Alright folks, time for the voting and feedback period for the second month of MASC. Apologies for the delay, I got busy IRL and just now am getting the time to do forum things. Better late than never though, right? Let's get right into it. The prompt for the month was...
Fear
Write a story that involves the main character encountering their greatest fear. The source of fear can be as plain or abstract as you like, as traditional or strange as you want, so long as it is whatever your character fears the most. Send your entries via PM to @Jorick before midnight (in the Pacific Time Zone) September 12th.
Extra Challenges: These are optional. The entry that best fulfills each extra challenge (as decided by @Jorick) will be highlighted after the voting period ends.
- Old Dog, New Tricks: Use a commonplace horror monster (vampire, werewolf, zombie, etc.) as the source of fear, but add a unique twist to how they work.
- Comedian: Fulfill the prompt in an amusing or comedic way.
- Conqueror: Have your character conquer their fear.
Voting Rules:
1. Submit your vote by posting in the voting thread before the deadline: before midnight (in US time zones) on September 22nd.
2. Submissions are posted anonymously for a reason. Revealing which entry was yours before the voting period is over will result in disqualification.
3. Contest entrants cannot vote for their own entry but are invited to vote for a competitor's entry.
4. Comments on and critiques of the entries are highly encouraged, but do keep in mind that criticism should be constructive rather than destructive.
5. The entry with the most votes in the end will be declared the winner. @Jorick will also highlight those who did the best job tackling each extra challenge.
6. All site and contest moderation rules are of course in effect.
And here are our entries for this month:
Alone
The temperature was just right, the sun gave off a pleasant warmth and a gentle breeze gave just enough cooling. The lawn of the picnic area looked like a soft green blanket, adorned with white daisies and yellow buttercups, and a few butterflies and bumblebees flew from flower to flower. It seemed like a perfect day for a picnic.
Why wasn’t anyone here?
One of the slings on the playground creaked as it gently swung back and forth, as if someone had just jumped off. Mike stood on the sidewalk and looked at the deserted playground. Aside from the creaking there wasn’t any sound. No cars driving, no birds singing. Nothing.
He turned his back to the empty place and examined the row of houses. After looking left-right-left, although he wondered why he even bothered, he crossed the street. He peered through one of the windows and saw a table with two cups of coffee and two small plates with a slice of cake on them. It looked like a couple had drunk from the coffee and eaten from the cake, but he couldn’t see them. He went to the door and rang the doorbell, the shrill sound of it pierced the silence and he cringed.
Even though the bell was loud enough, no-one came to answer the door. After waiting for a half a minute he rang again. And again. He turned around and went back to the sidewalk, rubbing his arms although he wasn’t cold. For a moment he stood there, looking at the area around him. How could no-one be here? He decided to go to the next house; the gravel under his feet crunched with every step he took and when he rang the doorbell a gently melody sounded on the other side.
No-one came.
Mike raked his fingers through his hair as he looked around. He couldn’t be the only one here. “Hello,” he called, “is anyone there?” His words sounded unnaturally loud in the silence around him, but after the sound disappeared the silence returned, seemingly more present than before he broke it.
He went to the next door, and the next. Soon he ran over the sidewalk, trying to find someone, anyone. When he stopped he found himself in a shopping street, but no-one walked the cobblestone road. He went to the nearest store and peered inside through the open door. The lights were on and shop was filled with clothes of the latest fashion, but that was it. He pulled up his shoulders and wrapped his arms around him as he continued walking through the street. This place should be filled with people shopping, but it wasn’t. Only the mannequins stood in the windows, silently observing him.
“Hello!” Mike called out again. The silence was deafening.
His stomach felt as if it turned to stone and his nails dug in the flesh of his arms. He couldn’t be the only one here. He continued to walk, slowly making his way to the other end of the street, his shoulders hunched, but his eyes frantically moving from door to door, from window to window. At first he hummed to break the silence, but that didn’t help and soon he just walked in the overwhelming silence.
