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galivantingg · 1 month ago

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A Public Letter to Future Me

Hey there. I’m writing this on Tuesday, November 26, 2019, at roughly 5:50 pm. I’m listening to Fleurie, and I’m in sad boi hours. I’m also avoiding finishing my critical essay for ENGL 1851, my essay for ENGL 1003H, my essay for AHCL 1300 and the review for my culminating task for WRIT 1001 that is tomorrow morning at 10. I played guitar earlier to distract myself, and it worked for a bit. Right now, you’re still upset about Evan. I don’t know if you’ll remember him in about five and a half years, but he was the second guy you slept with. He wormed his way into your heart and then broke it. You’re thinking about a lot of people. You’re thinking Mallery is mad at you, and how you don’t want to lose her. You’re thinking about how Sam almost went for you.

You’re thinking about everything wrong with you. How you don’t know when to be quiet, when to not voice your opinion. You’re a very privileged person and you need to learn that it means you should know when to stay silent, not speak up. People don’t want your opinion, not unless they directly ask for it. Callum said that today in our HIST seminar, and I wrote it in my notes; I might write it on a stickie and post it next to my bed. You need to learn when to shut up. Nobody wants to hear what you have to say just randomly. Only offer things when people ask.

You’re thinking about your body, how much you hate it. You’re wishing you had wider hips instead, like Mal. You’re wishing your stomach was flat. You would’ve gone to the gym tonight but you “have too much work”. The real excuse is that you’re depressed out of your mind, and you don’t want to talk to anyone, be seen by anyone. You don’t want to exist. Instead of working, you spent time scheduling when chapters of Noah would be posted, and now you’re writing this.

I’m not going to make you any promises, because we both know how terrible we are at keeping them. I can’t tell you that it’s going to get better, because it probably won’t. Things are probably going to get worse if I’m being honest. Maybe they will get better, I have no idea. I don’t know anything, which I need to accept. I need to stop pretending I know what will happen because I don’t and never will. You need to get over yourself, you aren’t that special. Your sole purpose in life is to be the supporting character to whoever needs it. And one day you won’t be needed.

So maybe I’m dead when this will be posted. Maybe I already killed myself. I want to kill myself right now. Go drown myself in the tub. Why don’t I do it? I have these stupid delusions that I’m needed and remember I said I live to support others. Maybe Mallery will need me at some point. I can’t see anyone else needing me. Sure I’m nice, I’m supporting, but I’m also crass. I’m ignorant. I don’t realize the impact of my words before I say them. Which is why I need to just shut the fuck up. So maybe I’m dead when this is published, and if I am, I’m sorry Rohan for leaving you. I just thought you didn’t need me anymore, so there was no reason for me to exist.

I’m tearing up now because I’m a weak stupid bitch.

Maybe Noah got published, maybe it has a different title. Maybe it will never be published. It won’t be, it isn’t very good. I want it to be this amazing story about friendship and loss and I want to move people, but I just can’t. I will never be able to. Optimistic pessimist, remember? You expect the best out of people, but also expect the worst. You know that you aren’t important, but you want to believe it so you delude yourself. That’s when you’re happiest. Then you come back to reality and you remember everything wrong with you and realize that no one could like you. I tried being a different person, but I still wasn’t getting the reactions I thought I’d get. But that’s just because you’re ugly on the outside and the inside and people can see that.

You’re not a good liar, you’re terrible at faking something. You delude yourself by saying you want to be more honest so you fake it poorly, but just face it. You were never good at anything. You’re not even a good supporting character. You’re a fucking bystander, just letting shit happen to people and not really trying to do anything about it.

Basically what I’m trying to say is that your purpose in life is to support others, and when no one is left to need you, kill yourself. You’ll save yourself a lot of pain that way. No one will really care for long anyway. Sure it’ll hurt at first, but they’ll get over it. They won’t remember you in five years. Even less. You’re worthless, don’t forget that. And you’re worthless because of who you made yourself into, not because of anything else. You brought this upon yourself.

