finally got her to die and stay dead. She sighed. She needed to get back to the basics. And she needed some erotica. She went to the nearest primary school and found whatever she could. Introduction books on maths and science. No smut here, except one battered Mills and Boons book in a teacher’s drawer. It wasn’t her usual type. She flipped through the pages, glimpsed the word ‘shaft’ and stuffed it into her new Barbie backpack. She didn’t look around too much. After that, she raided the high school for any science and maths textbooks. Her last stop was the big town university, a place that specialised in all the sciences. There were so many bodies. “I’m sorry!” She hissed as she jerked a book loose from a very dead student’s hand. With a crack, the book and hand broke off the student’s prone body. She let out a soft scream before throwing the book and hand away. She spent her days reading everything she could get her hands on and doing sums she never in a million years thought she would be able to do. It didn’t come easy. Most nights she’d start crying before taking a designated screaming session, where she walked and screamed and crawled and bawled. But she always came back. When it was time for a break, she’d curl up with a good adventure or romance novel. It became a sort of ritual, reading and crying while inhaling whatever chocolate she could find. The need for physical touch became almost painful. Once, while gathering canned food in a convenience store, she’d head a shuffle behind her. She’d stopped and looked at the body behind her with wide eyes. “Hello.” She whispered to the body. Nothing. She moved closer, ignoring the exposed flesh as she knelt next to what looked to have been an old woman. “You don’t have to be scared of me.” She put a hand on the woman’s forehead and watched with horror as the skin sloughed off. It wasn’t the last time she’d talk to the dead.
Time was strange when it no longer mattered. After about 1000 sunsets, she finally gathered up the courage to fly a small plane. Not surprisingly, she crashed spectacularly and discovered a new type of hell – burns. The burns hurt more every day and oozed pus and clear liquid. All. The. Fucking. Time. When she walked, she had to waddle while keeping her arms and legs spread like some kind of roasted penguin. It took almost two weeks to heal. Two weeks in which she refused to fly and accepted her fate as a lone woman. She crashed the second, third and fourth time too. She explored other towns, all offering their own information – especially about where those commercial ‘Ships to Space’ were. It was at one of those towns that she found a truck the size of a small house. She loaded it with all the snacks and food she could find, threw on a hot pink poncho for the cold and ploughed through the clogged streets and off-roaded whenever necessary. The corpses were mostly bone at this point, which made it easier to drive over them. Green showed up all over, breaking through concrete and buildings. She knew enough about biology to know that because all animal life had died out, planet Earth was in for a very wild ride. She didn’t know what stage this was. Was all like, including bacteria, gone? What did that mean for the planet? How were things still growing or was everything running on borrowed time? The truck bounced along as she gazed around, her homemade bejewelled pilot’s licence hanging swinging from the rear-view mirror. And then the airstrip was in front of her. She’d given up on Earth so quickly, without really giving it much thought. There were other continents with billions of other people. There might be a reason as to why the rest of the world hadn’t come here to see what the hell was going on and to check what survived, if anything. She couldn’t leave without making sure she was alone. Before she move on, she’d give herself the time to explore Earth. And when she found others, she’d decide what to do then. If there really was no one left… Then she’d leave.
“Houston, we have a problem.” She called over the intercom. She giggled in excitement before adjusting her newly cut hair. She checked herself in the mirror, repeated the words again, and nodded. Perfect. She adjusted her spacesuit and stomped her big white boots. The shoes were covered in flowers, hearts and stars. “Are you ready?” Calicifer called over the speakers. “Coming.” She yelled, checking everything for the last time. Calcifer’s voice was still too robotic but she couldn’t figure out how to get the speech to smooth out. She stopped by the threshold and looked back at the office that has been her home for the last 30 years. The 60 or so before that was filled with countless expeditions and even more mental breakdowns. She flicked her braid over her shoulder, shut the door, and moved on. Calcifer called out all the technical jargon that she now handled with ease. She moved through the motions, putting away everything she needed and double-checking everything else. She’d studied as much as she could and crash landed countless times and rehearsed take-off thousands of times. She was as prepared as she possibly could be. Strapped down, she shrugged her shoulders, trying to get comfortable. “Let’s do this!” She sang and Calcifer laughed. Her whole body was trembling with excitement. She took a deep breath as the tremors started below her feet and then moved to everything around her. Her exile would end today. She secured her headpiece and distantly heard Calcifer moving down a checklist, reporting that everything was good. She could hear her heartbeat in her ears. Hopefully, there are cats on other planets. She held on with clenched hands as the energy built around her. And some good food. She took a deep breath. Maybe she’d make friends. She closed her eyes. And find some love. “Blast off!” Calcifer called. And they did.
