"I'm imaginary? I don't exist?!?"

Her eyes fell. She couldn't look at me in that moment, as she softly said, "Yes, I'm sorry. I made you up."

I paced in circles, trying to get my head straight. Getting dumped was bad enough, but this...sure, she'd been troubled, what with her uncle abusing her and her parents not doing anything about it. It had taken years for her to get to a state where she could even think about a relationship. Still, we'd been happy, of sorts. My own past wasn't all that shiny, either. Wait. Maybe that was how I could convince her that she was being ridiculous.

"So, what about my past. What about my father's death when I was young, and my alcoholic mother. Who thinks up stuff like that for their imaginary friend?"

"I needed you to be broken, like me, so you would understand me."

I stopped, incredulous. "Are you serious?"

Again, her gaze fell to the carpet. "I don't expect you to believe me. I know how this must sound to you. I'm sorry."

"Damn right it sounds crazy. So...why exactly are you doing this now?"

For the first time in minutes, she looked me straight in the eye, and I saw sadness wash over her features.

"It's not helping anymore. I need to move on, and if you were real, that's what you'd have to do, too. I love you, but I can't live with this crutch forever. I need to get back on my own two feet. Please try to understand."

She looked away for a second, "By tomorrow morning, you'll have ceased to exist."

"Hey, don't get me wrong. I hate that you want to end it, and it tears me apart. But I'm worried about you. All this talk about me being imaginary...that's not normal."

She smiled wistfully at that.

"We never really did normal all that well, did we?"

I shook my head, still unable to wrap my head around all of it. I felt a hysteric laugh bubble up from my stomach, but it stuck in my throat.

"No, I suppose we didn't."

She didn't say more, and I was too stunned and out of my depth to say anything, either. A few minutes later, she got up, and walked to the door.

"Good-bye, Sam."

I looked at her, vision blurry from tears I didn't know whether they came from anger or heartbreak...probably both. I don't know how, but I croaked out a "Bye." and turned toward the window. It was grey outside. That much, at least, was fitting. I didn't move until I heard the front door open and close. I felt sobs welling up, and for once, I didn't even try to stop them.

Damn, we might not have done normal, but we were great together, scars and all. Had been great together. Damn it all.

I only wished she hadn't gone off the deep end like she had. I'd have to call her therapist and let her know. Tomorrow. I grabbed the tablet from the couch, and called up a melancholy music playlist. Tonight was for diving into the depths of darkness. Tomorrow would be soon enough. A bitter laugh escaped me. If I was even still here tomorrow. Crazy talk.

Somehow, I must have fallen asleep on the couch. I woke up early, as orange light fell through the window. A perfect sunrise for a crappy day. Oh well, so much for imaginary friends, I thought. I called my supervisor at work to take a few days off. I needed some time to process this.

After breakfast, I called the therapist's office.

"Hey, this is Sam Hegler. I'm calling about my girl-friend Janet. She seems to have had a break-down of sorts."

"Hi Mr. Hegler. I'm sorry, who did you say this was about?"

"My girl-friend, Janet Lloyd. She broke up with me yesterday, and seems to believe I'm an imaginary friend."

"Hang on, let me call up her file."

I waited.

"Mr. Hegler, I'm sorry. There is no Janet Lloyd on file here. Are you sure you called the right number?"

"Of course I'm - ", I started to say, then I stopped as everything came rushing in on me.

"I'm sorry, nevermind", I rasped, and hung up the phone.

Everything spun around me, and I held on to the kitchen countertop to steady myself. My father's death, the home I never had after that, and that sunny day in the park when I first met her.

Only I never did.

Her voice came back to me. "It's not helping anymore. I need to move on, and if you were real, that's what you'd have to do, too."

Fuck my messed-up brain.

I wrote this story in response to a writing prompt on reddit that went like this:

"It turns out that spiders want to be roommates and pay rent by putting change in your couch. They pay proportional to their size. One day you return to find two large bars of gold in your couch..."

