The pulsating glow of the alien sky hung over me like a neon shroud, each color a haunting reminder of the world I had left behind. It was surreal—like reality had been dipped in a mixture of ecstasy and nightmare. The twin suns, blotted with black clouds, dripped orange light across the landscape, illuminating the jagged spires that jutted from the ground like broken teeth. I felt both drawn toward and repulsed by the distorted beauty of it all, a feeling I had become intimately familiar with during my descent into this world, both outside and within.
My name is Liam, and if you were hoping for a heroic tale, you’ve found the wrong mouth to feed. I’m more familiar with darkness than light; it’s where I sought solace and, in return, discovered my vices. This place—this alien hell—I had thought would be an escape. A chance to shake off the chains of dependency. But instead, it became a breeding ground for new addictions, spiraling me deeper into the maw of oblivion.
It began on Earth, of course, like all tragedies do. I was nothing more than an unremarkable cog in a mundane life, drowning in the sea of mediocrity when an otherworldly substance—spirit, they called it—crossed my path. It could bend time and space, elevate the soul, or so the whispers said. I was a moth lulled by the promise of vibrant flames, only to discover that those flames were the very inferno consuming my will to live.
When the spacecraft crashed, I wasn’t surprised; my life had been a slow-motion train wreck long before I’d landed on this forsaken planet. The ship buckled beneath the weight of its own secrets, tears of metal and fire erupting against the backdrop of the alien landscape. I was thrown from my seat, and as gravity slammed me against the ground, I felt the spirit slip from my fingers like a phantom wisp. A fellow survivor, a hulking creature with tentacles and a face that swirled with an ever-shifting pattern, pulled me from the wreckage. Its eyes, so glossy and alien, held a depth of sorrow that mirrored my own.
“Liam,” the creature spoke, the sound vibrating through my bones. “We are not alone.”
Those words, delivered in a voice that felt like it could linger in the air forever, echoed in my soul. It was true; even here, in this uncharted land amongst colors I never knew existed, the specters of addiction followed me as shadows. The spirit had not only inhabited my past—it was part of me, an unwelcome passenger licking its lips at the prospect of feeding on my every weakness.
Days—or perhaps eons—blurred together in a relentless fog, the remnants of the crash stinging at my fingers. I wandered through this land, a labyrinth of horrors, where plants whispered lamentations and shadows danced with the rhythm of despair. The spirit was laced into every breath, and as I fell deeper into the murky waters of delirium, I could feel it pulsing in my veins. It beckoned to me, promising everything I’d ever desired, and I cursed myself for wanting it so desperately.
At night, the sky transformed into a tapestry of stars, each one a glimmering eye watching, judging my every move. I would sit in the nocturnal quiet, high on concoctions made by the other survivors—those who had also succumbed to the siren call of spirit—and share our dreams of escape. But those dreams were as ephemeral as the wisps of smoke that curled above our heads, dissipating into nothingness. I watched as some of them faded away completely, while others metamorphosed into grotesque caricatures of their former selves, dragged down by the very spirits they sought to embrace.
Then there was the wailing. At first, I thought it was the wind—an eerie howl that could chill you to the bone. But it became clearer, more distinct—the cries of those who had succumbed to the shadows, their spirits lingering like unwanted guests. I could almost taste them in the air, bitter and acrid, and I feared that soon, they would be my companions too. Sometimes, I’d hear my name in that cacophony, my own voice calling for help, pleading for release. But release was a cruel joke, always just beyond reach.
One night, I sat beneath a massive tree—a twisted behemoth whose bark shimmered with phosphorescent veins, creeping like specters reaching toward the stars. I drew breath, the air thick with a supernatural charge, and glanced at my trembling hands. The spirit had me firmly in its grip, and desperation clawed at my insides like a rabid beast. The whispers grew louder, coaxing me to take just one more hit, to feel the thrill coursing through my body, to silence the voices—for just a moment.
In the chaos, I glimpsed a figure lurking in the shadows. “Do you wish to see?” it hissed, its breath a rancid wind, dragging a sliver of consciousness from the depths of my despair. I nodded, still unsure of what I was agreeing to. It stepped closer, its features illuminated by the faint glow of the tree. It had the same tentacled visage as my alien companion, but its eyes burned with a familiar hunger—a mirrored reflection of my own.
The figure gestured, and suddenly, I was enveloped in an undulating wave of spirit. I saw visions—horrors and delights intertwined. My life back on Earth, filled with laughter and loss. The faces of those I had hurt, the friends who had faded into the background of my addiction, their spirits twisted and tormented, forever entwined with mine.
Each memory morphed into something grotesque. They became silent screams, haunting echoes of pain as I watched from the outside, unable to intervene. I understood now: the spirit wasn’t just an escape, it was a chain binding my fate with the lost souls who had once walked beside me. I screamed, but the sound was swallowed by the cacophony of wails from the trees—a chorus of the damned.
The figure leaned closer, its tentacles wrapping around my wrists, constricting as if to siphon the very essence of my being. “You can escape,” it whispered, “but only if you embrace the spirit.”
For a moment, I teetered on the brink, the abyss staring back with a hunger that felt almost familiar. I saw the path open before me—a seductive light, pulsing like a heartbeat. But as I swayed on the precipice of surrender, I felt something deeper: the spark of defiance.
“No,” I croaked, and in that one word, I could taste the ash of my former life, the struggles. I could feel the weight of my past as a shackle but also a shield. I repressed the urge to indulge, to give in to the seductive promises. Instead, I drew upon the love of those I had lost and those I had hurt. They wouldn’t want this. They wouldn’t want me to fly into that light and let the spirit consume me whole.
The figure recoiled, fury etched onto its alien face. “Then you will suffer,” it hissed, and in that moment, I felt every ounce of despair and sorrow crash over me. The wails of the ghosts escalated, a symphony of agony that pierced through my resolve. It was then that I realized the true horror of this place: it fed on grief, on the sorrow of the lost souls who had wandered too far.
As the creature tightened its grip, I found the strength I didn’t know I possessed. “You don’t own me!” I shouted, and with a surge of defiance, I tore free from its grasp, the spirit swirling around me like a tempest. The ghostly wails morphed into shouts of anguish, a chaotic retaliation as the shadows recoiled and collapsed.
I stumbled back, breathless, as reality came crashing in. I felt the power of the spirit weaken, not from rejection, but from my insistence to remember. The memories sunk deep into my marrow—a collage of love, loss, and a pain that sparked something indescribable within me: hope.
The air shifted; the weight of despair lifted slightly as I recognized the truth—the spirit wasn’t just a poison. It had been a reflection of my own demons, the extensions of my own shattered heart. I could choose to heal, to use my experiences as a catalyst for change.
With every step I took away from the tree, I could feel the shadows recede. The creature howled in rage, a sound that would echo long after I left this place. I didn’t know where I would go next or how I’d find the strength to keep moving forward, but for the first time in a long time, I felt an ember of determination flicker within me.
This alien horror had shown me the depth of despair I was capable of feeling, but it had also gifted me the realization that despair—much like the spirit that haunted me—could be transformed. I would wander through this place of nightmares, but I wouldn’t let it drown me.
And as I trudged away from the pulsing glow of the alien sky, I vowed that I would no longer flee from shadows. I would confront each one, emerging stronger for having faced them. The spirit might always linger, but today, I was more than a vessel for addiction. Today, I was alive.
Author: Opney. Illustrator: Stab. Publisher: Cyber.