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it at the bottom of the ocean by jr mercier, jr mercier short story, jr mercier
The brilliant green forest danced around her.
She put one dirty foot down, the cold dirt a soothing balm to her bleeding soles. One foot after the other. One step after the other. An unsteady march as she focused on the rhythm. Further and further away from the tar demarcation that now cut her off from that cruel world behind her. Smoke blanketed the sky at her back.
The forest got thicker and every step had leaves brushing her naked and dirty skin, like millions of little hands reaching out, gently kissing her skin with cool lips. Flowers puffed pollen and artful scents. But all she could see in this green paradise was the red on her body. The red staining her hands, the red on the leaves that she left behind her. The leaves ripped from their choirs to be nothing but a canvas for her horrors.
The ground gradually rose up, the sentinel trees no longer singing. They watched her pass between them, ancient and Other.
She dug her bloody hands into the ground, the smell of fresh earth rising as she ascended the hill. She heaved and pulled and climbed and moved through the trees, trying to reach the top. There was an
The sentinels started reaching for her, scratching at her skin, trying to hold her back.
But for all their reaching, she moved past them, breath sawing in and out of her ruined chest.
Finally, when the trees were so high they disappeared into clouds and the world around her flickered with wings and hidden eyes and long fingers, only then did she reach the top.
She gazed at the trees behind her and the open heavens above her.
And the abyss before her.
jr mercier, a short story
A gust of wind rattled the trees behind her, their creaking and moaning a symphony of sorrow for the girl that gazed at the abyss with longing. But they didn’t move and the faces and wings they sheltered didn’t either, their curious eyes on her as she walked to the edge.
A loose rock tumbled over the jagged edge. It was so dark she couldn’t see the bottom.
She threw her head back, her stiff muscles protesting. But she drew in a deep breath, spread her arms wide and dropped over the edge, into the yawning darkness.
Air rushed past her, taking her breath with it. The cliff face came alive, the stone wall roaring and reaching for her but she was too far. And then darkness enveloped her, folding her in its cool embrace.
The darkness was obsolete, a cacoon of nothingness. Until one little light sparked.
It rippled, moving through all the colours of the rainbow and then to colours she had no names for. It shone quietly, one spot of light like a beacon in the dark.
Beside it, another star came to life. Then another. Another. All around her, the dark came alive with winking stars until she was hanging in a midnight sky.
Whatever held her vanished and she started falling again, the stars nothing but slashes of light as she plunged down the abyss again.
She had just enough time to see an ocean that glowed with blue fire before she crashed through the frigid surface. The cold stole the breath from her lungs and waves knocked her around, dragging her deeper as she fought to swim to the surface. But she was sinking.
There were waves under the water, cresting under the surface.
She watched a wave, its fiery surf towering over her. The fire moulded into a horse with a rider that had no head, a girl in a dress running with horror on her face, an old man picking a flower while a mushroom cloud bloomed behind him, and a dragon that roared. The wave broke and the dragon crashed over her, its watery teeth dragging her down to the dark depths of the ocean floor. The dragon darted away, watery tail sparking with rainbows.
The ocean around her settled and the blue fire calmed.
She closed her eyes and inhaled the salty water, cold hands digging into the ocean floor. The sand sifted through her fingers. For a second, nothing moved. No sound invaded her senses. Until-.
“Children of sorrow are my favourite.”
Her eyes shot open. There was a head the size of a mountain before her. The head’s chin rested on hands so big they could crush a city. Hair that was the same blue as the ocean drifted around its head, reaching all the way to the surface. Its eyes were big and kind but its mouth… Its mouth was stretched into a grin that made her shiver.
She slowly sat up. Its enormous pinky twitched, birthing another wave with stories at its head.
“What are you?” Her words were lost in the ocean water but it must have been heard because its smile stretched even wider. Its mouth was so red. It made her want to retch.
“I am nothing.” Its head cocked, hair undulating with the movement. “But you are a child of sorrow.”
“Child of sorrow?” She asked, her voice lost in the water. “That sounds about right.”
It nodded, hair rippling with glowing light. “Sorrow was your last birth so that you shall be. A child of sorrow.”