#personal #November 26 2019 #a letter to my future self #depressing #realistic

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galivantingg · 5 years ago

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I decided to create a masterpost that would help you with what you are struggling with. Hopefully any of the links below will help you! Reminder; You’re going to be okay. What you are going through will pass, just remember to breathe.

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Distractions;

Here are some distractions to help keep your mind occupied so you aren’t too focused on your thoughts.

-Draw something

-This website translates the time into colours.

-Create your own galaxy.

-Play flowing.

-Make a 3D line travel where ever you like.

-Listen to music.

-Calm.

-Ocean mood, do nothing for two minutes.

Sleep issues;

- 8 hour sleep music.

-Rainy mood.

-Meditation.

-Coping with nightmares.

-How to cope with nightmares, 11 steps.

-Calm

-Foods that can affect your sleeping, both positive and negatively.

Uncomfortable with silence;

-Rainy mood.

-10 hours of rain and thunder.

-3 hours of rain and thunder.

-Human heartbeat.

-Rainforest.

-Sound of rain on a tin roof.

-Autumn wind.

-Rain on a tent

-Traffic in the rain.

-Soft traffic.

-Fan.

-Train.

-Simply noise.

-My noise.

-Rainy cafe.

Anxiety;

-How to stop worrying.

-Tips to manage anxiety and stress.

-The 10 best ever anxiety management techniques.

-Self-help strategies for anxiety.

-Helping a friend with anxiety.

-All about worrying.

-8 myths about anxiety.

Sad, angry and depressed/depression;

-“I’m always sad”

-Feeling sad.

-Going through trauma.

-“I’m always angry”.

-Anger management.

-All about anger.

-National helplines and websites.

-Self-help strategies for depression.

-Dealing with depression at work.

-Dealing with depression at school.

Isolation and loneliness;

-Pets and mental health.

-All about loneliness.

-“I feel so alone”

-10 more ideas to help with loneliness.

-How to deal with loneliness.

Self-harm;

-Alternatives to self-harm and distraction techniques.

-146 things to do besides self-harm.

-More alternatives to self-harm.

-Self-harm alternatives.

-How to take care of self-harm wounds/injuries.

-Getting rid of scars.

Addiction;

-How to help a friend with a drug addiction.

-What is addiction?

-All about alcohol and addiction.

-The facts about drug addiction.

Eating disorders;

-Helping a friend with an eating disorder.

-Eating disorder treatments.

-Support services for eating disorders.

-Self-help tips with eating disorders.

-Eating disorder recovery.

-Recovering from an eating disorder.

-100+ reasons to recover.

-Understanding and managing eating disorders.

Dealing with self-hatred;

-3 ways to ease self-loathing.

-How to turn self-hatred into self-compassion.

-Self-hatred resources.

-10 step plan to deal with self-hate.

Suicidal;

-International suicide hotlines (1) (2)

-Preventing suicide.

-Reasons to stay alive.

-Dealing with suicidal thoughts and feelings.

-Coping with suicidal ideation.

Schizophrenia;

-All about schizophrenia.

-Helping a person with schizophrenia.

-Understanding and dealing with schizophrenia.

-Delusions and hallucinations.

OCD;

-Managing your OCD at home.

-Overcoming OCD.

-How to cope with OCD.

-Strategies for dealing with the anxious moments.

Borderline personality disorder;

-Helping someone with BPD.

-All about personality disorders.

-Treatment for BPD.

Abuse;

-Healthy relationships VS abusive relationships.

-Emotional abuse

-Overcoming sexual abuse.

-Hotlines services.

-5 ways to escape an abusive relationship.

-Domestic violence support.

-Signs of an abusive relationship.

-What do to if you’re in an abusive relationship.

-Surviving abuse.

-What you can do if you’re sexual harassed.

-Sexual assault support.