He cast his eyes to the ground and shook his head. His heart was beating faster and he felt both warm and cold. “Come on,” he muttered to himself as he looked around him a final time, “I can’t be the only one here…”
When he reached a bench he sat down, trying to keep his breathing calm. Slowly he lay down and covered his face with his hands. Maybe whoever took them would take him soon as well. He wouldn’t be alone for much longer…
When he opened his eyes it was dark, and he was unpleasantly warm. He pushed the blanket away and looked around in the room until he noticed a digital alarm clock. He blinked a few times. “A dream…” he muttered, letting out a sigh of relief. “It was just a dream.”
Somewhere in the distance he heard a car, a rare sound at this hour of the night, but a welcome one. He turned to one side, listening to the silence in his room. He turned to his other side. He turned on his back and looked to the ceiling, but soon he turned to his side again.
Maybe it had been just a dream, but the loneliness he had experienced lingered. And while he knew he wasn’t alone anymore, the car he had heard was proof of that, he couldn’t shake the restlessness that had built up during the nightmare.
He was still alone in his room.
He closed his eyes, telling him to go to sleep, that his parents were sleeping in their bedroom, so he wasn’t alone. But he knew he was and he couldn’t convince himself otherwise. And he didn’t want to be alone. The silence wrapped around him like a blanket and he hugged himself. How he hated being alone.
After a few more minutes of tossing and turning, he got up, grabbed his blanket and opened the door of his room.
The house was dark, his parents were sleeping. He went to their room and opened the door. All he could hear was their calm breathing and he lingered in the doorway. After looking back to his room he went in as silent as he could, sat in the comfortable chair in the corner and wrapped himself in the blanket. It had to be a decade ago since he had last done this and he felt silly for doing it now that he was twenty, but knowing there were other people in the room made him relax. He soon fell asleep.
The temperature was just right, the sun gave off a pleasant warmth and a gentle breeze gave just enough cooling. The lawn of the picnic area looked like a soft green blanket, adorned with white daisies and yellow buttercups, and a few butterflies and bumblebees flew from flower to flower. It seemed like a perfect day for a picnic.
Why wasn’t anyone here?
One of the slings on the playground creaked as it gently swung back and forth, as if someone had just jumped off. Mike stood on the sidewalk and looked at the deserted playground. Aside from the creaking there wasn’t any sound. No cars driving, no birds singing. Nothing.
He turned his back to the empty place and examined the row of houses. After looking left-right-left, although he wondered why he even bothered, he crossed the street. He peered through one of the windows and saw a table with two cups of coffee and two small plates with a slice of cake on them. It looked like a couple had drunk from the coffee and eaten from the cake, but he couldn’t see them. He went to the door and rang the doorbell, the shrill sound of it pierced the silence and he cringed.
Even though the bell was loud enough, no-one came to answer the door. After waiting for a half a minute he rang again. And again. He turned around and went back to the sidewalk, rubbing his arms although he wasn’t cold. For a moment he stood there, looking at the area around him. How could no-one be here? He decided to go to the next house; the gravel under his feet crunched with every step he took and when he rang the doorbell a gently melody sounded on the other side.
No-one came.
Mike raked his fingers through his hair as he looked around. He couldn’t be the only one here. “Hello,” he called, “is anyone there?” His words sounded unnaturally loud in the silence around him, but after the sound disappeared the silence returned, seemingly more present than before he broke it.
He went to the next door, and the next. Soon he ran over the sidewalk, trying to find someone, anyone. When he stopped he found himself in a shopping street, but no-one walked the cobblestone road. He went to the nearest store and peered inside through the open door. The lights were on and shop was filled with clothes of the latest fashion, but that was it. He pulled up his shoulders and wrapped his arms around him as he continued walking through the street. This place should be filled with people shopping, but it wasn’t. Only the mannequins stood in the windows, silently observing him.
“Hello!” Mike called out again. The silence was deafening.