She was quiet for a bit. “I don’t want to be a child of sorrow.”
“We are all children of sorrow, at some point or another.”
jr mercier, a short story
She frowned and looked up at the unnaturally red mouth. ”Even you?” She looked at its hair, the sheer size. “Even gods?”
“Maybe to your kind I am a god but not to mine.” It paused, another world’s history playing in that one movement. “And even gods are children of sorrow, them more than most.” Its smile stretched more, showing rows and rows of too sharp teeth. “What do you want, child of sorrow?”
“What do I want?” She asked.
“Yes. What do you want?”
“I don’t know.”
“Think less and feel more. What do you want?”
She thought of the burning world she’d left behind and her bloody footprints. “I want a new life and not the one I was given.”
“You are no longer alive, child of sorrow. What do you want in death?”
Her face crumpled but her tears were washed away as soon as they came. Her skin burned at the memory of hands she had not invited. Her eyes ached with the remembrance of the tears she had cried as the world ate her up and spat her out over and over again. It washed over her like acid and she scratched her skin.
“I never stopped fighting.” She declared, opening her blood fist. Not even the ocean had enough water to wash her clean. “But that doesn’t feel like much of virtue now. It just feels like I prolonged the inevitable.”
It didn’t say anything, only smiled with sharp teeth.
She never stopped fighting. But for what? Where did it take her? To a cliff with jagged rocks and memories that would never leave, no matter how many lives she lived. Her body started sinking into the sand, slowly eating at her legs. Blood moved through the water. What did she want?
“What were you looking for when you stood at the edge of the abyss?” It asked her. She drew a watery breath and locked eyes with the head before her. It was patient, waiting with its eerie smile.
“I didn’t want to fight anymore.” she whispered. A confession. A plea.
Its grin stretched from ear to ear. One massive hand lifted, moving an ocean of water as it grabbed her. Its other hand braced on the ocean floor, lifting clouds of sand. And then they were shooting up, trailing bloody water. Whips of glowing hair trailed behind them as it unfolded to its full height. It flattened its hand and she gingerly stood up, eyes on the glowing ocean of waves around them. She looked away from all the stories they showed. To watch them all would lead to madness.
It grinned at her and she gazed back, waiting.
“What now?” She asked, wringing her now clean hands.
“To exist is to fight.” It grinned at her and she gazed back, waiting. “For water, food, shelter, affection, rights – there will always be something to fight.”
“Can’t I stop existing?” She begged.
“The matter that makes up you was there when the universe drew its first breath and it will be there when it takes its last.” It brought her closer. “There is no choice but to exist. But I can give you some rest until you are ready to start a different story. ”
It opened its huge mouth, the ocean glow sparking off its razor-sharp teeth. It swallowed her in one bite.
***
jr mercier, a short story
The trees swayed in the wind, dancing to their song. A song of sorrow for the sentinels lost and eternal hope for the ones still to be born. Their song played, as it has for aeons, and they swayed. They danced as a small body drifted gently down between their branches. She was laid down between their roots, her eyes closed and her lips blue.
The sentinels bowed their branches and swayed as the sun set. Then rose. Again and again and again.
They danced while her skin disappeared under slow creeping moss and then blades of grass. Until a small bud dropped onto her mossy chest and took root. They danced as a little sentinel yawned awake.
It At The Bottom Of The Ocean by JR Mercier, a short story
I don’t remember what you fought about, and I don’t think she would remember either. I doubt you do.
We were all in the kitchen, with the big black marble counter.
She’d bake cookies on there, frantic energy rushing everywhere as she tried to combat her unemployment. We’d walk to stores, arms full of little bags she painstakingly tried to make pretty and fancy. Something stores would sell.
Only one store took up her cookies. I don’t think it helped. But she tried.
That Time You Choked Her by JR Mercier
It’s only now, years later, I see that she never loved you. She was a mother and I was a mouth to feed. She was an animal, trapped by an instinct stronger than love or fear, the instinct to survive and protect her young. So she stayed for the shelter and food but she was wild and it bled everywhere she walked, leaving streaks on the walls, on my skin and yours. Maybe she loved the blood because it was the release of all she bottled.
Her eyes would glisten when that wildness got close to the surface. The whites of her eyes would bleed to a tainted gold. It’s what I pictured Otherness to be, that possessed and intense gleam.