Here's my take. If there's enough interest, I might write a follow-up.

Sam sat there, just staring at the two solid bars of gold. This marked a definite deviation from the way things commonly went. Another deviation was the pair of oversized spiders sitting on the couch across from him, to the left and right of the gold.

"This is unusual", he finally managed to say through a throat gone dry.

There was a kind of chirping, or rasping sound over a backdrop of a beehive. Then, a little box hanging around one spider's...neck...spoke: "Yes, we know. We don't feel safe anywhere else, and we were given testimonies as to your accomodating nature. We were told this was how you do business."

He nodded jerkily, the tension robbing the motion of any elegance or fluidity.

"Yes, but in general, spiders don't talk to me. And, no offense intended, I've never seen any...specimens...quite your size, either."

Again that rasping, chirping, buzzing sound, then the translator box voiced: "We're not from around here, really, and truth be told, we are a little desperate. So, will you allow us to move in?"

Sam coughed nervously. All kinds of thoughts about deadly poisonous spiders spinning around in his head. And spiders the size of grown dogs could probably kill a dinosaur with a single bite, let alone him. The visions of himself getting bitten, all cocooned up then lazily slurped empty didn't help make him any more relaxed, so he banished them and forced himself to focus on the material. Sweat started forming beads on his forehead. And basically everywhere else.

"I'm a bit scared, you know. Most...inhabitants...hail from around here, and none are poisonous enough to threaten me. To be quite frank, your presence makes me more than a bit uncomfortable." He cleared his throat, then continued: "You know, from a purely business point of view, I'm not sure I could accept your proposal. You're grossly overpaying, and it just wouldn't feel fair."

More rasping: "Yes, about that."

The words sent a chill down Sam's spine. He was in his early thirties, so not old by any means, but these words were never followed by anything good.

"Sam - may we call you Sam?" Another jerky nod. "Sam, we want to be completely truthful with you. When we said we weren't from around here, we didn't mean this region. We meant we're not from this planet. For reasons we would prefer not to talk about, we had to...immigrate here, and we're looking for a safe space. So, some of the extra pay is to buy your goodwill. The second bar is for you to extend the house. We'll need room for the kids."

Sam opened his mouth to speak, closed it, opened it again, then snapped it shut, unable to even form a coherent thought.

Interpreting his shock as rejection, the spider adressed him again.

"We're sorry we cannot afford more right now. If this is not enough, we could maybe offer a working arrangement of some kind. You see, our poison is, indeed deadly, but it also produces a very pronounced euphoric effect, so our...um...food remains blissfully still during the...er...containment process."

Sam visibly paled, but before he could respond, the spider continued.

"Now, we've been self-aware and sentient for a long time, so we have learned to...control the specific composition of the chemical. In layman's terms, we can produce the drug without the poison component. Back at home, this was a necessity to maintain our livestock in...happy conditions. It is thoroughly addictive if we want to, but it does not have to be."

Sam sat frozen, unable to even move. A ticking, clicking sound shook him from his immobile state, and he turned to the source of the new noise. The window was closed, fortunately, but what he saw almost tore the few remainders of his sanity apart.

Outside his window was a wasp twice the size of the spiders on his couch.

He almost didn't notice the buzzing rasp, before the translator voice exclaimed: "Crap, they found us!"

The translator managed to sound almost British as the spider turned back towards Sam, and drily added: "Also, we need protection."

I had been working up to this for a long time, but it was worth it. I could feel it in the air...the energy, the tension was palpable. Bit by bit their resistance had been eroded, their rejection replaced by fear or exhilaration. Either of which was fine with me. I had them in my pocket. All I had to to was go out there and speak to them.

I breathed deeply, and straightened my jacket. I took a long look in the mirror, looking for anything out of place, then nervously adjusted my collar. Finally, I went out on the balcony.