-What to do if you’ve been sexually assaulted or abused.

Bullying;

-How to stand up against bullying.

-How to protect yourself when it comes to cyber bullying.

-How to help stop people bullying you.

Loss and grief;

-How to cope with a suicide of a loved one.

-Grieving for a stranger.

-Common reactions to death.

-Working through grief.

(Other loss and grief)

-Moving away from friends and family.

-Coping with a breakup.

Getting help;

-Seeking help early.

-All about psychological treatments.

-Types of help.

-All about age and confidentiality.

Things you need to remember;

- Don’t stress about being fixed because you’re not broken.

-Remember to remind yourself of your accomplishments. Tell yourself that you’re proud of yourself, even if you’re not.

- This is temporary. You won’t always feel like this.

-You are not alone.

-You are enough.

-You are important.

-You are worth it.

-You are strong.

-You are not a failure,

-Good people exist.

-Reaching out shows strength.

-Breathe.

-Don’t listen to the thoughts that are not helping you.

-Give yourself credit.

-Don’t be ashamed of your emotions, for the good or bad ones.

-Treat yourself the same way as you would treat a good friend.

-Focus on the things you can change.

-Let go of toxic people.

-You don’t need to hide, you’re allowed to feel the way you do.

-Try not to beat yourself up.

-Something is always happening, you don’t want to miss out on what’s going to happen next.

-You are not a bother.

-Your existence is more than your appearance.

-You are smart.

-You are loved.

-You are wanted.

-You are needed.

-Better days are coming.

-Just because your past is dark, doesn’t mean your future isn’t bright.

-You have more potential than you think.

- Your value doesn’t decrease based on someone’s inability to see your worth.

Please remember to look after yourself and know that you are more than worth it and you deserve to be happy. Keep smiling butterflies x

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galivantingg · 5 years ago

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Write competent characters. Write characters who are spectacularly good at what they do. Write necromancers commanding armies of the dead, and fire-mages razing cities to the ground.

But give me a reason to care about who they are, beyond the "badass hero" façade. Have the powerful magician misplace her glasses. Let the saviour of the world slip on a frozen puddle, land on his butt, and get up with a laugh and a bow towards the onlookers. Have their old friends laugh at the hero's quirks and good-naturedly tolerate their flaws. Let the tough-as-nails action heroine have an accidental collection of owl figurines because "someone gave me three of them once and from then on everyone assumed I collect them so they keep giving me owls and now I have 40 of them and they're too cute to get rid of".

Give your hero friends, quirks, and a space that's theirs, where they can drop the work persona in favour of who they really are. Make the story spectacular, but most importantly: make it fun.

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galivantingg · 5 years ago

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You are the Chosen One. The Dark Overlord is currently trying to seduce you to their cause. To their great surprise, you accept almost immediately because you absolutely loathe your job and your companions.

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galivantingg · 5 years ago

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There were about a dozen masked men and women milling about the scene, along with four police cars with two dozen police officers, two ambulances, a fire truck and no less than six news station reporters each giving a brief summary of what had just happened.

What had just happened?

She was still processing it. Everything had happened so fast, and then suddenly it was just quiet. She looked out from her spot leaning against a tree and took in what lay before her eyes. She wasn’t sure if she could trust them anymore, but she allowed them to look anyway. There were two of the Colonels, at least five Majors and she could only spot three Captains at the moment. She was the only Private there. So far none of the news reporters has seen her, else they would be hounding her for a report of what transpired before they got there. Privates were the only Supers that could be approached by the reporters, since their knowledge of things in the Super World is so limited. If the Supers wanted the public to know something then they would tell them, but not the other way around.

She took a shaky breath to steady her nerves, then looked out at the farm house. She started with the grass. It was starting to turn yellow, winter was fast approaching. You could see early morning frost if you looked close enough, and if you listened through all the chattering you could hear it crunching under feet. The air was crisp, little puffs of clouds drifting slowly from mouths then disappearing. Faces were tinted pink around the cheeks, and everyone was bundled up in gloves, scarves and hats to keep the bite of the chill away.