His stomach felt as if it turned to stone and his nails dug in the flesh of his arms. He couldn’t be the only one here. He continued to walk, slowly making his way to the other end of the street, his shoulders hunched, but his eyes frantically moving from door to door, from window to window. At first he hummed to break the silence, but that didn’t help and soon he just walked in the overwhelming silence.
He cast his eyes to the ground and shook his head. His heart was beating faster and he felt both warm and cold. “Come on,” he muttered to himself as he looked around him a final time, “I can’t be the only one here…”
When he reached a bench he sat down, trying to keep his breathing calm. Slowly he lay down and covered his face with his hands. Maybe whoever took them would take him soon as well. He wouldn’t be alone for much longer…
When he opened his eyes it was dark, and he was unpleasantly warm. He pushed the blanket away and looked around in the room until he noticed a digital alarm clock. He blinked a few times. “A dream…” he muttered, letting out a sigh of relief. “It was just a dream.”
Somewhere in the distance he heard a car, a rare sound at this hour of the night, but a welcome one. He turned to one side, listening to the silence in his room. He turned to his other side. He turned on his back and looked to the ceiling, but soon he turned to his side again.
Maybe it had been just a dream, but the loneliness he had experienced lingered. And while he knew he wasn’t alone anymore, the car he had heard was proof of that, he couldn’t shake the restlessness that had built up during the nightmare.
He was still alone in his room.
He closed his eyes, telling him to go to sleep, that his parents were sleeping in their bedroom, so he wasn’t alone. But he knew he was and he couldn’t convince himself otherwise. And he didn’t want to be alone. The silence wrapped around him like a blanket and he hugged himself. How he hated being alone.
After a few more minutes of tossing and turning, he got up, grabbed his blanket and opened the door of his room.
The house was dark, his parents were sleeping. He went to their room and opened the door. All he could hear was their calm breathing and he lingered in the doorway. After looking back to his room he went in as silent as he could, sat in the comfortable chair in the corner and wrapped himself in the blanket. It had to be a decade ago since he had last done this and he felt silly for doing it now that he was twenty, but knowing there were other people in the room made him relax. He soon fell asleep.
Journal of Alexi Kravinov
I’ve often fantasized about putting a gun to my head. That isn’t to say I would pull the trigger. In my current position within the world, I think I would just like to know that I was capable of staring down oblivion. It is more the mundanities of the action that prevent me from doing so. I would need to provide licenses, background checks, and hard-earned income into the purchase of a firearm. I would need to engage in inane conversation about “self-defense” knowing full well that I would be too much a coward to shoot anyone, or worse yet such a coward that I may shoot someone. The act of buying a gun itself goes so far against my being that the idea of standing there beside the counter sickens me. Politically I’m about as moderate as you can get on gun control, and I’ve fired a fair share of recreational weapons. However, the idea of buying a gun myself is inherently linked with oblivion.
I’ve been using suicide as a shortcut in many hard questions that I’ve asked myself. “If my life were less fortunate, and I was in the position that [a good friend] is in, what would I do?” A bullet to the skull I would reason. It is a sick joke disguised as pride, for me to think “If I ever fall that far it would be better to zero-sum”. It is a prideful boast about my character, to say that I am such a good and upright human that I would sooner die than lose my humanity doing something reprehensible. However under the prideful boast is a cruel self-aware joke at my lack of resilience, or maybe my fear of lack of resilience. Suicide is the definitive answer to any moral quandary. A dead body is neither good nor bad, and therefore it is by its definition moral.
The self-violence that must lead to suicide, however, is in my view what makes it so abhorrent, and why the act of buying a handgun would sicken me. It is also the reason why destructive anxious thoughts bother me more than they ought to, as these thoughts are self-violence of the mind. To kill yourself is murder, consensual or not, and murder has never been about the death of the individual, but always about the value, the community has lost in the individual's death.