The roar of the crowd was deafening. I closed my eyes for a moment, and breathed deeply. Yes, they were ready, just as promised. They were right on the cusp. I opened my eyes again, and raised my hand in greeting. Slowly, as they greeted me back, the people quieted down.

Everybody present looked at me expectantly, anxiously, almost feverishly. I stoked the fire. I knew their every fear, their every sorrow and worry, and I told them all the things I would do for them, the plans I had for them, and how they would live and prosper according to my plans. I knew them well, and at the same time, I reinforced the face of the enemy.

At last, I bellowed the final question, the ultimate challenge, although I knew their response: "Wollt Ihr den totalen Krieg?!?"

The world drowned in the crescendo that followed.

Depression is

Like a photograph

In black and white

All of the color having poured out

Its vibrancy drained away

What remains is an impression

Whether artful or bland

No more than a residue of the

Life that was

Supposed to fill its frame

People disappoint

Especially when one is predisposed

To believe in the best in everyone

People hurt each other

Betray each other

Cheat and lie

Love is what holds the world together

So they say

Maybe this is why we

Are circling the drain

Then again it is good to remember

It is the cheaters who expect to be cheated

Liars who expect to be lied to

Powermongers who see usurpers everywhere

So when, despite all this,

You still try to see the best in all of us

I know your heart is in the right place

And that you embody hope

Because when everything burns

It is your hope that makes the world move

Your strength

That will allow humanity to drag itself

Out of the ashes by the receding wisps of our hair

You are that hope

And what is hope

But love for the future?

Writing Prompt from r/WritingPrompts: "2034 AD. The first manned mission to Mars with genetically altered crops in the hope of domesticating the red planet takes a violent and deadly turn days before landing. You are the sole survivor."

The itch simply never goes away, no matter how much I scratch, or ignore it. I take care not to scratch too hard. An open wound simply will not do. I check the navigational data again; everything still looks good. I have disabled the primary and secondary communications antennae to prevent ground control from sending override commands. I have to complete my mission, no matter what they say.

I unstrap from my seat, and float back into the crew compartment. The others are still where I left them, strapped to their bunks, dead but some not really dead. One of them lets out a "fart" of decomposition gases. I feel a short burst of euphoria, and of pleasure at the sight. Absently, I scratch my neck again, carefully. Never too hard. There is pain when I scratch too hard.

At first it all seemed horrible. The discovery that one of the boxes of grains contained ants. Then the discovery that these ants were extremely aggressive, and apparently...intelligent. They killed all of us except me.

Some days I wish it had been one of the others opening that fateful box for a routine check. She quells these thoughts quickly, though. She needs me to fulfil my mission: land the ship on Mars, prepare a small plot of soil under a dome that was constructed during a previous mission. Plant the grains.

Two days later it is time to double-check everything for atmospheric entry. Almost there, I think, accompanied by a rush of pleasure.

The itchy spot on my neck has grown bigger as she continues laying eggs. Soon the first workers will hatch. And through the ant queen, and nourished by my flesh, I shall be the father of millions.

There is that moment

born from both clarity

and desperation

when all the ways that were

are no longer adequate

and all the things that worked

now broken

There is that moment

filled with both uncertainty

and fear

when all the ways that are

suddenly appear again

and all the roads that were barred

now open

There is that moment

elevated through both courage

and relief

when realization hits that

one step is enough

and all that is up ahead

is the unknown

He stood on his small balcony overlooking the sea, watching the surf as he did every night. One hand held a bottle of beer, the other petted the gray cat he had originally thought belonged to his neighbors. Whether she did or not, she seemed to enjoy his company because they had been going through this same ritual almost every night for a number of months now. It comforted him. It made him feel less lonely, and this feeling was what kept him going since Angela had died in that terrible accident almost a year ago.

