Flash Fiction Magic: Feb 17 "A Broken Promise"

This flash fiction prompt came from Emily Barnett, on Instagram @embarnettauthor.

“A year ago, I made a promise to myself to be a better being. I told my… best friend, Vale. She said it was too vague. ‘Better than what? You’re already pretty great, bud.’ By the way, I hate it when she calls me that. But… I think we both knew she was purposely failing to remember that time I literally ran away when she was being attacked by a group of Moricans.”

I pause, trying to take a steading breath before I continue what I know is going to be a difficult confession to this stranger peering at me from my center monitor. “I can… still see the way they piled on top of each other, all clawing to get a scrap of her flesh.”

I force the image from my mind and focus on the unblinking eyes in front of me.

“Somehow, she survived. I wasn’t there to see it…” I sigh out the breath I’ve been holding. “No matter how much I practice this self-love bullshit, I can’t help it when that kernel of hatred heats in my chest over what I’ve done in the past. It pops and multiplies until I feel rage overflowing inside, and at that point, no amount of deep breathing or I-give-my-past-self-grace-affirmationing helps. I have to physically get it out of my body.”

The face in the screen is nodding like he understands. He opens his mouth but I keep talking. This hour feels like it’s taking three days.

“That’s why I started digging. The first time that rage boiled over, I slammed my fists into the ground and punched a crater so large that a child’s hover mobile could have used it as a training ground.” I chuckle. “I was shocked at the power at first, but immediately after letting it out I felt better and was able to get on with my day. Actually, I felt so good that I went above ground for five full minutes. That memory… the feeling of the sun warming my face, the smell of fresh air and the feeling of hope and excitement… It reminded me of my first day of freedom after The Merge. And honestly, I… I wanted to feel that all the time.”

I pause again, wondering when this guy is going to say anything or if I’m just supposed to talk at him the entire time. I chance a quick glance at the clock on the shelf above. I’ve been talking non-stop for thirty minutes.

This is definitely the most words I’ve said in my life. I decide to finish explaining my current problem. Maybe he’ll talk then.

“So, anyway. What I’m saying is, I promised myself to be better, and I saw another therapist, like you, who taught me about this deep breathing and a self-love and affirmations, and they work sometimes, but there are some… memories that trigger this rage, and that rage made me start digging, and last week, I dug all the way to…”

My brain is definitely telling me to stop, but I keep going anyway. I need to get this out.

“The temple. Yeah… So, I’m sure you saw the news. That was… that was me. But you have to understand. You didn’t grow up on that planet. You… mortal beings have no idea what Maartan was like. He was banished because he let his anger take over completely til he became so… damn it he became so ruthless and bloodthirsty that he destroyed everything.”

I’m crying now. From regret, from pain. From relief, maybe at being so far away from where I was a thousand years ago.

“And when I saw those humans worshipping him again I…” I let my mouth hang open, speechless. It was truly unbelievable how quickly mortal beings forgot the terrible things in their own history. “I just lost it.”

I let my head hang, and I’m staring off to the side of the screen. To nowhere.I’m exhausted.

“I broke the promise I made to myself, and I'm really... upset about it.” I say, unable to find the right word to finish my soliloquy.

The therapist stays silent for a while, and then I see him reach up to adjust his tiny glasses.

“Danmar,” he calls me gently out of my stupor. “Do you think that you are an evil being?”

I can’t look at him. There’s nothing stopping my tears now, and my chest heaves, my mouth twists.

“Yes,” I sob, the word barely understandable. “I do.”