It is for that reason the death of children is often viewed as more of a tragedy than that of an elderly citizen, and why famous artists are often so venerated when they die. It is also why the murder of homeless vagrants attract less attention from society than that of citizens who are more well off. While we may hate the act of murder, it is its absolute permanence that wounds us. In other words, murder is an abhorrent crime not because of the act of violence, but because of the act of violence transcends eternity. A dead loved one will never hold you again.
In some fantasies, I never left my village. I may deal in drugs or work at the job I did in high school, but regardless I am fully aware that my life is going nowhere. This was a fear of mine well into my first years of college when I thought that such a life could be unlivable, and thus that failure at my studies was the same as embracing death. The fear of failure paired well with the mentality of achievement or thinking you can attain meaning through accomplishment. This fear was not triumphantly fought so much as it was just outgrown, as a child outgrows the fear of the dark. As a result, I felt a period of positive nihilism, I was at a complete loss for meaning, and I loved it. Nihilism, like cigarettes, gradually replace the peace initially given to you by anxiety and thoughts of death. To this day many take solace in their insignificance, and I wish them all the best. However, it takes no courage to resign yourself.
In other fantasies, it is merely my humility and not my ability that is tested. Perhaps I am in a coma, perhaps I am an invalid. These fantasies aren't ones I dwell on but are the result of offhand comments. “If I ever have to eat through a straw then make someone unplug me”. While not new, these are becoming more common now that I assign some meaning to the contribution of goodness to the lives of those I care about. When one derives his worth from how he can benefit others, the net loss of being a cripple or invalid will morally horrify him. When one finds meaning in the service of living, then suicide is seen more like a rude gesture towards the world. A person should at least leave enough money for the bill before leaving the restaurant if one must leave early.
At any rate, I am tired and feel slightly better now. The Vodka has kicked in and my soup is warm. I’ve often fantasized about putting a gun to my head. However, I often fantasize about my future as well. I think of what I will drink, who I will drink with, and what we will sing. I think about meeting someone who worries about this less than I do and building a life with them. I think about bringing life into the world, and if I can think about that, surely there is some meaning hidden somewhere. Even if I am not smart enough to find it, I hope it might find me.
I’ve often fantasized about putting a gun to my head. That isn’t to say I would pull the trigger. In my current position within the world, I think I would just like to know that I was capable of staring down oblivion. It is more the mundanities of the action that prevent me from doing so. I would need to provide licenses, background checks, and hard-earned income into the purchase of a firearm. I would need to engage in inane conversation about “self-defense” knowing full well that I would be too much a coward to shoot anyone, or worse yet such a coward that I may shoot someone. The act of buying a gun itself goes so far against my being that the idea of standing there beside the counter sickens me. Politically I’m about as moderate as you can get on gun control, and I’ve fired a fair share of recreational weapons. However, the idea of buying a gun myself is inherently linked with oblivion.
I’ve been using suicide as a shortcut in many hard questions that I’ve asked myself. “If my life were less fortunate, and I was in the position that [a good friend] is in, what would I do?” A bullet to the skull I would reason. It is a sick joke disguised as pride, for me to think “If I ever fall that far it would be better to zero-sum”. It is a prideful boast about my character, to say that I am such a good and upright human that I would sooner die than lose my humanity doing something reprehensible. However under the prideful boast is a cruel self-aware joke at my lack of resilience, or maybe my fear of lack of resilience. Suicide is the definitive answer to any moral quandary. A dead body is neither good nor bad, and therefore it is by its definition moral.
The self-violence that must lead to suicide, however, is in my view what makes it so abhorrent, and why the act of buying a handgun would sicken me. It is also the reason why destructive anxious thoughts bother me more than they ought to, as these thoughts are self-violence of the mind. To kill yourself is murder, consensual or not, and murder has never been about the death of the individual, but always about the value, the community has lost in the individual's death.
