An empty abyss. Quiet knowing shadows. 1 door. And a body I can no longer control. Sounds don't exist. Memories come and go in a series of waves, hellos, stories and goodbyes.

Confusion fogs my brain at first then denial sets in for a moment or 2. Slowly as if coming out of a deep sleep I see and spend a moment chatting with memories from not too long ago and realize it's over. No more memories, no more laughs, no more tears, no more sighs and no more… anything.

Just a door, plain and deceptively simple, but it will seal my fate the moment the hinges creak and the door swings. During the walk I reminisce on good old memorise, have chats with moments that hurt but made me stronger. Everything feeling surreal and not quite real. The smoke and shadows seemed to hold their breath as slow dragged-out footsteps carried me towards the plain white door.

My family… I hope they're ok. Promising myself I think, "I WILL watch over them." Guilt hits me like a punch to the stomach. I have left my family and friends to mourn my passing. "How could I? No! Please no let this not be true!"

I wonder what's behind the door as I'm still slowly approaching to knock. I wish I could go back and tell everyone it's ok and I'm fine. I regret nothing though. I don't think I'd redo anything if given the chance. Just maybe say I love you to my family and friends and then fall into the sleep of eternity. They said this was the easy part of life; I've got mixed feelings on that statement.

The door loomed and became larger with every slow, dragged-out step. It finally dawned on me, toe to toe with the door. I'm not going back. The need to crumble, cry and mourn my family and friends takes over my heart. Why? Why did I have to put them through this? I, of all people, the one with the fear of grief and loss had to be so selfish as to put my family through what I feared most.

IM SORRY! The words tear at my throat as my traitorous body ignores me. it raises my hand and slowly brings it down. Tears build against dam walls I wish I could open.

A new wave of guilt pierces my soul and makes me wish that I would just knock already and not knock at all.

I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I am so so sorry.

The door opens after a single knock and resignation overcomes me and my mantra of guilt and self-loathing quiets as I take my last breath.

I'm sorry I went first, my friend.

I'm sorry I made you weep for yet another family member.

I'm sorry my body didn’t hang on. I wasn’t ready either.

I'm sorry I didn't know it was over, maybe I would have said I love you one more time.

I'm sorry for being selfish. I’m glad I didn't have to watch you go first. I will be having tea with Papa, and we’ll await your turn. I’ll be the one on the other side. Waiting for you to knock so I can open the door.

I'm sorry.

I'm sorry I had to say Goodbye

I have a long list of places to go. If I were to win an all-expenses-paid two-week vacation indecision would shadow my days as I bounced between ideas. Some mornings I would be set on England, go visit my hometown and see the things I saw when I had no appreciation for it. Other afternoons I would be set on whisking my childhood best friend off to the exotic Island of Japan. Other times I would be pressing the button of an online random country generator, landing on somewhere new and different… but not a country I’d necessarily want to visit.

I would not know who to take and where to go. I would spend my evenings, heart set on India or the Caribbeans… or maybe even… no not that OR… no that’s not right. I have no idea where I would go or who I'd take. I'd be followed by anxiety as if being haunted by bad decisions I hadn’t made yet and the desperate fear of choosing the wrong place.

But how can you choose the wrong place for a holiday? It’s not a test with a right or wrong answer. I am sure I would enjoy myself wherever I went; but I would dread looking back with regret, wishing that I had gone somewhere else.

I would look at other people with envy and think, “They would know immediately where to go and who to take, but here I sit, the holiday of a lifetime awaiting me, plagued by indecision and worry like a bad dream that wouldn’t leave your thoughts.”

Who to take, where to go? Maybe, I should just go alone. Maybe, I should sell the tickets. Put the money aside for when the anxiety stopped haunting, and the indecision stopped pestering. Or maybe I could raffle them off to raise money; or spin a globe, placing my finger on the revolving sphere to choose a random destination, eyes closed in anticipation. Where, when, who… where, when, who… where, when who? My mind spinning and spinning from indecision. Nausea clawing at my throat from dread. Anxiety making my heart race and my chest constrict.