That day, you were picking at the cuts she suffered on her soul. Pulling at the scabs, rubbing salt in her wounds. You always held laughter close in your cruel eyes, revelling in her pain. She held back because she knew you had the power. How would she provide for her cubs without money? How would we survive in the concrete jungle when all she had to her name was trauma and love for the wrong people?
She kept her mouth shut, strong back bowed, while despair crept into her being. It was becoming easier to surrender, to lower her head and let the hands force her down.
She was already so low, her yellow eyes haunted by the gold used to be.
But
You
Kept
On
Picking
jr mercier, short story
Her soul burst forth, a thing of old gold and stained glass windows filled with the raging faces of all the women she played for years. They chanted songs of fury and mocked your paper gods and false power and peeled open your eyes, forcing your bleeding eyes to confront the truth of her Everything. Everything you would never be or would never be able to possess.
It terrified you. Here was a god in the flesh, and she was bigger than your church.
Your cheeks shook in anger and your fingers, those fat ugly things, wrapped around her throat and when her breath was forced out, so was the gold.
You reduced her to a weak, begging thing.
You put her in her place, didn’t you? You made sure to knock her to the ground so that she would be where she belonged. The proper height to bow, to suck dick, to look up at you while you played king of the mud.
You never noticed her clenched jaw or her heaving chest.
I was stuck in a corner, held back by young bones and a soul trying to grow. I couldn’t help her. I was so young and even then, you had a hold on me. Your sentences wrapped like steel links around me, making me heavier and smaller. Keeping me grounded.
Brother was there, rushing down the stairs, bringing with him wrath that made the air tremble, for he was also part of her. He dragged you off her and she was lying there, gasping for breath, and you were screaming as brother’s arm lifted and dropped. Again and again and again. You screamed, shrill like a pig and my heart soared. For that one second, the king of the mud could not hold us.
Do you know what breaks my heart the most? Even then, while you were being hurt and I know part of her loved it, she clutched brother’s arm.
“Stop.”
jr mercier short story
She was a mother and we needed that food. That shelter. If this had been a different time and she’d been a different animal, she would have torn the flesh off all the Yous. She would have savaged the creatures that tried to hurt her or her children.
But it wasn’t a different time and we were stuck. She lifted you, stroked your arm. She led you upstairs and made sure your eyes didn’t stray to me or brother. Your voices became softer, her gentle crooning drifting down the stairs. She didn’t dare look back at us.
I don’t remember her coming down again that day.
The next day she was making cookies again. Her frantic energy was dulled and her movements were slow, tired. Her tainted gold only a faded yellow.
Something in me changed the day you choked her.
I did not inherit money or a home filled with sunshine and laughter. I inherited her trauma. You smothered her power and made me afraid of mine.
It’s been years and here I am, in a different time. A time of change.
that time you choked her by jr mercier, jr mercier short story jr mercier
I am not able to build up what you caused me to lose and even if I could, I wouldn’t. Nature is about change and those stained glass windows and old gold no longer make me a church. Steel lines my spine. Stained glass is at the ready in my hands. That old gold so weary in her eyes now gleams in mine.
The next time you choke a woman, feel my breath on your neck. Feel my bared teeth and know that I have no mouth to feed and nothing to lose.
That Time You Choked Her by JR Mercier
I am my mother’s daughter and I am the consequences of your fear.
Lida’s eyes burst open. Her heart was pounding and the air felt electric. Like a cornered animal, she didn’t move, hyper aware of her surroundings. Darkness surrounded her and in that darkness she felt something.
Her eyes flitted from the shadowy shapes of her desk and clothing rack, from her book case to the full-length mirror that always reflected the moonlight. Nothing moved.
Still, she waited and slowly her eyes adjusted. The light from the moon finally brought some reprieve from the darkness.
She exhaled in relief.
Something inhaled behind her.
With a yell, she shot out of bed and rushed to the light switch. Light exploded, bringing all her mismatched furniture to life in an instant. Panting, she scanned her surroundings but no monsters or weirdly shaped shadows charged her. All was normal.
Lida looked at the little clock flashing by her bed. 03:34 am was flashing in little red numbers. She groaned as her fear was quickly replaced by well placed fury.
“It’s 3:30 in the morning!” She yelled, threatening finger slashing through the air. “I don’t need this kind of hostility in my home.”
Dead silence greeted her.