It is for that reason the death of children is often viewed as more of a tragedy than that of an elderly citizen, and why famous artists are often so venerated when they die. It is also why the murder of homeless vagrants attract less attention from society than that of citizens who are more well off. While we may hate the act of murder, it is its absolute permanence that wounds us. In other words, murder is an abhorrent crime not because of the act of violence, but because of the act of violence transcends eternity. A dead loved one will never hold you again.
In some fantasies, I never left my village. I may deal in drugs or work at the job I did in high school, but regardless I am fully aware that my life is going nowhere. This was a fear of mine well into my first years of college when I thought that such a life could be unlivable, and thus that failure at my studies was the same as embracing death. The fear of failure paired well with the mentality of achievement or thinking you can attain meaning through accomplishment. This fear was not triumphantly fought so much as it was just outgrown, as a child outgrows the fear of the dark. As a result, I felt a period of positive nihilism, I was at a complete loss for meaning, and I loved it. Nihilism, like cigarettes, gradually replace the peace initially given to you by anxiety and thoughts of death. To this day many take solace in their insignificance, and I wish them all the best. However, it takes no courage to resign yourself.
In other fantasies, it is merely my humility and not my ability that is tested. Perhaps I am in a coma, perhaps I am an invalid. These fantasies aren't ones I dwell on but are the result of offhand comments. “If I ever have to eat through a straw then make someone unplug me”. While not new, these are becoming more common now that I assign some meaning to the contribution of goodness to the lives of those I care about. When one derives his worth from how he can benefit others, the net loss of being a cripple or invalid will morally horrify him. When one finds meaning in the service of living, then suicide is seen more like a rude gesture towards the world. A person should at least leave enough money for the bill before leaving the restaurant if one must leave early.
At any rate, I am tired and feel slightly better now. The Vodka has kicked in and my soup is warm. I’ve often fantasized about putting a gun to my head. However, I often fantasize about my future as well. I think of what I will drink, who I will drink with, and what we will sing. I think about meeting someone who worries about this less than I do and building a life with them. I think about bringing life into the world, and if I can think about that, surely there is some meaning hidden somewhere. Even if I am not smart enough to find it, I hope it might find me.
The Darkness Within.
His eyes flew open, he tried to shake off the remains of his slumber. His heart raced. Fragments of dreams haunted him. At least he hoped it had been just dreams and not memories.
He didn't know how many nights it has been. Could be a week, a month, a year.
He was afraid of what was inside him, of what he would become. The fear kept him in his chosen solitude.
He still could feel it, the sharp teeth sinking in his neck, the wolf biting his leg, the blood dripping in his mouth. The spell the woman had chanted still whispered in his head.
Alder grabbed his head. Even though that fateful night was still blurry he knew what happened before the moment everything changed.
Some men of the town and him had gone to the forest to find a missing woman. Things had gone downhill from there. Hunted through the forest by strange very large wolfs. Luckily the full moon had lighted the path a bit more.
He didn't know what had happened to the others but he found himself at one point overtaken by the wolf and only moments later he got dragged by the wolf who, had his foot firmly between its teeth. He could feel a strange tingling in his leg besides the pain. He got dragged to a clearing where a larger then normal wolf and cat were at one side of a drawn triangle. On the other point two very pale figures were standing silently. He could have sworn their eyes lit up red and a strange white shine was near their lips. The last spot was taking by a male and female in robes and with a staff.
He had been lying dazed in the centre while some chanting started. He understood he was going to be a sacrificed for some ritual. He felt a wave of what he believed was magic wash over him.
A gasp and whispered arguing followed.
He heard some words like: power, light and dark, change. After that all hell broke loose and they all seemed to fight over him. Instead of sacrificing him they now all wanted to control him, let him be one of the three groups or at least whatever he supposedly had slumbering in his core.
He groaned and slowly got up. It was night, he could see that through some gaps in the cave.
It's a great night to hunt, find a human and feast on it.
Alder shuddered. He could feel the darkness inside him become stronger. His defences weakening. It became harder and harder to find reasonable arguments why he didn't want too, why he shouldn't.
