the-element-lord-yepthatsme

[the-element-lord-yepthatsme]

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[the-element-lord-yepthatsme]

There's a gem in every book which makes it worth reading, makes it so much more beautiful.

"Except mine." you say.

Do you know how dimwitted you sound, dumbass?

Your book is worth everything.

*Aggressively bear hugs, sends kisses*

[the-element-lord-yepthatsme]

I had blessed each and every one in that family. But they would not understand that I had saved them all.

Every time I blessed one of them, something horrible would happen to them. The last time - when I blessed my newborn nephew - he had caught the cowpox, falling ill; before that, when my mother had been ill and I had blessed her May you live long, she had had a relapse.

What did they know of my visions, my fears?

Before I had seen the newborn of my younger sister, a vision of a child, dying of smallpox had plagued me. My mother's illness had taken a relapse in my visions also... only there she had cancer.

My blessings never harmed them, as far as I knew. I only knew this - whenever I had a vision, it would come true, unless I blessed the person who the vision concerned. The blessing would lessen their pain.

They would live.

But they did not know that; my own mother had cast me out, screaming at me with tears in her eyes; sorrowfully my father had packed my bags for me, and cursing me with his eyes averted my older brother had packed food for me.

They hated me but they could not stop loving me.

They should have called the witch-hunters. It was rare of the hunters to take a child, that too a lad; but I was fifteen; old enough to be held liable. But the witch-hunters were never told, because I was still loved; I was broken by their hate... but so were they.

I murmured a broken apology, a halfhearted goodbye; and then I stumbled away, spirit shattered.

Who would bless me?

For days I roamed, unable to breathe, unable to eat. My brother's packed food rotted, but when I tried to grasp it in trembling hands I could only cry. My bags, containing the few clothes I owned, which none of my siblings would have worn anyway, were untouched; my father's heartbroken gaze appeared in my eyes whenever I looked at the bags.

Even the roads seemed to shout at me, the memory of my mother screaming as I lay on the road ringing in my ears.

So it was that I came to the temple of Hera; Hathor to the Egyptians, Juno to the Romans, Parvati to the Hindus and Izanami to the Japanese; the temple which, despite the work of the plunderers, had held through time. Whenever the witch-hunters or proselytizers would set fire to it, somehow rain would fall and douse it; when they came with pickaxes, they could not even chip it. Once a cannon had been fired at its walls. The cannonball had exploded in the plunderers' faces.

I fell the the floor before the feet of the goddess and sobbed, and right there called her my mother. Crying like a child I lay there, and eventually darkness claimed me.

The next day, when I woke, the statue - twelve feet tall - was gone.

And next to me stood Hera, the mother goddess, and she was angry.

She blazed with a fire so great that it should have boiled me alive, but all I felt was a soft warmth, like a warm hug.

"You are safe," she murmured to me. "Not even Zeus will touch you now."

"Which god do these fools believe in?" she inquired gently.

"God," I whispered. "He who lives in the sky. The lord of everything."

"There is one god who lives in the sky," she smiled lovingly, "And he's my beloved idiot. But let us see." she snarled, and I felt a chill pass through my body. "Apollo might have strength over diseases, but so do I."

Then she murmured a few words and an arrow appeared in her hands, black as death.

"Let us see," she repeated, "Which god saves them now!"

Then she slammed the arrow into the earth, and many miles away, a man began coughing as he descended from a ship, and soon there would be warts on him.

So began the Bubonic Plague.

Cast out by your family, disowned by your mom, you are alone in the world. You stumble into the abandoned temple of a Goddess and in your heart, adopt her as your mother. You wake up the next morning to her leaning over you. "Welcome home, my son."

[the-element-lord-yepthatsme]

Rewriting every single letter of my story because I saw in one of my books that I added an extra space, and now I have crippling anxiety.

[the-element-lord-yepthatsme]

There's a bunch of trees growing outside my house, and they're huge!

That's all. Just wanted to let you know.

[the-element-lord-yepthatsme]

Writer's block, artist's block, maybe just sadness in general. You can't find the strength to make the words flow anymore, huh?