I don’t know where I would go or who I’d take, but that’s alright. I’ve never really been the lucky type anyway.

My hand wandered in thought. It always did. Whenever I was deep in thought, it would stray to this perfectly straight line of freckles that ran down from my temple to just bellow my eye. A burst of frustration surged through my veins. I was now 16 years of age, or at least it looked that way. I was actually 2000 years old, or I had been until my old right-hand man had tried to kill me with a magic laced silver dagger.

You see I’m a fairy and it’s rather difficult to kill me. Over my 2000 years of life, I have collected lots of magic and old long forgotten charms to protect me as the reigning monarch of the Land of the Forgotten. Mortal weapons have no effect on me, mythical and demonic beasts all respect and obey me, iron normally effects fairies but doesn’t affect me to the same extent due to my half mortal blood (just gives me a nasty headache), and I have all sorts of wards to protect me against elemental magic. The only thing that could possibly kill me are old silver relics laced with the destructive magic of the Old Mages who died for the relics and pored their life source into the items, but even then I just reawaken at the age of 13, which is really irritating cause I have to train and become stronger again and the whole dying temporarily thing is painful and an exhausting process to go through.

Grinding my teeth and dropping my arm as HE walked in, I thought angrily, “If you’re going to take my kingdom from me and kill me at least do it correctly. “

I wasn’t a bad ruler. My right-hand man was a greedy pig and thought he could take it from me when we had finally achieved peace for the Forgotten. Bastard.

He now sat on the ancient throne of the Forgotten, MY throne, the throne that had been in my family for centuries. He sat on it with his large wine belly, chubby face, grubby hands and his piggish eyes dancing with delight as he ogled the handmaidens. Glaring from under my hooded cloak I stood silent as all servants who waited on the king should. I was only a cup bearer, but it gave me full access to his drink so I could lace the wine or whatever drink had taken his fancy that week with magic.

Standing there I thought of why I had kept him on as my right-hand man, even when I had known he was a greedy pig, the reason being he had a knack for getting into places he wasn’t meant to be and more importantly I thought I had owed it to his brother, High heavens hold him in his eternal slumber, to look after the oaf. Now he has stolen my throne, has made my people suffer at his chubby greedy paws and I now must be one of his servants to get close enough to slowly curse his soul for all eternity and eventually duel him for the throne as the honourable thing would be to do!

Glee like a kid getting away with a successful cookie jar heist rushed through me as I thought of how much I’m going to enjoy making him pay for my peoples suffering at his hands and his outrageous spending of resources. The land was almost destroyed because of him and his greed.

Month in and month out I kept serving him, slowly, bit by bit lacing his drinks with subtle traces of magic that he would be too drunk to notice.

Month in and month out I trained and trained, from dusk till dawn, I trained until my hands were raw.

Month in and month out I spread stories of a challenger arising to challenge the Pig King.

Month in and month out I won the peoples favour secretly, promising them vengeance and the payment due to them for their suffering.

Month in and month out he grew more paranoid and became harsher with his punishments and depleted more resources trying to win the favour of the nobles.

Month in and month out the people started rebelling.

And then, the silver dagger was stolen, and a challenge was demanded of the king. In an intoxicated state he accepted the challenge and rashly announced that it would be held at the next high moon, in the ancient amphitheatre of the Old Ones. High moon was in 3 days. The dumb oaf had just signed and sealed his own life away and had it presented to me on a silver plate.

Paranoid and frantic he tried to gain back the strength he’d lost over a long 50 years of feasting and drinking. He frantically paced away those 3 days, searching for a way out.

Day 1 was paced away with all of 15mins of battle prep that ended in hunched over gasps and fits of coughing.

Day 2 was paced away as they searched for a willing mage to put a spell on the king to de-age him. They came up empty handed.

And day 3 was paced away in a fit of wheezes, coughs and failed training attempts all to end with him finding the most outlandishly decorated and covering armour and drinking the night away until the sun dawned on the challenge day.