Some of the Supers walking around had capes, the edges snapping slightly with their movements and the wind. In the comic books the superheroes always had brightly coloured costumes, and stood tall and proud. Reality couldn’t be further from the truth. The average height for these Supers was under six foot, and their body types ranged from lanky to muscular. In her opinion, the average height of humans was slowly decreasing. She thought that because she’d rarely see someone over six foot two or three. Even then, that’s rare. People just aren’t as tall as all the books and movies made them out to be. Another thing comic books didn’t prepare young Supers for were the suits. In the comics they look like regular clothes. Well, maybe not regular, but regular enough. Thinner material. In reality, every Super here was wearing at least two layers of thick cloth, along with carbon fibre plating over important organs.

“Hey,” a voice came from behind her. She didn’t show it but she was startled by the sound. She turned around slowly, her movement stiff and mechanical. She was looking right at a cloth and armour plate covered chest, the colour scheme dark and slightly worn. Her eyes slowly and jerkily drifted upwards to see the face attached to the chest and shoulders. His face was not kind, but not unkind. It was open and closed off at the same time, friendly and hostile, warm and cold. His eyes and the bridge of his nose were covered by a thick black mask, and she could see black paint surrounding his eyes underneath the mask. She didn’t say anything. Instead she waited for him to speak again.

“How are you holding up?” What kind of question was that? How is she holding up? She couldn’t answer that. She could barely tell what she was thinking let alone feeling. Besides, she couldn’t exactly get a read on her physical health either. She felt something, but couldn’t pin what it was.

Most Supers look the same. They don’t wear bright colours, it’s not exactly stealthy, so they mostly wear the same four to six muted colours. White not even an option as an accent colour. The last thing they want is to visibly stain part of their suit. It would be like going to work in a business suit with a mustard stain on the lapel. It’s unprofessional. There were some variations in the patterns but it didn’t matter. No bright colours means less options for colour schemes and designs. The public doesn't always know who’s who, and sometimes Supers don’t know who’s who. They have code names of course, prepared for the aftermath, for the reporters, like now, but they use a military ranking system. Once you’re inducted you get a little chip implanted in your wrist that can be updated with personal information. It’s like a key card. It allows you access to certain rooms and areas in the Base, as well as public service buildings. The way the Supers work is they’re like an elite force of security. They can go wherever whenever, with or without a warrant, because their sole purpose is to protect. There’s about thirty Supers active at once, an unknown amount on reserve and thousands applying every day. The police force still exists, but they don’t take anyone with powers, it would be an unfair advantage.

This Super has always stood out to her. Something about him almost scared her. She wasn’t sure if it was in the way he walked, or the emptiness in his eyes. Or the stories she’s heard about him. How he went missing for twelve years, then showed up one day in the middle of the Base, covered in blood and lips sealed tight. Whatever happened to him over those years no one knows. He hasn’t said a word, not even to the General.

He glances down at the ground, as if embarrassed for a second and then looks back at her. “Dumb question, I know, but it’s the only thing I can ask right now.” He looks at her expectantly. She shrugs. He looks past her at the scene before them. She turns back to look out as well. Her mind is still shaken from the events that transpired not long ago, but she was feeling stronger already. Perks of having super healing. Images flashed in her mind, and she closed her eyes to steady herself, lest she spin out of control and tumble over.

It was supposed to be a routine check up.

She is new to the Supers, recently inducted. They gave her an easy first task of stopping by this farmhouse to check in on the man under house arrest here. She didn’t ask what he had done, she didn’t ask anything. You don’t ask when you are given a task by your Sergeant. She assumed since it was her Sergeant who asked, and not someone superior even to them, then it couldn’t be for something big. Oh how wrong she was.

