Hello Hello! The ancient artifact we have here is an old piece of writing from my freshman year of high school, and one of my first pieces of fiction writing that I actually finished! Made for a freshman year English class project, this piece was also presented at my high school's first (and last) ever litmag open mic, in which it was read by a fellow litmag member while I hid in the coffeeshop bathroom out of anxiety and sheer embarrassment. You can tell from the second person point of view and Lovecraftian bog beast that I was deep in my love of Welcome To Night Vale. While this is a short and not particularly impressive piece, I was (and still am) proud of the fact it even exists.
I was a deeply neurotic and self deprecating child which led to me being an anxious and self-hating teen. This obsession with not being good enough stopped me from creating many times in my life (I never even finished my senior thesis in high school! I got away with it because the pandemic distracted everyone and also made my entire grade graduate regardless.) These days, the struggle is more time and motivation as well as healing from those past scars, but every day we move closer!
my intro is likely longer than the piece itself at this point so I'll wrap it up here. I hope you enjoy this little time capsule, and remember, be kind to your young self, they'll never know what you know now.
Signing off,
Dr. Worm
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There are rumors of creatures in the woods. Invisible beasts that drag people into the murky waters of the bog, sinking to the bottom faster than you can scream for help or pray for forgiveness. It's all bull, of course. It's all children toppling over while trying to catch frogs and stoned college students seeing something that's not there before collapsing into the water. This isn't Twin Peaks and there's nothing in the water and you’re ridiculous for thinking that.
But they say.
But rumors claim.
But Ms. Johnson lost her husband to the woods with no evidence of his body except a torn shirt and a faint smell of metal. But Jamie went to the bog to wait for her friends and she was officially pronounced dead a week after she disappeared leaving only her phone and a pair of shoes on a rock by the water. But little Josie got lost in the knotty maze of trees leading to the placid bog and the police have been searching for her for days now and they fear the worst.
But.
But.
But.
But nothing. Danger isn't always magic and you're telling yourself lies to deal with loss and you were just imagining it when the mud surrounding the bog whispers to you to jump in and it was the light that made the water look like it was almost running uphill instead and a noxious smell is starting to come from the area but there's no danger to the bog.
There’s no danger to the bog.
There’s no danger to the bog.
There’s no danger to the bog.
Just.
Step.
In.