The bottles surrounded me like stuffed animals. The stench of cigarettes filled the room.
I sat up, groggy, rubbing my eyes. Brushing crumbs off my shirt.
"Fuck, how long did I sleep?" I muttered.
The sheet hung half off the bed as I stood. I glanced at the clock: 2:30 PM.
"Jesus," I chuckled nervously.
I stumbled to the bathroom. Messy, not filthy. Small victories.
I brushed my teeth and stepped into the shower. The water was cold. Too tired to bother turning it warm. My hair hung in my face. How long has it been since my last haircut? Two years? Drying my hair, I glanced at the scale. Did I even want to know? I hesitated.
"Sure, why not? My day's already off to a shitty start," I muttered, throwing my hands up.
I stepped onto the scale. For the first time, the number started with a 2….213 pounds.
"Yikes," I said flatly.
I grabbed my blazer, shirt, slacks, and tie.
"Can't let you see me too rugged, Mandy," I said with a dry smile, catching my reflection in the mirror. Patches of beard sprouted unevenly across my face. The shirt fought me as I struggled to button it, but I managed to get dressed.
The sunlight hit me like needles, sharp and unrelenting as I stepped outside. I slid into my car, turning the key. Nothing.
"This piece of sh—" I groaned.
The engine sputtered to life, cutting me off.
"I stand corrected," I muttered.
The drive wasn't bad, a quick thirty minutes.
The sign loomed overhead: Mount Nebo Cemetery.
"Stay calm, Cal," I muttered, barely convincing myself.
I parked, grabbed the poppy bouquet I'd bought yesterday, and stepped out.
The walk wasn't long. Her headstone came into view: Mandy Mariana Morales.
I scratched my head, nerves prickling at my skin.
"Hi, Mandy. Been a while, hasn't it? Two whole years." My voice wavered. "I… I brought your favorite flowers. Purple poppies."
I placed a trembling hand on the cold headstone.
"I wish I could tell you I've been doing great, like most people my age." A bitter laugh escaped me. "But you hate liars, so I'm not gonna sugarcoat it. I've been struggling… hard."
Tears welled up, and I tried to swallow them back.
"Well, shit. Here I go again." I smiled faintly as tears slid down my face. "You always said I was a crybaby."
I wiped at my cheeks but the tears kept coming. "I just… I know it's not fair to you. You had every right to your decision. But I wish—" My voice cracked. "I wish you could've just talked to me about it. Told me why you killed yours—"
I stopped. The words hung in the air, unfinished.
"I'm arguing with a headstone," I muttered, burying my face in my hands.
After a moment, I sighed. "I miss you, sis. You were all I had left. I miss you so damn much."
I set the poppies down gently. "I hope you like them, Mandy." A sad smile crept onto my face.
Standing, I brushed the dirt off my pants and walked back to the car.
Three hours later, I lay sprawled on my old sofa, staring at the ceiling. No dreams. No aspirations. Just the gnawing thought that Mandy would've wanted better for me. I made myself the same fake promises I always did, empty words to ease the guilt.
Eventually, I dragged myself to my room. Kicked an empty IPA can off the bed to make space for my legs. Sleep came quickly, like it always did, drowning everything else out.
"Callisto," a voice called.
I shot up, heart racing. Was someone in the house? No, no one would bother breaking into this dump. I closed my eyes, trying to push it out of my head.
"Callisto," the voice came again, soft but clear.
"Alright, who the fuck is in here?" I yelled, my anger rising as I threw off the blanket.
I stormed out of the room in just sweatpants, fists clenched.
"Over here," the voice called, coming from down the hall.
I grabbed the gun from the drawer by the door. My hands tightened around the grip as I followed the sound.
"In here."
The voice was coming from Mandy's room. The door was closed, but light flickered under the seal.
"Why that room, of all places?" I snapped, gripping the gun tighter. "I swear to God, if you mess anything up in there—"
I shoved the door open, heart pounding.
I opened the door, expecting… someone. But the room was empty.
I checked under the bed, in the closet, nothing. The window wasn't open, no way anyone could have slipped out. As I looked around, something on her desk caught my eye.
A flash.
An envelope?
It shimmered in the light, made of some kind of metallic paper I'd never seen before. My stomach turned. I swear this wasn't here before. On the front, in bold, simple letters, it read: For Callisto.
I hesitated, but curiosity won. I opened it.
The room was swallowed in blinding light. My vision blurred, as if I'd been flash-banged.
When I could finally open my eyes again, I wasn't in the room anymore.
I was… nowhere.
A blank, endless void stretched out in every direction.
"Am I dead?!?" I shouted, panic gripping my chest.