When she arrived, she had a sinking feeling in her gut. Something about the warm light behind the windows didn’t seem right. Everything was just too quiet, too perfect. A smarter Private would have called for backup then. A smarter Private she was not. So she enters the house. The scene she’s met with is horrific. This man, his name Jeffords, was being guarded by three Supers, all unarmed to reduce the risk of Jeffords disarming them. Despite all the precautions taken, including having a mind reading Super on the security detail, they were lying motionless on the floor. She made no noise, stepping silently through the hall, careful not to touch the blood.

Jeffords was sitting in the middle of the living room, which was bare aside from the sparse furniture, and before she could replay the memory of what happened next she was jolted out of her mind by a hand landing on her shoulder. This time she jumped. She looked up and was met by those empty eyes yet again, a shiver ran through her body. She hoped he didn’t feel it.

“By the way, they call me Bandit. You’ve just been reassigned to me, for obvious reasons.” Her eyes widened. She knew his face, recognized his body. But he’s second to the top! Her mind began to wander, as it always does. Was that always his position or did he rise there upon his return? Realizing that she hadn’t reacted yet she nodded shortly. She didn’t feel like talking. Not after what she saw. He seemed to pick up on that and dropped his hand, looking past her again. She followed his gaze and spotted what was keeping his attention. Some of the reporters were glancing over at the two of them, and she knew that soon they would descend upon her. She wasn’t sure what the Colonels had said to the officers and officials, let alone the reporters. She didn’t even know if they could say anything without the General here, that’s how big a deal this had become. How did she get here? She was just a thirteen year old girl, barely in high school and then this?

It was her mom who told her to apply for the Sea of Supers, S.O.S for short. Honestly, she didn’t care about anything at that point, she was just existing, and her mother said that she should put her powers to good use. She has super healing yes, but it’s not just limited to her. She can heal others, and she’s pretty powerful for her age. This power runs on both sides of her family, but somehow skipped her sister and seemed to give her both sets. She had more power than her parents separately. She’s never tested her limits, she’s a little scared to do so, but her grandparents believe she has the power to heal degenerative diseases. That would be cool.

Unfortunately she hasn’t had long to build up a reputation and ask her superiors to test out this theory her family has. She applied two weeks ago, and this was her first, well her first real shift. What a way to start. Could she even call it a shift if this isn’t a job? Well it is a job, but not a standard one. She doesn’t get paid for this, she doesn’t get benefits or discounts or anything. She just gets an increased risk to her life, which honestly she doesn’t think much of at the moment. She’s never been seriously injured, maybe because she’s lucky or maybe because she’s careful, but she knows she has her powers if the need arises. Funny, how the need arose, not for her, but for her to use her powers, and she was unable to use them.

Those images flashed across her eyes once again and she shut them quickly, wishing they weren’t burned into her memory already. She’d have to write everything down then find someone with the power to erase the memory. She wanted to remember, but she didn’t want to see it anymore. She couldn’t stand those images. She wished her eyeballs would melt out of her skull, but even then she knew that she’d still be able to see what had happened.

When she opened her eyes once again, it was to a reporter and crew making their way over to her, a determined look in their eyes. She gulped. Uh oh. She looked up at Bandit, but he was gone, walking quickly away. She wondered if he had left her because he didn’t want to deal with the reporter, or because he knew she could handle herself. Then she began to think that maybe the reporter was coming over because of Bandit, not because of her. She was almost swept away by her thoughts of what happened to him over those twelve years, when he jumped off the ground and took to the sky. She didn’t know he could fly.

“Damn,” she heard from in front of her. She turned her head back to look at the reporter, taking in his appearance. He had sharp features, as well as a sharp look in his eyes. They were dark eyes, glinting mischievously, and heavy lidded. His skin was olive, and tinted pink around his cheeks due to the cold. He stood maybe at five foot seven inches, shorter than her. He had to tilt his head back to look at her properly, which he did now. “You were just with him, can you tell us everything you know about him?”