Sleep wasn’t an option, not with her ghostly visitor hovering around. Instead, she grabbed a book and settled on her little threadbare couch. It was in the corner and kept the wall to her back. From there she could keep an eye on her room. The spine of her book cracked and she yawned as she waited for dawn.
Moonlight JR Mercier
***
“My house is haunted,” Lida announced later that morning at work. She was stirring her 7th cup of coffee and was in danger of having a permanent scowl etched on her face.
“We should get an ouija board and see who it is.” Florence said, dark eyes dancing. Florence was way too excited about her little home invasion.
“Or what it is.” She grumbled. She rubbed her forehead and sighed. Being this worked up wasn’t good for her or anyone around her. “Whatever it is, it needs to leave. I’m not good at sharing.”
“Technically,” Florence started, with the tone of voice she used when shining light on things Lida would rather ignore. “The ghost isn’t the intruder. You are.”
She took a sip of her coffee. “I’m not the intruder. I pay the rent.” She was too tired to deal with this. “I can’t help that some ghost dropped it’s metaphysical anchor on my house.”
She put her coffee down, with a little more force than was necessary. “This has been going on since I moved in. It’s time for my ghost visitor to move on.”
Florence slapped the table, drawing the reproachful eyes of the other patrons. Lida glared at them and they all hastily turned away. I really am a beast today, she thought.
“That’s it!” Florence was positively glowing. “You know that’s always what they do in shows and books. The spirit has unfinished business, and you have to help it move on so it can go into the light and find peace.”
“I don’t think that applies to everyone.” Lida scowled. “And I’m pretty sure it’s a demon, not some spirit that needs to find peace.”
“Why do you think it’s a demon?”
“It keeps me from sleeping and breaths down my neck.” She took another sip of coffee. “That’s on par with eating children.”
“It really isn’t.”
“It’s a demon, I’m telling you.”
Florence shrugged. “Maybe you are supposed to bring it over to the light?”
She guffaws. “I don’t think I’m the best choice when it comes to bringing people over to the light.”
Most days Lida was more akin to a porcupine than a human being.
She shifted in her seat and cleared her throat. There was no use bemoaning the way she was. The world offered too many sharp edges, so she made sure to line her skin with steel. But she did wonder, when it was dark and she was alone, if maybe she was so busy dodging the sadness that she completely missed all the happiness.
Florence furrowed her dark brows, tapping her chin. “I do think you should try to talk to it.”
Lida sighed. “Fine. But if it’s a demon, I’m sending it your way.”
Florence giggled. “Deal.”
***
It was 02:43 AM and Lida was on her bedroom floor, her eyes shut. She had tried sleeping earlier but the second she closed her eyes, her heart started beating out of her chest. She had sat up, trying to ignore the shadows and the mirror, but the more time she spent in the dark, the more sinister it all started looking. She’d put her light on and it hadn’t been off since.
She looked around her bedroom and croaked out a soft, “Hello?” She rolled her eyes.
“Hello!” She winced as her voice bounced around her room. She kept still and waited but there was only silence.
When she finally gathered some courage, she pulled open all the curtains, switched off the lights and rushed back to her spot on the floor. She waited.
With the lights off, the moonlight lit everything softly. She didn’t look anywhere for too long because shadows came alive in the night time.
Let’s try this again.
“Hello. My name is Lida.” She cringed. This is so embarrassing.
“I’m your roommate, I guess.” She paused, straining to hear anything. “I feel like we’re experiencing a little clash of personalities and I really don’t want to come home to bad vibes.”
Silence.
“I was wondering what I can do to help you move on.” She continued. “I could send a letter to a family member or help you deal with the trauma of being dead…” Lida trailed off, very aware of the fact that she was a grown woman talking to air in the middle of the night.
“You know what? Forget what I said. I think I’ll just get holy water and a water gun.”
Popping to her feet, she started moving to put on the lights.
The unmistakable sound of a powerful exhale came from behind her.
She spun around and watched in horror as letters started appearing on her now foggy floor-length mirror. Hot and cold all over, Lida forced herself to take tiny steps forward until the sharp lettering was legible.
‘You need to work on your dancing.’
Horror filled her and it wasn’t because she was actually talking to a ghost. Instead, she thought of all the nights she spent flailing around in her room, desperately trying to tire herself out.
“Already you can’t be trusted.” She said, trying to keep her cool. This was definitely a demon. “My dancing is a work of art.” It really wasn’t but she couldn’t let the embarrassment lie. Nothing new appeared and indignation rose.
