“How were you the only one to survive?”
The officer crossed his burly arms and looked down at me with contempt. I could barely hear him continue, the sound of my shaky breath filled my eardrums. I swallowed to quench my thirst that I didn’t know I had, my skin pulled tightly from the dried blood that was cached onto my face. I couldn’t tell how injured I was after the accident, but I knew this blood on me wasn’t mine alone.
“Don’t lie to me. You were the only one at the scene of the crime. How can you not remember what happened?” He leaned across the table, towering over my person. “Do you want to be charged with murder?!”
I didn’t pay attention to the color of his eyes as he glared at me or how his spit sprayed onto the mixture of blood as he flapped his jaws. My mind was somewhere else, trapped in that horrible moment I dared to believe was just a dream.
Surely if I woke up from this hellish future, everything would be normal again. Using some concentration, I bit the inside of my jaw and pushed my nails into my palms enough to pierce the skin, but I didn’t wake up. I was still cuffed to my seat, sitting inside the police station with blood stained on my person and clothes. All while knowing the person I desired to see was no longer in the land of the living. I choked back another sob, trying to remain what little composure I had left for my own sanity.
“Hey, don’t you think he’s been through enough? Send him home. We can question him another time.”
“I think I nearly broke him. Let me have just a little longer.” The officer greedily leaned a bit closer as emphasis to his statement. A thought took over my mind that he might be enjoying himself too much, particularly in his nether regions.
“Don’t be stupid.” The woman loudly sighed from the other side of the glass window. “We can’t keep him here without evidence.”
“Why was he reaching for the victim with glass sticking out of his hand? He probably stabbed him and then himself to make it look like an accident.” He looked over his shoulder, gesturing to me like I was some interesting discovery he couldn’t figure out.
Hearing the officer refer to the deceased in such a manner made my stomach lurch.
“Stand down officer,” the woman said firmly. “Nothing can be confirmed until we get access to the footage from the shop.” The microphone released a static sound that suggested it had been shut off and no further objections would be heard.
My life felt like a constant battle to survive.
“What is wrong with you?! Why can’t you do anything right?!” My mom would shout at me, trying to shrink my already ghostly form into smithereens.
In this particular instance, I decided to do the laundry on my own when she came storming into my space and shook my shoulders violently, screaming in my face with her domineering nature. She’d claim it was for my benefit so I wouldn’t grow up to be punk out on the streets, but rather I knew it was because she couldn’t tolerate someone else taking control.
Throughout my childhood, I tried to match her pace when she demanded something. Whether to apologize for defending myself, breathing the wrong way, or simply forgetting to handle an instruction exactly as she ordered.
I felt like a puppet on strings, or no… a windup doll, a living imitation of pretty plastic adorned in jewels and if it moved the wrong way, people would see its cracks and look at it with contempt and scorn.
Many times I planned how I would run away. I mapped out the entire scenario in my head, going sleepless nights thinking about how I’d escape but I’d always wrap back around to the fact I had nowhere else to go.
I was seventeen. I remember coming home from school that day with my backpack full of books, listening from outside the house to my parents going through another screaming match at each other, and that was when I decided I had enough.
Maybe I was never an obedient child or a son worthy of having proud parents, but whether that was true, I was now all alone in the world. No family member would take in a runaway child on the brink of graduation. All they would see when they looked at me was a delinquent being served an overdue cruel fate.
I avoided the orphanage too. I dropped out of school, found a decent job for a few years to save enough money for a cheap apartment. Although at first, I starved for a couple months, only having enough cash to pay rent.
Now where am I? I'm a twenty-eight-year-old man, living in a small, decent apartment with an associate’s degree in engineering. I’m still unsure how I managed all this on my own, but on a list of things I’m blessed to have in this world, I’m just relieved I made it this far.
Although I work in engineering, what I look forward to the most is writing my stories. Storytelling has been my passion ever since I read many wonderful web novels growing up on the internet. There was nothing more enjoyable than creating a cool, powerful hero or heroine who suddenly had everything to gain from an unexpected chance. I portray my characters as everything that I have never been in this life. They were to go farther than I have ever reached, to see new wonders that an average man or woman can never explore or touch, and above all, pull at the heartstrings of the audience.
I could hardly believe I started this journey five years ago. At that time, I published my first web novel. It was a Chinese action novella about a young man born in the slums. He’s abandoned at a young age and we share similar burdens of loss. He grew up poor and struggled to find his way in the world until one day he’s given an unexpected chance. A chance at revenge against those who wronged him in his past life.