He heard chuckling and wasn't sure whether he made the sound or whether it was in his head.
Alder was afraid that he was losing his humanity. He feared that one day he would succumb to the darkness growing inside him and rampage through the world.
Yes, let it out, let's rampage. Let's embrace who you are now. You are better than them.
"No!" Alder cried out. "No…I can't, I don't want to lose who I am."
But you are so much better now, stronger. You can be the King. You can reign the world forever.
Alder listed everything that made him human in his mind but at the same time he couldn't forget the things that made him a monster. Not just one monster or any monster.
The first night after he somehow managed to escape the clearing, he was led by his bloodthirst. He was sure he had fed.
Appalled by what he had done he had fled in the woods and hid away in a cave.
The first full moon a month later he changed in a beast and his memories were even more foggy but the taste in his mouth afterwards had not promised much good.
He had put the pieces together and was certain that it had been a vampire, werewolf and witch that wanted him and his power. Somehow it had backfired and he was changed. Alder wasn't sure but he suspected the power they had felt within him had helped somehow.
Since then he tried to overcome his bloodlust and tried to not go out when the moon was full even though the howling wolfs on those days made him yearn to join them.
While battling the demons inside him he stayed in the cave, surviving on small prey.
Alder felt lonely often but his fears made him stay. Bitterly he smiled when he thought about the fears he used to have as kid, as teen, as young adult. How trivial they had been compared to this. He had never been more afraid. Afraid of himself, what was inside him, what he could become, what his future would hold now. Fear was ever present and if the fear was not it was worry or loneliness.
Why don't you go back to you family? They must miss you. They think you are dead.
His heart rate went up and cold sweat formed on his forehead. Go back? What if he'd couldn't control himself, what if he had lost his humanity by then and they would face a soulless monster.
"No...I can't...I can't...I don't want to hurt them."
You could change them, your sister would love it.
"Datura.. no I got to keep her safe."
She'd embrace it, she likes the darkness. She loves the creatures of the night.
"NO! She would be strong."
Unlike you? You are strong too. You could harvest respect from your mortal minions.
You just have to accept who you are, embrace it. Live it.
Alder could feel his fangs grow and the bloodlust intensifying.
Surges of fear were going through him, almost suffocated him. He was losing his battle. He wanted to give in. Oh how he wanted to give in.
If only his sister Datura were here, she would understand.
His head jerked up. Datura could help him.
He wouldn't have to do it alone and she wouldn't be defenceless, she could stop him.
Turn her.
"No, I will not hurt her! I will keep in control!"
He felt the darkness retreating a bit, coiling around his core.
Alder stood up and watched the night sky. He found his anker to keeping his humanity and his sanity. He still was afraid of the darkness inside him but it wasn't a paralyzing fear like he experienced till now. As long as he would keep his head together and his loved ones in his heart he could stay in control. Yes even though he was some sort of weird hybrid form and it wouldn't be easy, he could do it. He would find a way to live with it and accept it on his terms. He would stay in control.
His eyes flew open, he tried to shake off the remains of his slumber. His heart raced. Fragments of dreams haunted him. At least he hoped it had been just dreams and not memories.
He didn't know how many nights it has been. Could be a week, a month, a year.
He was afraid of what was inside him, of what he would become. The fear kept him in his chosen solitude.
He still could feel it, the sharp teeth sinking in his neck, the wolf biting his leg, the blood dripping in his mouth. The spell the woman had chanted still whispered in his head.
Alder grabbed his head. Even though that fateful night was still blurry he knew what happened before the moment everything changed.
Some men of the town and him had gone to the forest to find a missing woman. Things had gone downhill from there. Hunted through the forest by strange very large wolfs. Luckily the full moon had lighted the path a bit more.
