geist ariel

They came to their senses in an empty, dark room, bent over the side of their bed, facing the floor, entire body trembling. It was their own bedroom, they knew that much, but as their awareness came creeping back, it wasn't the same safety they knew. Something smelled acrid, and their throat burned like fire. There was a horrible mess on the floor, overwhelming to so much as look at. They looked up and saw a flash of white on the nightstand, the only thing that reflected the light from the cracked-open door. A bottle of pills on the table, tipped over, empty.

What had happened?

They sat up on the bed, moving to their feet. Even in the near-lightless room, a shadow was still cast on the floor. It wasn't theirs. It was a different shape and seemed to sometimes move on its own, but it still clung to their heels as they left the room. It swallowed the sound of their footsteps and their still-ragged breathing, pulling away the glare of the hall light. It was strange, but comforting. One less source of stress until they found out what had gone wrong.

It was an accident. They could be sure of that, couldn't they? They'd misbehaved again, acted out and gotten into something they shouldn't have. Even if they don't remember doing it, it certainly would have been in character. Another mistake, another thing done wrong. But they could at least find Mother and show her that everything was alright. They'd try their best not to do it again.

She wasn't home. No one was. This made them more nervous; she had never left them home alone, knowing that they couldn't be trusted with anything. The house was still and silent, but they noticed that the computer was still on. Mother was often on it, typing away to who-even-knows. Maybe it might hold a clue as to where she had gone. Her disappearance was already starting to chafe.

It was opened to a page that she was often on, her own blog. They'd never paid the thing much mind before, really. It was a post still in editing, not yet sent. Strange. They began to read, and noticed the tale that the post was spinning.

My poor child, it said, was found dead in her room after a catastrophic seizure. It came out of nowhere, finally stealing away my child for good and taking away any hope of getting her back. Years and years of trying to pull this bright, beautiful young girl out of her shell of disease, all my suffering trying to do my best for her, come to such a tragic end.

The words caused the most terrible itching underneath their skin. The child being described, it didn't feel like them, felt wrong. But who else could it have been?

Found dead... But that wasn't true. They were here, very much alive. Nothing added up. was everything in this post a lie? Why would Mother say things like this?

They kept looking, finding more posts on the blog.

------ caused a scene at the store today.
------ is turning 13 soon and still can't speak.
------ had another meltdown.
I just can't take ------ anywhere.
------ will never tell me she loves me.
------ will never really grow up.
Loving ------ is hard, and she makes it harder every day.

All of the posts were like this. The pieces came together in their head and crept into their stomach like a sickness. The image of the pills on the nightstand flashed in their head and they cringed, threading their fingers in their hair, feeling the nails dig in because the pain of that was better than the blow that struck their core and rung through their body.

They were a burden, weren't they? Too difficult to keep. As easy it would have been to pretend that who was being described wasn't really who they were, they couldn't. She'd tried to get rid of them, quietly in the night, and maybe hope that no one would find out the truth. Who would miss this changeling when the real child went missing long ago?

But they were still here. The shadow crept up their legs, draping over their back and linking its pitch arms around their shoulders.
Some part of them hadn't wanted to die, and held on. The shadow gave a squeeze, a blissful pressure as if it understood.

What was clear was that they couldn't stay here. If they weren't wanted, and wouldn't stay dead, then the only thing would be to go somewhere else. Maybe there, they could be the person they felt they were, and not the lost child that Mother seemed to miss, one that never existed. Just the idea was terrifying. Everything would change, everything they took comfort in would have to be rebuilt. But what was the alternative?

They disappeared, leaving no trace at the home other than gathering up a few of their most treasured belongings, leaving their old life and name behind. Maybe the road ahead would bring with it something more fitting. And maybe it would soothe the ache in their body at what had happened, tell them that they might just matter in the eyes of someone, even if they hadn't found it yet.