a-writes--sometimes

[a-writes--sometimes]

a writing competition i was going to participate in again this year has announced that they now allow AI generated content to be submitted

their reasoning being that "we couldn't ban it even if we wanted to, every writer already uses it anyway"

"Every writer"?

come on

[a-writes--sometimes]

Trust Me

Is this how Icarus felt? Going from being untouchable one moment to overwhelmed by the burn of melting wax? Plummeting into the ice cold waters below, salt stinging his skin as he sunk lower and lower? A literal fall from grace.

I don’t blame Icarus. I can’t find it in my heart to blame him. Blaming him would mean having to blame myself, and I’m just…not ready to do that yet. So no, I don’t blame Icarus for soaring too high, the taste of freedom is a powerful drug that I too fell victim to. I only wish my fall would have killed me too. Then, I wouldn’t have to deal with this. People tend to have sympathy for the dead. No rest for the wicked, huh.

At least for Icarus, his flight and fall were both short-lived. I got to watch as the empire I put decades of my life into crumbled within months. Oh how the mighty fall. Some would say that I’m to blame, that I ignored all warnings about flying too high. Maybe I did, but none of those warnings came until I was already up in the air. Besides, warnings from vultures praying for your demise don’t hold much weight. 

And vultures they were. As soon as the first crack appeared they started circling. Circling and circling until the perfect moment – my final mistake. My final breath. They struck quick, tearing apart everything and taking what they wanted, what they could. Leaving me to sink into the cold depths of my own personal hell. 

I am not Icarus. People pity Icarus, a teen tasting freedom for the first time, only to be swallowed whole by it. No, people have no pity for me. And they shouldn’t. I may not be ready to fully take on every ounce of blame people lay on me, but I am self aware enough to know that freedom wasn’t what brought me down. Take your pick of whatever deadly sin you want, because any of them could be used to describe me. I know I’m not a good or kind person. I don’t need you or those vultures or anyone else to tell me that. 

But maybe, just maybe, I can convince you that I’m also not a terrible person. No, I'm not going to sit here and feed you sugar coated lies about how I helped people. I’ve lied to enough people about enough things. All I want to do now is tell somebody the truth. How terrible of a person can I really be, if everything I ever did – every lie I told, person I hurt – was all done for love? All I wanted to do was prove to them that I was worthy of their love. I could do what they had done: build myself an empire, a legacy. Yes, my way involved people getting hurt, but honestly, what are a few people compared to a legacy that was going to outlive all of us? I should have known better. Even at my peak, they still didn’t care enough, love me enough. So I told a few lies and brought a few people down with me.

I told you, I am not Icarus. That was a misleading way to start this story. Maybe I should have picked a more apt metaphor, like Achilles refusing to fight until his Patroclus died or Odysseus being the only one of his army left at the end. Maybe both. My hubris led to not only my downfall, but that of those around me. I do not mourn for all whom I hurt, but I do wish I could have spared some. 

I’m not doing the greatest of jobs convincing you, am I? Perhaps I should lay down the shovel and stop digging my own grave. I should just tell you my story, and let you decide whether I am truly to blame for everything. Am I Icarus, victim to freedom? Am I Achilles, victim to pride and love? Am I Odysseus, wise enough to save myself, but not those around me? Or, am I someone else, something else entirely? Do you trust me enough to believe my story? I told you I was done lying, that all I wanted was to tell somebody else the truth. But can you trust that, trust me? Trust is such a fickle thing. Given and taken at a moment’s notice.

Would it make it more convincing if I told you that you should? That I promise everything I’ve said before and everything I’m saying now is one hundred percent the truth? That I swear to be a reliable narrator? Or would you believe me more if I told you that I’m the last person you should trust? I’ve lied and cheated my way through life, why shouldn’t I lie and cheat you? I guess in the end my dear reader, it is fully up to you. Which guard am I? The one who only speaks the truth or the one who only speaks lies? Regardless, what I am going to tell you is my story, what you do with it is your problem. I’ve already dealt with the consequences. However, before I begin, I will ask you one more time. You don’t have to answer yet, and honestly I would prefer it if you didn’t, but I want you to keep it in mind if you choose to continue on.

Do you trust me? Trust everything I am going to tell you?

Whichever way you decide matters not to me. I am going to tell you my story from start to finish, so please, hold all questions until the end. Though, the point of this is to give you enough information that you shouldn’t have any. Either way, let’s begin. My story starts on the day I turned eighteen, and my parents kicked me out. Told me that I could come back when I built something that lived up to their legacy – what should have been my legacy. I’m sure they meant for me to create a business, but starting an illegal underground magic ring would do the same thing, leaving me as the only one history remembered.

Too bad for me though. You know what they say about the best laid plans and good intentions.