He didn't know what had happened to the others but he found himself at one point overtaken by the wolf and only moments later he got dragged by the wolf who, had his foot firmly between its teeth. He could feel a strange tingling in his leg besides the pain. He got dragged to a clearing where a larger then normal wolf and cat were at one side of a drawn triangle. On the other point two very pale figures were standing silently. He could have sworn their eyes lit up red and a strange white shine was near their lips. The last spot was taking by a male and female in robes and with a staff.
He had been lying dazed in the centre while some chanting started. He understood he was going to be a sacrificed for some ritual. He felt a wave of what he believed was magic wash over him.
A gasp and whispered arguing followed.
He heard some words like: power, light and dark, change. After that all hell broke loose and they all seemed to fight over him. Instead of sacrificing him they now all wanted to control him, let him be one of the three groups or at least whatever he supposedly had slumbering in his core.
He groaned and slowly got up. It was night, he could see that through some gaps in the cave.
It's a great night to hunt, find a human and feast on it.
Alder shuddered. He could feel the darkness inside him become stronger. His defences weakening. It became harder and harder to find reasonable arguments why he didn't want too, why he shouldn't.
He heard chuckling and wasn't sure whether he made the sound or whether it was in his head.
Alder was afraid that he was losing his humanity. He feared that one day he would succumb to the darkness growing inside him and rampage through the world.
Yes, let it out, let's rampage. Let's embrace who you are now. You are better than them.
"No!" Alder cried out. "No…I can't, I don't want to lose who I am."
But you are so much better now, stronger. You can be the King. You can reign the world forever.
Alder listed everything that made him human in his mind but at the same time he couldn't forget the things that made him a monster. Not just one monster or any monster.
The first night after he somehow managed to escape the clearing, he was led by his bloodthirst. He was sure he had fed.
Appalled by what he had done he had fled in the woods and hid away in a cave.
The first full moon a month later he changed in a beast and his memories were even more foggy but the taste in his mouth afterwards had not promised much good.
He had put the pieces together and was certain that it had been a vampire, werewolf and witch that wanted him and his power. Somehow it had backfired and he was changed. Alder wasn't sure but he suspected the power they had felt within him had helped somehow.
Since then he tried to overcome his bloodlust and tried to not go out when the moon was full even though the howling wolfs on those days made him yearn to join them.
While battling the demons inside him he stayed in the cave, surviving on small prey.
Alder felt lonely often but his fears made him stay. Bitterly he smiled when he thought about the fears he used to have as kid, as teen, as young adult. How trivial they had been compared to this. He had never been more afraid. Afraid of himself, what was inside him, what he could become, what his future would hold now. Fear was ever present and if the fear was not it was worry or loneliness.
Why don't you go back to you family? They must miss you. They think you are dead.
His heart rate went up and cold sweat formed on his forehead. Go back? What if he'd couldn't control himself, what if he had lost his humanity by then and they would face a soulless monster.
"No...I can't...I can't...I don't want to hurt them."
You could change them, your sister would love it.
"Datura.. no I got to keep her safe."
She'd embrace it, she likes the darkness. She loves the creatures of the night.
"NO! She would be strong."
Unlike you? You are strong too. You could harvest respect from your mortal minions.
You just have to accept who you are, embrace it. Live it.
Alder could feel his fangs grow and the bloodlust intensifying.
Surges of fear were going through him, almost suffocated him. He was losing his battle. He wanted to give in. Oh how he wanted to give in.
If only his sister Datura were here, she would understand.
His head jerked up. Datura could help him.
He wouldn't have to do it alone and she wouldn't be defenceless, she could stop him.
Turn her.
"No, I will not hurt her! I will keep in control!"
He felt the darkness retreating a bit, coiling around his core.
Alder stood up and watched the night sky. He found his anker to keeping his humanity and his sanity. He still was afraid of the darkness inside him but it wasn't a paralyzing fear like he experienced till now. As long as he would keep his head together and his loved ones in his heart he could stay in control. Yes even though he was some sort of weird hybrid form and it wouldn't be easy, he could do it. He would find a way to live with it and accept it on his terms. He would stay in control.