She shook her head and smiled apologetically, which was almost impossible to see with her full face mask on. “I’m sorry I can’t answer that.” She couldn’t even if she wanted to, she didn’t know much about him. She hadn’t even known his name until just a few minutes ago.

The reporter wasn’t going to give up that easily. If he wanted something, he’d find a way to get it, and at the very least he’d get something no one else had.

“What’s your name? What’s your rank? What can you tell me about what happened here?” He shot off the questions so fast she almost didn’t catch them, and she moved his microphone recording device to her to catch every word she spoke. She opened her mouth to answer them then snapped it shut, remembering protocol. If Bandit wasn’t going to stick around and make sure she doesn’t mess up, and no one else was going to come rescue her, she’d have to be her own hero. Technically speaking, Privates are only allowed to be approached because they don’t know much. This Private on the other hand knew too much. Although no one aside from Bandit had approached her, and he never gave her an order, it was clear that the public was not to find out about this anytime soon, and definitely not from a lowly Private, even if she was the one who discovered the crime scene.

She was powerful enough to be at least a Sergeant at the very least, but what she lacked was knowledge. Her parents had put her in every martial arts and fighting class under the sun since she was four, she wasn’t sure why yet, but she was thankful for it. She had fighting experience, or training at the very least. She’d never had to actually fight someone for real. SHe was physically trained for the title, but not mentally prepared. Plus there was the small matter of her being only thirteen. There is an age expectation for the S.O.S., even for joining. She barely made it in because the minimum age is eighteen.

This is a government run program, if you could even call it that. It was more like an unpaid career. The point is that the government owns and runs this thing, so there are certain requirements. Like being eighteen to join. She still wasn’t sure how her parents managed to sweet talk the CEO of S.O.S., but here she was, much to her chagrin.

She shook her head once again. “I’m a Private, that’s all I can tell you. I’m sorry but I cannot answer any of your questions at this time.” His face fell for a second then he got another determined look on his face. Oh boy, he was not going to give up easily.

“So you’re a Private,” he had a cool look in his eyes which set off alarm bells in her head. “What is your opinion on the ranking system and the restrictions put on the young men and women who join the S.O.S.?”

She was tempted to give him a piece of her mind, not about the ranking system but about how persistent and rude he was being, but kept her mouth shut. “I’m sorry but I cannot answer any of your questions.” Anger flared up in the reporter’s eyes but died down quickly. He still didn’t seem to be backing down. Rude. She was starting to panic, not sure what to do, when she was hit with a sudden sense of calm. She had no idea where it came from but she welcomed it. For the next fifteen minutes the report shot question after question at her, and each time she responded with the same thing she’d been saying the whole time.

She was sure this would go on forever, but finally a car approached. It was low and dark, the glass impregnable, at least to the eye. It drew her attention, so it drew the attention of the reporter too. It clicked in her mind a second before him who this was approaching. The General. She is a legendary woman, feared and loved by most, if not all, and rarely makes physical appearances. This would warrant a physical appearance. She gulped. She did not want to talk to the General, definitely not, and in this moment she cursed Bandit for leaving her alone.

A single black boot, with a foot in it she presumed, made its appearance from behind the car door, there was a pause, and then the rest of the body followed. She had a tall, wide, thick, muscular body, and very light blonde hair. Her eyes were overly large, and her lips plump. She was a very pretty woman, with almost a delicate face that seemed to contradict, well, everything about her. She was wearing loose dark green pants, and a plain olive green tee shirt, like what military personnel in TV shows and movies wear. Around her neck were two dog tags on a single chain. She fit the stereotype very well. This was the General.

A silence fell over the property as the General made her was over to her. She gulped. No thank you, no thank you very much. At all. The reporter began to shoot off questions and heading towards the General, but his cameraman shook his head, grabbed him and tugged him away. The reporter began to protest but saw the look on the General’s face and fell quiet. All this quiet was deafening.