The cat - he called her 'Spirit' for her gray fur and her ability to appear and disappear almost at will in the morning fog - had the added virtue of not complaining about his heavy drinking. He knew that all the beer in the world would not bring his Angela back, but still he drank far too much of it.

Spirit turned on her backside and let him pet and scratch her belly. After a while, she squirmed back onto her feet, jumped off the railing, and disappeared into the night. This was just her way, and when the willful cat left, he usually went inside soon after, not wanting to be out alone.

His thoughts wandered back, remembering the woman he had loved. She had always been quiet about her past and family, reluctant to share even the little she had. Just once she had tried to deliver what might almost be understood as a kind of justification, and she had tried to explain to him why she thought she could never really be free.

"See, say there is this cat that runs away from its owners. It can run wherever it wants, halfway around the world if you will, but that damned, tiny red cat collar around its neck will accompany it forever. Any place it may run to, the collar will be there as its mark."

He had been somewhat confused by the analogy, looked at her a long time, and asked, "What if somebody else took that collar away?"

She had looked at him, and fallen into his arms crying. And because he didn't know what to say, and he didn't want to see her cry, he had never spoken about it again.

A cool wind brought him back to the present. He sighed, emptied his beer, went to bed, and within minutes, he was asleep.

A gentle breeze came in from the sea. Gulls were laughing, and her hair shone in the sunlight as would spun gold as she walked towards him on the beach. He knew he'd have had to be standing there staring at her for minutes, because she started to laugh her pearly laugh. That's how he had got to know Angela. His Angela. They sat in the sand exchanging stories, pointing out bizarre details in their surroundings, laughing together. Their eyes found each other, their hands touched, and they kissed. Much later, they walked hand in hand, up towards his little house with the little balcony overlooking the beach and the sea.

They made love that night while the breeze billowed the curtains. They screamed their extasy across the waves, unashamed of anyone overhearing. And, eventually, they slept, holding each other.

He opened his eyes when a shadow fell across his face, and looked up into her beautiful face. He was instantly grinning broadly. "Last night was wonderful", he said. And, "I love you."

She smiled her warm smile at him, caressed his cheek, and said, "I love you. I will always love you." And as she kissed him, he woke for real.

The balcony door was open, and a slight graying of the dark sky announced the coming of the new day. The curtains moved slightly in the sea air, and for a moment he thought he saw something moving outside.

He propped himself up on one arm to be able to see better when his hand fell on something on his bed.

There, on the pillow beside him, was a small, red leather cat collar.

In the winter gardens of Caldoon

Hidden from the sun and moon

Thriving in the dead of night

A silver-petaled rose of light

Singing songs so long unheard

Stolen by an evil bird

Brought to me by a white dove

A silver-petaled rose of love

Live is a perverted thing I think

To myself as I swim

Upstream

always upstream

Every stroke takes effort

Sapping my strength

It should be easier

It should be possible to float

Let the water carry you

For a while at least

Every time I turn myself around

The current pushes me under

Until panicked and half-drowned

I turn upstream again

Stroke

Gasp

Stroke

Breath

Find my rhythm

Swim on

Everything is relative

And relative to the river of life

My strength is infinitesimal

What I do is not sustainable

I know that

But for now

Swimming upstream works

Because swimming in this direction

Even while it tires me

The current gently presses me up

Out of the water

So I swim

Until I don’t

My muscles betray me

The mind that beat my

Relentless rhythm

Jars to a halt

Unsustainable things always end

So I surrender

I go under

I swallow the sweet water

Somehow I manage to turn onto my back

Finally

The water carries me

Effortlessly

Peacefully

Under a blurry blue sky

I watch serene clouds go wherever

Wondering how not having a choice

Can be the best thing that happens to you

And it is

Then, numbly at first

Now louder

With a terrifying rumble

Life tells its final joke

Suddenly, the roar is behind me

I shoot out beyond the waterfall

In that last, quirky moment of clarity I realize

I’m falling faster than my tears