As he walked into the arena the crowd roared with displeasure. Almost the whole kingdom had gathered to watch his downfall. Across from him I stood, standing in my silver cloak, hood concealing my identity, my traditional war paint smeared on my cheekbones and high pointed ears. Even without the symbol of my war paint that only I wore and the family sword that hung at my hip completely concealed by the cloak everyone in the kingdom would recognise me. Their old queen. The moment I removed the cloak I would watch his face fall and go snow white with fear for he thinks his worst nightmare lies cold and dead 3ft under, the bastard couldn’t even bury me properly.

The horns blare, the crowds roar and the old arena came alive again for the 1st time in almost 2100 years. His hand goes to his horrendously and grossly over decorated sword and he charges. I glide easily away. "He’s lost his touch," I think to myself as he almost trips and falls when he meets no resistance to his charge.

Smirking I grip the very dagger he tried to kill me with, still hidden from my cloak and my identity still concealed. He swings round and charges again. Without turning around, I dodge with the grace gifted to me through my ancient blood. I find a tiny gap in his armour. I slice. Nobody sees it until he grunts, falls to a knee and brings his hand to the wound to find blood seeping out. Turning around his boring brown eyes are wide, and his mouth hangs open flabbergasted. The crowd is silent, nobody knows how I did it. Smiling wickedly, I whip my cloak off and let it fly with the wind. All the blood drains from his face as he looks at me. Healthy, young, strong, alive and brimming with the fury of all the monarchs who governed the beautiful Land of the Forgotten before me.

The crowd goes wild. Smirking, I’m in front of him in a second. Dagger to his throat I whisper for only him to hear fear making my words harsh and full of dark humour, “Why? Did you think I forgot? After all these years. She must have forgotten the anger from my betrayal. She can’t possibly burn with fury still. She would understand. Right? Think again.” And with that I ended his miserable existence and burnt his body as we do with traitors and not as I would have my right-hand man. I would say sorry to his brother when I do meet him on the other side but until then I will reign as monarch of the Forgotten and wear the birthmark from the wound that almost killed me, as a warning to all those who try to hurt the Forgotten ones and dare go against their Queen.

Complete and utter blasphemy. I stood there in the rain daring to blackmail and bribe these immortals. How could I... a mere mortal dare to hold power over these beings, these divine creatures who hold so much power they could squash me like an ant.

Standing in the rain. I waited. Would he show? He had to. He couldn't afford not to. Could he? Thoughts stormed in my head like the wind battering my side. Then in a burst of dark feathers, flying coats and the pure force of the winds of the high heavens, he descended.

Clutching my coat closer to my body as if it would protect me from the being of raw power in front of me. I spoke the moment I could, " I need you to do something for me and then I will relinquish my power over your true name."

"Wow, there really is no beating around the bush with you." He chuckled darkly his midnight blue eyes raging. Fear gripped me. It was not a good idea angering a being such as himself, but I needed something and if we feared what the other could do, this temporary alliance should work. I hope.

Quiet, with the tranquil sounds of rain, storms, water, rivers, the ocean. Windows to let in cool calming light. Books and the smell of knowledge and other worlds. A cool atmosphere to snuggle into blankets and wear warm sweaters in. Curtains to darken the space and warm lamps of different shapes scattered round the room to bring in light when the natural isn't around. Spots to sit cross legged on windowsills, or to work at desks in soft, hard or rocking chairs. Sweet and quite piano music. The space decorated to present a part of life. Vines and plants hanging and filling the space, or the ocean painted across the walls with soft and light woods, or the dramatics of fantasy worlds with dragons and mythical creatures inhabiting the celling and its artwork, or an old English styled library with dark woods and cold stone walls to keep you protected. Coffee and blankets freely accessible. Trinkets and special books lining shelves. The books and quotes of authors who had gone before. These are the spaces I wish for.

I enjoy it when challengers give you a title to work with or a random sentence to work into your writing. I am not on prose a whole lot, so I don't respond to a lot of challenges, but I look for specifically fiction and story writing and I don't find lots of fantasy prompts or challenges that interest me.