Reflections: A Brieltas Short Story + Blog Spotlight

So, I wanted to write a short story with Monty meeting his younger self (don’t ask why, me writing flashbacks and being introspective about things XP) BUT I was like, “well how can I be different from all my other short stories so people don’t just go “ah great another short story -_-” WELL THIS IS DIFFERENT! If you have a Substack or a Blog, post a short story with your character (does not have to be the MC) meeting the younger, untraumatized version of themself, and post the link to the story in the comments below! SO WE CAN ALL HAVE OUR CHARACTERS MEETING THEIR YOUNGER SELVES AND MOURNING THE LOSS OF THEIR INNOCENCE *cackles*.

*coughs* anyway, yep, that’s what we’re doing here *nods*. Enjoy the snippet. <3

(this might actually become a canon scene to Brieltas, we’ll see…)

***

The first thing I notice is the white room.

You know the place.

The kind of white space that the movies usually use when the characters are inside their head. Or dreaming. An aesthetic that doesn’t exist in real life, because nothing is that clean.

Except my white box isn’t white. It’s stained at the edges. Darkness, encroaching on the light that comes from nowhere. But it doesn’t invade. It just sits there. Waiting.

How hard did I hit my head?

Hard enough to hallucinate?

Not that I can recall anything that happened to answer that.

I’m standing in the darkness. No surprise there.

What surprises me is the child sitting in the center of the white. A child I’ve only seen in photos, or when I’m a spectator to my memories.

He’s me.

Smaller.

Younger

Naive.

Innocent.

I swallow hard, paying closer attention to the light and shadows. If anything, the light seems to fend off the darkness from the kid. Protecting him. Keeping him safe. Meanwhile, he reads in perfect bliss, unaware of the darkness surrounding him.

When was the last time I was like this?

The boy looks up, and I startle at the brightness in his gaze, the complete trust. “Hi!” he chirps. “I was wondering when you would come.”

I hesitate. “You were expecting me?”

He shrugs. “No, but I always wondered what it would be like if my older self came to visit.”

That… sounds like me at six years old. No logic. No impossibilities.

Just imagination and that sweet, too-short innocence.

I still stay in the shadows, although I do move a little closer. “I don’t really know how I got here.”

“I don’t either. But I’m glad you’re here.” He holds up the book he’s reading. “Have you read this?”

I snort at the picture of a boy staring at a dog whose body is made from a clock. “Yeah. A few times.”

The Phantom Tollbooth.

What was a six year old doing reading The Phantom Tollbooth?

“Mama says it’s a big book for me,” he says, turning the worn, yellowed pages. “But I can read it, so what’s the problem?”

“We were both precocious readers, weren’t we?” I mutter, sitting down at the edge of the darkness.

“What does precocious mean?”

“Right. We didn’t learn that until we were seven.” I scratch my head. “It’s like… being more grown up in something than you’re supposed to.”

“Oh. Cool.” He sets down the book, watching me. “Are you very precocious?”

Something about the way he watches me makes the scars on the inside of my arms itch.

“Some would say that.”

“Why?”

The simple question hurts more than it should. I glance up at him, locking eyes with my six-year-old self. There are no shadows in his eyes. No sense of pain beyond a skinned knee or a slammed head. Everything in his world could be fixed with a hug and a kiss, a band-aid and some gentle words. Fiction was merely an add-on to the fantastic world he lived in, instead of an escape from the voices in his head.

And in his eyes, I can see me. The grayness in my gaze. The mask drawn up to keep my pain from others, hide the scars that in the grand scheme of things, I’m still far too young to bear.

For the love of literature, how did I lose it like this?

Innocence.

The thing you never appreciate until its lost.

This kid has no idea that in three years, that mother who could fix all wrongs would be gone. That one day he’d learn the truth of his existence: a painful, evil event that should have never happened. That in six years he’d inflict scars on himself trying to pay back for the mistakes that weren’t really his. That by age eighteen, he would be an orphan three times over, have attempted to take his life twice, and still battle the demons in his head telling him that he was a mistake who shouldn’t exist.

I could warn him now. Tell him of the storms coming. Prepare him, so it doesn’t hurt so much. With the thought, I almost think I see the shadows pulse, bleeding into the edge of the light.

I just want to prepare you, so it doesn’t fall so hard.

But then I stare at his face again, innocent, naive, and young, and I stop myself.

No.

I can’t do that.

I won’t be the one to destroy this kid’s innocence.

Life is going to do that all by itself.

“I grew up too fast,” I whisper. “It wasn’t my choice.”

“Oh.” He frowns, shoulders slumping a little. “I’m sorry.”

I can see and hear the confusion. He doesn’t understand. How could he? He’s six. He feels the pain but can’t comprehend the reason. Not fully.

And that’s okay.

He’s allowed to be a child.

I just wish I could stay here and protect him from the shadows he’ll have to carry.

“Why do you sit in the dark?” he asks, scooting to the side as if to make room for me. “I think it’s warmer over here.”

I don’t mention that the light moves with him, just like the shadows move with me.

“Because I might bring the dark over,” I mutter. “And you’re not ready to sit there yet.”

“Don’t be silly!” He stands up, laughing. “You can’t bring darkness.”

I furrow my eyebrows. “What do you mean?”

“Darkness just means there’s no light. You can bring light, but you can’t bring darkness.” He walks over, pushing back the shadows. The rim of light touches my knee and I flinch back.

He stops, almost looking hurt by my reaction.

“Why are you afraid?”

“Afraid?” I scoff. “I’m not afraid.”

“You are too afraid.” He crosses his arms. “You’re a scaredy-cat of the light.”

Am I?

He steps forward, and again on reflex I’m jumping back, panting against the surge of alarm.

Maybe I am.

The idea of sitting in the light with him… what I could do to him… what my shadows could do…

And then, in the middle of my hesitation, my six-year-old self walks up, and plops down next to me, criss-cross applesauce. “There! Was that so hard?”

I’m not quite sure what I expected to happen. I didn’t expect it to be… nothing.

Nothing, except a little bit of weight off my shoulders. The shadows are still there, brushing against me, but the way that my younger self returns to reading, content and oblivious…

I can’t help but smile.

He pulls at my cloak, yanking it over his head and grinning. “Cool! We get a superhero cape when we’re older?!”

I snort. “Um, it’s more of a cloak…”

“It’s still really really awesome.” He holds it in place with one hand while he continues reading.

I really should go back.

But sitting here in the light is really nice.

I think I can hang out for a little while.

***

(can’t wait to see what y’all post!)