The Legend of Voden: The Rise of the Hollow

Chapter #11: Maelstro

Maelstro considered drowning himself in the little pool of water that he found himself in.

He was branded stupid, useless, a moron, a freak. Unwelcomed by his own tribe and his own family, he left his "home" as he ran off into the desert, seeking comfort and acceptance.

Now, the Howling Desert was all that was left for him now. At least the endless sight of the desert offered better comfort than his family.

But he swore he was losing his mind when he heard the cacti spoke, or when he thought he heard cries of agony echoing in the winds. Every time he looked back, he tried to find the voices he heard in his mind, but he would find nothing except for his own footsteps in the sand that followed him wherever he went.

Perhaps this was the price to pay for salvation. His family may have been the one to drive him insane at first, but he soon realized what her mother had meant when she said that they were the only ones that were keeping him sane.

Traveling and hunting and sleeping under the stars, it wasn't just the same without them. For a moment that briefly passed through the world, a part of his mind missed his family and wished to be with them again.

Deal with it, the voices said. You can't turn back now.

The vision of his family began to fade away, and the pressure in his chest was beginning to become unbearable now. He thought he would on the verge of tears for a second, but then he remembered he couldn't exactly cry in water, and that he was now choking because of it.

He didn't know why he forgot he was trying to drown himself, but now his survival instincts were kicking in, pushing himself towards the surface of the liquid. Maelstro felt the exhilarating rush of air into his lungs as he reached the surface, gasping for breath. He felt the water splashing across his face as his vision became normal again, bringing him back to reality.

He was panting, nearly collapsing at the brink of exhaustion. Shock riddled along the thorn-like spikes along his back as his tiny form shivered, despite the coldness wearing away in the heat of the sun. He survived but he was disappointed; he had been underwater for six minutes now, and he still hadn't been able to kill himself for some reason.

You should've drowned. It was better for you to drown in water than in despair.

Maelstro's ears perked up as he turned around, trying again to locate the sound but to no avail. He tried to shake the feeling off, rummaging for any residual, happy thoughts among the ruins of his mind that kept the voices at bay. All that he could think of was the relief when he just happened to stumble upon the oasis the first time he entered the desert, and that the oasis wasn't just a mirage made up by his mind.

Lies. An angrier voice said in his mind. Everything is made up. Just like you and your pathetic life.

That is not true, he argued with the voice in his head. For one, the desert is my home now. And two, I'm alive now. You can't argue with that.

Maelstro waited for the voice to reply but only silence came. Everything seemed calm all of a sudden. He could admire the view of the lake, its serenity a reflection of the dawning sky, subtle and unobtrusive.

Yet everything seemed surreal to him so far. He didn't know what was real and what was not anymore. It was as if the border between reality and imagination dissolved into non-existence, which was a paradox by itself, the analytical part of his mind reasoned. It was like the water and the sky he was watching now, their boundaries merging together to become one plane of existence, inseparable from one another in his mind.