The Abyss

The darkness is my home. I'm fine. I'm fine. I'm fine. But what is that light up there? Why do I keep reaching for it? Does my body work? Can I climb out of here?

I lay on the membrane watching the pinprick of light flicker in and out. The glow didn’t have a long life ahead of it, and it was my fault. Sometimes I reach towards it as my fingers mime capturing it. That was the extent I would try. The rest of the time I lay on the sticky ground waiting for it to collapse and send me deeper into the abyss.

I had started thinking of the abyss as my home. I had started thinking that staying in the endless dark was okay. I had started thinking that I was fine.

I’m fine. I’m fine. I’m fine.

I don’t need to change.

See, there were whispers telling me to try and climb back out. That I needed to put more effort in. That it was my fault for being trapped here. That escape was impossible. That light simply taunted me. If I could reach it, I could be happy again. Or so I thought…

I’m happy here. I like the dark.

I don’t need to change.

What was the point? Of happiness, of love and dreams, of life? The darkness is fine.

I’m fine. I’m fine. I’m fine.

Sometimes I couldn’t breathe. Like something was trapped inside of me, clutching my lungs, and keeping me from that mist of life. I got paranoid. The darkness ate at my mind, making it harder to think. Making me less human, less alive. Even if I wanted to interact with other humans, I had lost it, my humanity, my existence, that flicker of a soul. It had gone out. I don’t even know when I had lost it, the will to live, the will to try. I don’t know, and it scares me.

I don’t know anything anymore.

I’m fine. I’m fine. I’m fine.

I don’t need to change.

There isn’t much to say about the darkness. It’s dark… A miasma hangs over it. Beneath me is unsteady ground, sticking to me, adding another layer of difficulty with trying to escape. I sink deeper into it over time, like I’m being consumed, but I don’t move. I don’t move and I tell myself it’s okay. Sometimes I start to think about what could be if I was in that light again. I remember the outer world. I think about how much I tried and how hard I fell when I failed over and over again. My mistakes are visceral reminders as to why I’m down here.

One day, I shared a painting that I had slaved over for hours. I couldn’t tell you the days I spent on it. I couldn’t tell you how much I loved it. And how much it hurt when no one understood it. That day, I had put down the brush and walked away. The ground split open, and I fell.

And fell.

                                                        And fell.

                                                                                                                     And fell.

And now I’m here. Isn’t it a pathetic story? Artists have to face rejection.

I know. I know. I know.

Stop telling me.

But that day I learned I wasn’t strong enough. I’m weak. I’m pathetic. I’m not a good artist. I’m a failure. I’m broken. I’m not real and I can’t exist.

The darkness is cool. A heavy wind flutters my hair and it reminds me of the sun and the outside and the joy of a perfect day. I will never have those again. Because this is my home.

I’m fine. I’m fine…

I’m fine.

I don’t think I’m happy. God, I’m so unhappy. I didn’t mean to end up here. You have to understand how hard I tried. How I built up the courage to share my art. How long I had studied art. How much I loved it.

I don’t love it now. I don’t love anything.

That’s fine. Right?

Fuck, I’m so unhappy. This is hell. But climbing out is impossible. That light keeps flickering and I know I’m done for when it goes out.

I’m not fine. Oh god, I’m not fine.

Can I even stand up? Do I dare try? I don’t want to find out my body doesn’t work anymore. I don’t want to know. I want to stay here. Even though I hate it, even though I’m alone, even though I don’t have you anymore. I can’t reach you. I’m sorry I’m gone. I didn’t mean to leave. I didn’t mean to fall. I didn’t mean to give up.

I want to see you again.

I lied. I have a little faith that everything could be okay. It’s just broken into too many pieces to put together. But it’s there whispering. Try again.

I push against the membrane. It sticks to my skin. The hair on my arms gets caught on it, but I rip it off, burning pain rippling down my skin. I yank my other arm and legs off it. The membrane rips. I have a tentative hold on the ground. If I fall deeper… I can’t fall deeper. I have to climb or it’s over.

I throw myself at the wall. It’s cold and slick with dew, but I grab onto a ridge and hold on with my shaking arms as the membrane collapses beneath me. I shiver, looking down into the abyss, a new hell that I don’t want to meet. Up above, the light flickers like an ember being blown on.