The General came to a stop right in front of her. She looked at her for a few seconds then jerked her head to the side and walked off towards the house. She followed dutifully. The grass crunched under their boots and her cape snapped as she moved stiffly and suddenly. She didn’t know why she had a cape, she can’t fly or jump super high, but she had no say in the costume design. At least it was comfortable. And warm.

Her suit was dark, mostly black with dark purple accents. The cloth was thick and soft, somehow moulding to her body while being lightweight and easy to move in. The double plates of carbon fibre over her torso as well as her forearms and shins was that same dark purple that edged her cape. There was no emblem emblazoned anywhere, and wouldn’t be until she earned her name. Names are not picked by you, but by your superiors. You are known only as your rank until your commanding officer starts to recognize you and comes up with a name for you. You had no say in the matter, and there was no changing it after. She wondered for a second if Bandit had always been his name. He had been missing for twelve years, maybe it had been a different General back then, a different commanding officer. A different man.

She didn’t know when she’d get her name, and until then she was known only as Private. It was very confusing when she was in another room with other Privates as to who specifically was being addressed, so the whole eyes down out of respect was kind of tossed out the window. Respect was shown in the form of how you address someone, what you say, why you say it and when you say it. Her thinking was interrupted by them crossing the threshold of the farmhouse. She had been here just an hour ago and that was too soon. If she never came back here it would be too soon. If she never thought of this place again it would be too soon.

The stench was still there. Warm and metallic. It invaded her senses and threatened to take over but somehow she kept going. The two bodies that were in the front entrance way, about three meters from the door had been moved. The blood was still pooled there. They stepped around it carefully, continuing on to the living room. She wasn’t sure if she was prepared for this yet but it did not matter. It was happening whether she liked it or not, she had no say in the matter.

Jeffords was restrained in a big armchair, which was a little weird to look at. He was not only tied up, but also tied to the chair. If she thought about it, it made more sense then tying him to a kitchen chair which could be more easily broken if enough force was applied. She was sure Jeffords would find a way out of a kitchen chair, he managed to take down three Supers on his own after all. Unarmed.

The three Supers in question were lying side by side in the middle of the living room as if they were on display. She made eye contact with Jeffords and he smiled cruelly. There was blood around his mouth and staining his teeth. She didn’t shudder, but she did feel like throwing up. Small victories. The General stopped walking and stepped to the side, allowing her to stand beside her. As she did, she noticed that they are roughly the same height, she may even be a bit taller than the General. She followed the General’s finger pointing at the Supers laying dead. “Heal them.” It wasn’t an order, it was a command. She wasn’t sure how, but she felt compelled to do it now, despite the fact that they were very much dead.

“I’m not a necromancer,” she replied coolly, but stepped forward anyway and knelt next to the Super on the far left, the one closest to her. This was the one that hadn’t been moved. She knew, the memory of the positions all these men had been in were ingrained in her memory forever. This was the Super Jeffords had been, had been feasting on.

She reached out a hand, grateful she wasn’t shaking. All that discipline must have paid off. She felt her fingers tingle and they shook lightly as the magic streamed out of her and into his ripped-into torso. She knew this wouldn’t work, but she had been commanded. The magic began healing, which didn’t surprise her. She thought her magic might heal what had been broken, regrowing the insides and outsides that had been torn and destroyed. She tried not to gag. Soon enough the flesh was knit back together and the skin was pink and healthy, but his chest still did not move. She looked up at the General with an expression that said ‘sorry, but I was right’. She hated being right.

The General pointed past her to the Super that was laying under her hand. She looked, and for a second her heart stopped. His chest was moving now, rising and falling gently in time with her own lungs.

“Apparently you are. Welcome to the Sea of Supers, Necromancer.”

#writing #em writes #original writing #superhero #hero #plot twist #og writing #pls interact #story #short story #about 4000 words #under 5000

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