“Who are you to talk?” she sputtered. “All you can do is dodge air currents.”
As soon as the words left her mouth, she drew back a bit. Insulting a ghost. Really? Is that how far I’ve fallen?
A hum moved through the air, playing softly over her skin. It felt like little…
“Are you laughing?” She asked, eyes wide.
‘Yes.’ Appeared in the mirror. ‘You’re very funny.’
Grinning, she said, “Thank you.”
Maybe she was finally losing her mind, but she sat down in front of the mirror. All she could see was her own reflection.
“So, ghost, how did you die?” she blurted out.
There was another hum of laughter and then words started crawling across the mirror.
‘Who says I am dead?’
“I knew it!” She exploded, not seeming all that bothered. “You’re a demon.”
The hum again. ‘No, not a demon.’
“That’s exactly what a demon would say while trying to steal my immortal soul.”
‘I don’t think you have to worry about that.’
“Then what are you?” She asked, only a little anxious.
The words were coming slow. ‘The stars. The moon. The night sky.’
“That sounds very complicated.” She chuckled. “If you don’t need to move on then that makes my job a lot easier.”
There was no reply for a while and then, ‘I need help falling asleep.’
Her grin slowly faded. “That sounds ominous.”
‘I need to fall asleep but I find myself clinging to this place.’ There was a pause. ‘And these people.’
“I could sing you a lullaby.” She offered. Her visitor hummed.
After a bit of silence, she finally asked. “Do you have to sleep?”
‘Someday, yes.’ The hum again. ‘Until then, I would like to dance with you.’
She sighed heavily before standing up. “Fine.” She moved to her bedside table. “What would you like to listen to?”
She turned to the mirror.
‘Something that will make me happy to be alive.’ it wrote.
She paused before looking away quickly. “Happy to be alive. Got that.” The words were soft.
She selected a song and then moved closer to the mirror but more words appeared.
‘I can dance with you.’ A light touch feathered across her shoulder. ‘I am all around you.’
She nodded before moving into the middle of the room. She didn’t wonder about how comfortable she felt or that she didn’t shrink away from the feather-light touches. All she did was dance, moonlight her companion and a hum of joy in the air.
When she went to bed she kept the lights off. This time, she didn’t mind the darkness.
***
Lida’s life was changed. She was always tired at work and Florence worried, but she looked happy so Florence let her be.
Everyday, Lida would rush home, eat some food and wait for nightfall. Her nights were filled with dancing, reading and talking about everything and nothing.
Her companion didn’t have a name, so she chose one.
“Moonlight.” She stated, triumphant.
The answering hum of laughter shook the house. ‘I would love to be your moonlight.’
Days turned into weeks. And then months. She didn’t tell anyone, not even Florence. How did she explain what her life had become? How did she explain that when she was with Moonlight, she wasn’t just Lida. She was Lida millions of years ago, nothing but stardust and emotion. She knew it sounded ridiculous so she kept quiet.
Moonlight seemed to guess this.
‘Do you have friends, Lida?’ Moonlight wrote one day.
She laughed and even to her, it sounded a little bitter. “I do. Good ones.”
‘Then why are you so lonely?’
She knew Moonlight didn’t mean to hurt her but her heart ached all the same. “I don’t know.” She paused. “I think I might be a little broken. I want to live my life but I’m-.” She cut off.
Moonlight finished her thought. ‘You are afraid of it.’
Her voice was barely above a whisper. “Yes.”
Moonlight never brought it up again and she carried on. Every morning she patted on makeup to cover her bruised eyes, downed her coffee, and counted down the minutes till the sky was dark and she’d be wrapped in it’s embrace again.
Moonlight by JR Mercier short story
Moonlight by JR Mercier Short Story
***
“I’m sorry, Florence. I really need to get a good rest in.”
She paused, clutching the phone to her ear. “I know I haven’t been out much. I’ll come through next time, I promise.”
Behind her, the mirror made it’s signature squeak. She didn’t look. “I know I said I’d come this weekend. I’m-.” She jerked the phone away, dumbfounded. “She hung up on me.”
She flung the phone on her bed, biting her nail. Finally, she turned to the mirror.
‘You should go with your friends.’ it read.
“You are my friend.” She stated, folding her arms. “And we have catching up to do. You didn’t come last night.”
There was a long pause before letters started appearing. “I think it’s time for me to go to sleep.’
