- Posting Speed
- One post per day
- Multiple posts per week
- 1-3 posts per week
- Slow As Molasses
- Writing Levels
- Adept
- Advanced
- Prestige
- Adaptable
- Preferred Character Gender
- Male
- Nonbinary
- Transgender
- Agender
- Primarily Prefer Male
- Primarily Nonbinary
- Genres
- Fantasy, Psychological Fantasy, Magical, Horror, Gothic Romance, Thriller
The sand had been so soft under his feet—that he'd forgotten time, in a place so old that the cliffs were smoothed like pebbles and the beached islands far out onto the spit rose up like windowless mansions and towers; walking between them, that's what they'd been to him. A city of faeries, perhaps. His mind had translated the shrieks of gulls into singing—the black-eyed mounds making up the bodies of basking sea lions were monsters waiting. He avoided them. Kept walking. Followed a hermit crab around a rock pool, and curled up beside it. Listening.
Silence.
He hadn't wished for anything more.
Only the quiet. The sound of waves. And entry into a world that was not his own.
He was seven, but already he knew what it meant to lie awake at night listening to the ghosts of the day. 'Like a tape recorder in my head—I can't find the switch and it won't turn off.' Not BAD bad, really, like some other kids. Just a mother who had him too young, to a monster whose eyes the child had unfortunately inherited; along with the blonde hair, and the sad smile. It wasn't her fault she couldn't handle the stress—that the smallest thing made her yell and scream with frustration. It's not like anyone had been willing to help her. And he'd tried, he'd tried to grow up fast enough.
But he couldn't.
He didn't hurt when the wave struck, nor when it pulled him under and broke his body against the cliffs. All he truly remembered thinking was of the hermit crab—was it okay? Did it manage to crawl into its hole fast enough? He didn't have time to feel pain—like getting shot in a nightmare, it happened too fast. And then the fantasy; his fantasy, became, permanent.
The water gave way to a field laden with dew drops, and a driveway remembered from some very distant dream. He followed it cautiously, watching as wild deer stood and stared at him with human eyes, moving aside only when he got within arm's reach. The sky, when he glanced up, was like the dark surface of a pond. He could see his own face in it. He made a silly face—but the one looking back didn't change.
Silence.
He hadn't wished for anything more.
Only the quiet. The sound of waves. And entry into a world that was not his own.
He was seven, but already he knew what it meant to lie awake at night listening to the ghosts of the day. 'Like a tape recorder in my head—I can't find the switch and it won't turn off.' Not BAD bad, really, like some other kids. Just a mother who had him too young, to a monster whose eyes the child had unfortunately inherited; along with the blonde hair, and the sad smile. It wasn't her fault she couldn't handle the stress—that the smallest thing made her yell and scream with frustration. It's not like anyone had been willing to help her. And he'd tried, he'd tried to grow up fast enough.
But he couldn't.
He didn't hurt when the wave struck, nor when it pulled him under and broke his body against the cliffs. All he truly remembered thinking was of the hermit crab—was it okay? Did it manage to crawl into its hole fast enough? He didn't have time to feel pain—like getting shot in a nightmare, it happened too fast. And then the fantasy; his fantasy, became, permanent.
The water gave way to a field laden with dew drops, and a driveway remembered from some very distant dream. He followed it cautiously, watching as wild deer stood and stared at him with human eyes, moving aside only when he got within arm's reach. The sky, when he glanced up, was like the dark surface of a pond. He could see his own face in it. He made a silly face—but the one looking back didn't change.