I reach for another hand-hold, but my fingers slip off the slick surface. I groan as I scrape my fingers on the stones, trying to find anything that would keep me from falling. Tears stream down my face. I hold back a sob. My palm loses its grip on the slimy rock.

I’m going to fall.

                                            Fall.

                                                                            So far down.

                                                                                                                 And I’ll never get out.

I’m fine. I’m fine. I’m fine.

But the lies don’t work,

I shouldn’t have tried. All it did was push me further down. My hand slips, fingers popping off one by one.

I haven’t fallen yet.

I scream. Scraping my hands on the rocks until I find anything to hold on to. I curve my fingers around a craggy rock as my other hand slips off. I stare at the flickering light so far above me and my vision blurs until it looks like a dancing candle-flame.

You haven’t fallen yet; it seems to whisper.

So I screech and claw at the wall until I find something to grip. I pull myself up and keep grabbing at rocks until I find the next bit of hope to cling onto. I don’t know if there will be a hand-hold above me, but I still reach for it. I grope in the dark with a belief that there must be another handhold, because if I believed anything else, I’d let go. And I can’t let go.

I said the abyss had become my home, but that’s a lie. I had never felt comfortable. I had never stopped looking at that flickering light, trying to remember what it was, and what it meant to me.

Blood mixes with the dew on the wall and my hands repeatedly slip, but I’m still clinging to the wall like a beetle defying gravity. My arms are screaming. I never had much strength to begin with and lying on the ground for months had only atrophied the little I had. But it doesn’t matter. I’m going to get out.

I’m trying.

Dear god, I’m trying.

I feel so alone. The light seems so far. Why can’t someone come and carry me out? Why isn’t there a hand for me to grab? Why is no one screaming my name, cheering me on as I struggle towards the ember?

I fight my way upwards.

I don’t feel better.

I feel worse.

I’m a failure and I know it.

So why am I trying?

Why did I never stop trying?

My arms hurt.

My palms are bleeding.

Why am I trying?

I think you’d be happy to see me again. Even though I’m just a beetle on a wall, easily crushed and thrown away. But maybe you…maybe you would still love me.

Both my hands slip. The light fades to a weak haze.

I’m falling.

I reach upwards towards anything. Anything.

I want to get out. I don’t want to be in the dark anymore.

Something warm wraps around my arm. I yank to a stop. The abyss unfolds beneath me, but I’m hanging in the air. I look up. It’s a hand around my wrist. How could I forget the sensation of a hand on my skin?

It’s you.

Did I not push you away?

Did you not forget me?

“Don’t give up.”

Tears tickle my cheeks. “I’m trying.”

“I know you are.”

I can’t see your face. It’s too dark, but I remember it anyway. I imagine your sad smile as you stare down at my pitiful existence. But you wouldn’t see me like that, would you? You’d see someone beaten down but still courageous enough to get up.

I got up.

I tried.

You caught me, but you can’t hold on forever, can you?

You swing me against the wall. I grab hold and you let go. I look up, but you’re gone. But you’re not truly gone. I know that. You’ll catch me.

But it’s my journey to get out.

So I climb.

                                                             And climb.

                                                                                                                                  And climb.

Until I can see your shining face in the light of that ember I’m holding onto.

The abyss unfolds beneath me, but I look up. Ever up. Towards you.

And whatever I can be.

---

Hiya everyone. I’m back. At least I’m trying to be back. I wrote this story over the course of the month I was away. It’s all I wrote. It captures how I felt (how I’m still kind of feeling). That’s the thing about that story. They never got out, but they are trying to. I’m like them. I don’t think I’m out of the abyss, but I’m climbing out. It’s a journey and I don’t think I could write a different ending until I figure out how you escape the darkness. Maybe it will always be my companion, but so is that light of hope flickering above me. So are all the people cheering me on and catching me when I fall.

But yeah, I’m back from my hiatus. It’s nice to be back with you all.

-Aether

If you enjoyed my writing and would like to buy me a coffee I would be so appreciative!

If you liked my short story consider taking a look at the other short stories I have on Substack: Short Story Collection

I also have been posting poetry on here, consider checking out: Do You Remember?

I blog about mental health if you are curious about that: Maladaptive Daydreaming

If you think a girl resurrected from the dead trying to seduce the god of the underworld sounds fun, consider checking out: The Mark of Death a novella/serialized novel.