The words sank like stones in her gut and she rushed forward, gripping the mirror. “Don’t you dare.” All she saw was her blurred face through the smudges on the surface. “You said you wanted to stay.”
‘I can’t control it.’
She wrenched away. “Don’t lie!” She took a shuddering inhale. ‘‘You can control when you go.”
No new words appeared.
“Moonlight?” Silence greeted her. “MOONLIGHT!” When there was no reply, she shoved the mirror. It fell to the side and dropped with a crash. Cracks shot through the surface and glass dropped to the ground.
Cold shot through Lida as she dropped to her knees. “No. No.” She started picking up the pieces, trying to put them back. The glass cut into her skin but she didn’t notice. The thought of never having Moonlight near her again… it was unfathomable.
“I was never in the mirror, Lida.”
She froze, suddenly aware of warm soft light all around her. The voice that spoke behind her… it couldn’t be. She jumped up and spun around.
“Moonlight?” she gasped.
“It’s me, Lida.”
Shaped like a tall human, Moonlight was bright, casting a soft glow on everything around her. Moonlight towered over her, every movement scattering the shadows of her room.
A glowing hand reached forward, hesitating before her bleeding hand. “May I?”
She nodded, breathless. She braced for the touch to burn but Moonlight’s hand was warm like hot chocolate on a cold day and blankets that smelled of loved ones. Her bloody hand was lifted and she watched in astonishment as her wound knitted back together, leaving clear skin covered in blood.
“How?” She asked, voice hoarse.
Moonlight’s head lowered, ignoring the question. “Care to dance?”
When she nodded, Moonlight pulled her into the center of the room and behind her, soft music started playing. Moonlight drew her even closer, until she was completely enveloped in warm light. She closed her eyes and dropped her head on Moonlight’s chest. Through her eyelids, the soft glow still followed her, banishing the cold from her blood.
For a while, there was nothing in the universe but them.
“I haven’t felt your hum in a while.” Her voice was soft.
jr mercier
The arms around her tightened. “It’s hard seeing one you love suffer.”
Her head shot up. “How could you think I’ve been suffering? I’ve never been this happy.”
Feather-light fingers drifted over her bruised eyes. “You live a half life with me, Lida.” She turned her face away and Moonlight’s hand dropped. “You live only for our time at night.”
“Isn’t that what love is supposed to be?” She demanded. She could feel tears pushing at her eyes. “We live for each other. Where your soul ends, mine continues. Always dancing, always together.”
“Love should never hurt-.”
She wrenched away. “That’s a lie and you know it.” She cried. “Love aches. It aches when we separate and when we come together. It always hurts because we’re so full of-” She sputtered, looking for the right word. “We’re always full of feeling for the other.”
Moonlight stepped forward but she pulled back again, eyes wide. “Stop.” She couldn’t breath. “Why does this feel like a goodbye?”
Moonlight’s arms dropped. “Because it is.” The light seemed to dim and for the first time, Moonlight sounded angry. “My life is over. I am doomed to sleep and forget this world. You said I could control it, but I can’t. I don’t want to leave you but I refuse to let you give your life for a few hours in the dark with me.”
“That is my choice to make!” She yelled but she knew. She could feel it in the air. It felt curiously empty, like most of Moonlight was already gone.
Moonlight stepped closer again and this time, she didn’t move away. “I have been hanging on by a tether for centuries and it was only when I saw you dancing that I realized why I was allowed to stay.” Moonlight’s hands pushed her tears away. “Our time together has given me enough love to nourish me for eternity. I know that we will meet again, maybe as two flowers in a field or stars endlessly circling each other.”
Weeping, she felt a small warm kiss on her forehead.
“Where there is moonlight is where I will be, Lida.” Another small kiss on her forehead. “Now live.”
The light disappeared, taking the warmth with it.
jr mercier
With a shuddering breath, she shot toward her bedroom door, wrenching it open. She thundered down the stairs and out the front door. The night sky beckoned above.
“Moonlight!” She screamed, eyes to the stars above. Her chest felt heavy and blackness was creeping in at the edges of her vision. She dropped to her knees, gasping.
Moonlight by JR Mercier, a short story
“Moonlight.” She begged, but there was no answer.
Moonlight JR Mercier
This story was written for Reedsy’s writing prompt competition. The prompt was Shocking Developments: Write a romance where your character falls in love with the last person they expected to.
