Day 122 Writing Short Stories

Constellations

You—that was the idea, the center of existence. You have always been and felt important, but now, as your traveler companions have withdrawn to their tents and you alone guard their sleep, you wonder if the you isn’t as important. The stars up in the sky make you think you are part of thousands of yous, connected like the constellations.

You stir up the flames and add more twigs to the fire. Orinthal will release you from your duty just before the moon tips behind the tree line. You and Orinthal have repeated this play so many times that, before you even reach his tent, he’s already up and ready for his duty.

You and him and the others have patrolled the forest many full moons. It’s your Elven duty to guard the sacred grounds and keep the humans and other creatures away from your city. You have never seen anything try to get into the forest. They know better. But someday, there will be a you who doesn’t.

There is that. So many differently shaped creatures exist alongside one another, all looking for something to fill their bellies and souls.

You draw the constellations of your ancestors, following them with the tip of your finger, squinting your eyes. You stop at the horn of the elk. A sound stirs you. It’s there, but it’s not there too. You stand up and look past the line of tents and the circle of the fire. The surrounding woods are thick and dark. The yellow moon that shines tonight is no help. It’s not Hunter’s moon made for nights like these.

Something is there nevertheless. You wonder whether to wake others or count it as a passing wolf. You lick your lips. You don’t taste the wetness of the beasts. Only the pressure remains, and you have always trusted your instincts.

You step out of the circle of the fire, following the ethereal sound. So quiet that it barely exists. You draw your blade from your belt. It’s a small one your father gave you when you joined the patrol. He blessed it with moonlight and his goodwill. You have skinned bears and elk with it. But that’s the only blood the blade has seen. You wonder if that will change.

The woods keep whoever is there cloaked. You glance behind you at the fire and the tents. You only need to holler, and the others are awake. But you don’t. Not for the glory of catching a monster. While you are the center of existence, you are not a fool. No. This feels personal, like if you wake the others, something good will break.

You step into the woods, cocking your head left and right, tilting it to find the sound. It keeps drawing you in, needing you to follow. But you know about those kinds of creatures, and what they want. They will lead you to the underworld, and you will be forever lost.

“If you want company, you will come here,” you say and settle to wait.

There is again that ethereal sound. Almost like distant bells, but not quite. The sound comes closer, and you see yourself just like you have seen yourself in the rivers. Not as distorted.

The other you mimics your movements. It’s hypnotic, and another you would be mesmerized by it. But you know the forest is full of spirits, and not all are good, so you don’t let it entrap you.

“Aren’t you a curious one?” you say. The spirits usually stay far from the patrols, but you must have called it in, sensing your mood. Easy prey. But you are made of stronger things than flattery.

The other you steps closer, but you lift your hand in a warning. You can’t let it touch you. But there’s a pull to connect. You wonder what it would feel like. Just a brush, and then you let your blade sing.

“Isil,” Orinthal says, startling both me and the spirit. “Stop playing with those things. Once it gets the sense that you are a mark, drawn to vanity, it will follow you until you succumb.”

Your leader steps next to you, and the spirit that was you is gone.

“I—” you say.

“You were playing with things you know nothing of. It may seem harmless, but it isn’t. And you may think you are in control, but even the strong will fall for flattery.”

You follow Orinthal back into the camp. He takes his place next to the fire, and you head into your tent. You lie awake for a long time, watching stars that aren’t there, following their lines, and wondering how you fit into it all.

—

I’m not sure what this was. Today, I got a voice-driven fantasy about overcoming a monster, written in the second person. I’ve been writing a lot lately about overcoming a monster. So I wanted to play with it and do something else than I normally do. I was watching a lecture, and an audience member proposed a connection between the rise of narcissism and mirrors—the constant view of the self through phones, Zoom meetings, elevators full of mirrors, etc. I wanted to put that into the story. The idea that our protagonist is aware of the danger, yet she is drawn into the image of the self. And that’s only natural as we seek meaning, connection, and affirmation in our existence. I hope I got the idea out.

For a moment, there, the story might have had an actual monster, coming from the darkness, following my experience from yesterday. I was alone in the woods, climbing in the darkness (illuminated by the flashlights), and I heard a distant wolf howl, and I was scared as heck. There is a large pack running in the area, and the fact and the sound got my imagination going; even though I know that humans rarely have altercations with wolves, I still felt scared. Also, on Monday, a conspiracy of ravens circled over me, and I was pretty sure they were leading wolves to eat me—the joys of being alone in the woods in the middle of nowhere.

Thank you for reading! Have an exciting day, and see you tomorrow ❤