I was so happy with this story. My whole life I thought I was a beaten down nobody without talents, but when given a chance to put a pen on paper, my real potential shone the brightest. The hero from “I was born a poor man in my next life,” reflected how my life never quite felt like my own. The way I’m constantly shut down for having an opinion to the point I barely speak to anyone. How little I share about myself with those around me in fear of their disapproval. I”m a living ghost in the shape of a human being, a walking shadow that moves at the expense of others.
Despite my story doing well, my passion for it dwindled after my parents called me for the first time since I left. I don’t even know how they got my new phone number, but least to say, our talk wasn’t pleasant.
When my urge to write returned, I began my second story.
“The Water God and his Silver Dragoness” was also a reflection of my life, but contained less of an emphasis on revenge. Instead this story introduced an ongoing romance that insinuated my search for belonging and happiness.
Never did I imagine my second novel would run on for this long, or succeed to this extent. ToonbyteMe.com even agreed to release a dating game between my female protagonist, Calisaya, and the seven gods who she’s contracted with. The harem was invented for Calisaya to reclaim her kingdom, but my fans seemed to care more about their ongoing romance rather than the plot.
With the unfinished novel becoming over 200,106 words long, it’s safe to say, I’m at a loss on how to finish the story. The comments were becoming less frequent as well.
—[Why am I still reading this? *clicks the next chapter*] sent five days ago. 20 people agree with this comment. There are 0 down votes. No comments.
With little else to do, I scrolled back a couple of years ago and checked one of the top comments.
—[I’ve been a fan of XXX for over two years, but after coming back to this novel, I’m sad to say it’s lost my interest as the story continues to stretch aimlessly with no direction. Doesn’t Calisaya have enough gods with five already? Why does she need two more??? She only plans to fight her mortal family, not crack the world in half] sent two years ago. 50000+ people agree with this comment. 30000+ people found this comment funny. There are 29 down votes. 70 people commented on this post.
—shanhaXXX [OP I think you need to reread the story. Much happened between Calisaya and the gods that deepened their relationship and desire to help her. She wants to become the strongest to take back her kingdom. No one has ever given the privilege of contracts with the gods before, so I think it’s quite reasonable] sent two years ago.
—LeonXXX [It doesn’t matter because this story has been going on for two years and doesn’t plan to finish soon. Take this as advice from an experienced novel reader. We’re going to be here quite a while] sent two years ago.
—MightyX [@shanhaXXX protagonist halo]
—Gtube123x [@MightyX LOL]
—OP [@shanhaXXX I still feel like this reason is stupid, but I understand what you’re saying now. I went back and reread the last fifty chapters] sent two years ago.
—nobodyX [@LeonXXX man I feel you and you’re a Leon shipper which is an extra up vote from me] sent two years ago.
—YourMom [Are we going to forget Sagittarius?? LOL] sent two years ago.
—nobodyX [@YourMom ??? When was Sagittarius a main character or did I miss something?] sent two years ago.
—dewyChan [@OP @YourMom he’s a member of a local church] sent one year ago.
—OP [@dewyChan don’t ping me wtf… it’s been a year, and I have moved on from this novel] sent one year ago.
—dewyChan [sorry OP *sad face*] sent one year ago.
—XXXFan [Does anyone know why OP stopped reading the novel? I just started a week ago and I really love it] sent seven months ago.
—nobodyX [@XXXFan I came back to reread the novel and found your question by chance. Pretty sure OP got bored with the updates, I can relate] sent seven months ago.
There were fifty-seven replies left, but I didn’t feel like reading them right now. I tried to stay away from the comment section, knowing that’s a good rule of thumb for content creators, but sometimes I found myself tempted to give in. No matter how hard I tried to not care about others’ opinions, my mom’s words would ring in my ears about why I’d never be good enough. Even my grades suffered sometimes because of her lengthy tongue lashings. She reminded me of an overgrown lizard.
I put down my phone and buried my face in my hands, feeling embarrassed.
If I had written a harem of women, I wouldn’t feel like such a laughingstock among my peers. My fans never cared about my gender. They supported the fact I was a rarity among the harem writers catering towards women, but unfortunately, those closest to me and my coworkers weren’t as accepting. They already thought my long hair was too feminine, but that joke died down after a while. Now they just tried to avoid me because they thought I might hit on them.
I’ve always known people in my life tended to be toxic, but with the sudden popularity of my second novel, they became much worse.
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