Short Stories of the Garden

I'm back | Author

The page has been dead for a long, long time.

People occasionally wander through the corpse of its halls, reading the stories that were once so full of life. Now it's full of outdated memories, nothing interesting but the pit at the end of the hall. Everyone had their own way of leaving the platform, but once it's no longer used, it tends to degrade without the maker's constant use.

The pit used to be a pool full of dark water, somehow never spilling out of the sides. Now, without the maker, it's dried up. Everyone who comes across it knows that the maker has been gone for a long time.

Then, late at night with no one around to witness it, the pit fills with dark liquid.

A hand shot out of the pool, grasping onto the edge as the being tried to pull themself out.

The Author gasps once their head breaks the surface, before dragging themself out of the pit, grumbling to empty air.

"I forgot how annoying it is to swim through that god forsaken pool. I spent all that time in ao3, I should check on Wattpad..." they trail off when they see over 200 notifications happily filling their vision. After scanning through half of them, they look around incredulously, specifically their outdated art gallery.

"... Why is Wattpad slightly more polished than I remember? eW, I DREW LIKE THAT?!"

Nobody noticed when the Author revived themself, but they walked around anyway in disgust, looking at old relics of what they made. Old stories, some never even open for people to read lined the halls. With a touch, they were transported into an old work and watched the scene play out, cringing to themself. They quickly left.

"... I need to fix some stuff 'round here."