You see some puffed-up, self-important mucker telling you to stop scrolling and get back to writing. Maybe it's your own mind-voice, telling you that you're useless.

Cast both of them out and tell them to shut up, because you got a new voice - that's me.

If you wanna keep scrolling, if that's what makes you happy, scroll.

But I promise you, it's the first word that's the hardest; once you try, not even the gods can stop you.

It's also okay to skip a day. Today can be your cheat day, if you want. It's fine. We'll work real hard tomorrow, okay?

Let me be the voice in your head.

[the-element-lord-yepthatsme]

That book you're writing, maybe it won't reach the whole world, or be the greatest bestseller ever.

But maybe it will.

And even if it doesn't, you might be that writer who sold only one book; but that one book might reach that one person who really needed it.

Even if you can't change the world, you might just change one person, save them.

And I think that's enough.

[the-element-lord-yepthatsme]

This curse I bind to you too, reader.

Trust me, I have no regrets.

in 2025 im manifesting it so every artist creates at least 1 piece that they really like 🫵🫵🫵 if you are an artist you MUST create something you find worthwhile in 2025

[the-element-lord-yepthatsme]

Let's all rise to the greatness of our forefathers. Each of us had someone in our lineage who wrote books, who was beloved by their readers.

No longer shall we be lesser sons of greater sires!

Let us become even greater than those who stood before us; immortalize our names in the hearts of all those who love us.

Grab my hand, my friend, and fill up your pen.

The paper is crisp and warm; the ink is fresh.

And that story in your head is burning to be let out.

Lend me a hand, too.

[the-element-lord-yepthatsme]

You're scared. Those alphabet keys are rough, unfamiliar. You don't know if you can weave a world out of them.

But you can.

You see those words, floating to the top of your mind? Sew them together with the plot of your story, color them with your grand battle, burn away your fear, and show me the tapestry you have woven.

You can do it.

[the-element-lord-yepthatsme]

I sang a fast song, the story got too fast, so I cried instead

[the-element-lord-yepthatsme]

Translating through thirty eight different languages to find an unobtrusive but incredible name....

and then deleting the character

[the-element-lord-yepthatsme]

Me flying around, pretending to know where my story is going.

Ah yes. Massive bomb. *Cocks head* Zombies? Naturally, naturally, aliens. *Crying at my own writing* Yes, of course. Time travel but not really, mysteries buried everywhere. *How am I going to figure this out?*

Yes, put it all in one series, why not?

[the-element-lord-yepthatsme]

You stagger as though you were hit by a truck. "Dearest, what do you mean?" you ask, half sobbing. "We're married. How... do you not love me anymore?" Her eyes scrunch up. glaring at you. "Honey!" she calls back, "There's some madman out here!"

Honey?

She has always called you Dearest. Multiple times she has declined when when you asked her why she calls you nothing else. "Where is the love?" she would ask, a smile playing on her lips. "What elegance is there in that?"

You leap backward, sprinting away, hand ripping your phone from your pocket. It is empty, as though brand new. You dial your mother's number - because that is the only one you have memorized - and cry out as she picks up, sobbing as to how you have been betrayed.

"What?" the familiar voice leaps from the phone... but then, "I think you have the wrong number, sweetheart. I hope you find whoever you were calling."

beep.

The call is cut, and you fall down on the doorstep of your house.

A stranger exits, staring at your tear-streaked face.

"Who are you?" they ask, "What do you want?"

You can only stare at the keys in your left pocket and the door in front of you, the same picture on it as there always had been, a dog with your initials next to it.

But those weren't your initials, were they?

*********************************************

Months you search around the city, asking those who were once your friends, but they either slam the door in your face or politely turn you away.

So you leave.

Turn to the beach, working for your food, practicing every day.

And one day you are ready.

A soft smile plays on your face as you feel the knife gripped in your fingers, ready to wreak vengeance on they who cast you aside.

For Death was certain to cure all amnesia.

Your wife has been spending way too much time with the new neighbor; having dinner, driving his kids to school, hanging up his laundry. You finally confront her, only for her to say "He's my husband, please leave us alone".