Short Stories

~1~

For a better reading experience, listen to the playlist I used writing this! https://open.spotify.com/playlist/30Sb828tQ9Ib85zvqJtHDF?si=df868ca07b6c47a9

He sat, facing his computer.

He opened up Spotify, putting on a writing/reading LoFi playlist.

He got up, grabbed a lighter, and lit a black cherry scented candle.

He then proceeded to check his email, an empty inbox he found.

As he writes the first chapter of his new series, he relaxes into the chair.

After a long day, writing was his favourite thing to do.

Only the candlelight and the screen lit up the room, making a calming environment.

No footsteps, no boiling kettles, just the slow beats of the music and his thoughts.

A long day had passed, one filled with shivering, indulging, and anxiety.

But as he thinks, he realizes that without thinking, a person is nothing but flesh and bone.

Only a working brain is a smart one.

He yawns, checking the time.

6:50 PM, and he's already tired..

Must be the music.

As he stops writing for a minute, a wave of thoughts crash over him.

He daydreams about the one he loves, and her breathtaking features.

Does she feel the same?

He'll never know.

He often finds himself in a conversation with the people inside his head.

There are different kinds.

The ones who beat him up about the past, every single tiny mistake he makes.

Telling him he doesn't deserve the good life he has.

Making him believe he is the reason his relationships don't work out.

He calls them the negatives.

The ones who give him confidence, make him believe in himself.

Make him strong.

The positives.

The ones who make him think of random ideas, creating spark after spark.

Ask him things like "Is life real? Is it a simulation?"

All the questions he wonders, but can not answer.

The spirits.

He stretches, letting only the positives and the spirits overtake his mind.

As he swims out of the ocean of thoughts, he starts waking up to reality.

"I have to get this done."

He knows.

He checks the time again.

6:58

Only 8 minutes?

Thinking can feel like hours.

His writing process is interrupted by his mother, asking him a question.

After he answers, he easily slips back into a calm headspace.

Grateful for the fact the no one knows what he is writing except him.

Happy, knowing that he is the only one in the entire universe to ever write this word for word.

Fulfilled, as he finishes off with a final word.

Goodbye.