"No, not dead, young one," a calm, mature female voice said. It echoed, surrounding me.
I spun around to see her, a figure, completely white, featureless like a mannequin or a shadow brought to life.
"I'm sorry, but what the hell is going on right now?" My voice shook, the fear creeping into every word.
"Your creator," she said softly, as if that explained everything.
"My… my creator? Like God creator?" I stammered, trying to make sense of the words.
"Yes, child, like a capital-G God," she said, resting a hand on my shoulder.
I froze. Her presence was both calming and terrifying.
"I created you, your sister, your father, your mother, and all eight billion of you in this world," she said, and though she had no face, I could almost feel her smile.
"O-okay, what do you need, uh, Miss Goddess?" I managed to choke out.
"First, did you know your sister was a writer?"
"Uh… yeah, she said it helped her cope with her depression. I never really read any of her stuff, though," I admitted, feeling a pang of guilt.
"I'm aware," she said. "This is the story."
A book appeared before me, the cover showing a blonde-haired, golden-eyed figure holding a sword. The title? The Card's Shadow.
"What does this have to do with your request?" I asked, confused.
"It's simple," she began. "Every person I've created has the ability to create, just as I do. Fictional or nonfictional, anything they make is their creation."
"You're telling me… if I draw a stick figure, that's an actual universe?"
"Correct, child. I gave this gift because it gets quite boring being the only creator. I, too, want stories to watch and worlds to explore."
I stood there, completely baffled.
"But there's a problem," she continued.
"When someone creates a universe, they put a part of their soul into it."
"And the issue is?"
"To ascend to the afterlife, I need their full soul," she said, her tone somber. "In layman's terms, your sister can't ascend until her story is finished. That's where you come in."
"Wait, wait, wait," I interrupted, waving my hands. "You're like an all-powerful being, right? Why can't you just finish it yourself?"
"Because my power only extends to this realm. A story can only be completed by its original creator."
"So, you're dragging me into a story I know nothing about and expecting me to finish it?"
"Yes," she said simply. "And if you do, you may finally get the answer you've been seeking from your sister."
Her words hit me like a brick. The answer I'd always wanted? My breath caught in my throat.
"Fine," I muttered. "What do I have to do?"
"Simple," she said. "Just finish her story, and her soul will be free."
I raised an eyebrow. "How? Didn't you just say only the creator can end a story?"
"Your sister constantly asked you for ideas, didn't she? In a way, that makes you a part of it. You're a co-author."
"What?" I scoffed. "She'd ask me to pick a random color or name now and then. How does that make me a co-author?"
"Because those details are part of her story," she explained. "Every character, setting, or idea you contributed helped shape her creation. You may not have written the story, but your input makes you an equal part of it."
I stood there, stunned. "So what, you need me to change her story?"
"Exactly. Specifically, you need to end it. Completely."
My stomach dropped. "What do you mean by 'end it'?"
"I need you to destroy her world and all her creations," she said matter-of-factly.
"What?" I stepped back, my voice rising. "You want me to massacre the only thing my sister left behind?"
"It's the easiest way," she said, her tone calm but unrelenting. "The other option is to fulfill the true ending she had in mind, but since she's dead and her soul is stuck in the story, there's no way to know what that is. If you try and get it wrong, her creation will spill over into my world."
I blinked, the weight of her words sinking in.
"And since her story is fantasy," she added, "that would be… very dangerous."
"Fine," I muttered, my voice heavy. "I'll do it. So, what do I have to do?"
"Good," she said, clasping her hands together. "Here's the plan: I'm going to drop you into the antagonist's body. Now, he might still be in your head, so don't let him scare you."
"Wait, what?" I snapped.
"Relax," she said with a wave of her hand. "Your job is simple. Find the 'gods' of this story, kill them, and end it.
If the canon is accurate, these gods are represented by tarot cards. Most likely the Major Arcana. So there should be twenty-two of them."
"Kill twenty-two gods? That's your definition of simple?"
"Yup. Kill them all, free your sister, and you'll, uh... definitely probably avoid eternal damnation."
I glared at her. "You're not exactly filling me with confidence."
"Pfft, don't worry about it," she said, smirking.
"Oh, and one more thing to remember, the people you meet aren't real. They might seem like fully functioning humans, but they're not the same as you or your siblings. Think of them like game or movie characters."
She winked, as if that was supposed to make me feel better.
"Are you coming with me?" I asked, half-hoping for some backup in this insane plan.
"No can do," she said casually. "I'm bound to this realm, so I can't. Uhh… do your best, Callisto."
I raised an eyebrow. "You're not exactly living up to the grandeur of a god. I was expecting, I don't know, white cloud castles or maybe some flames of hell."
She tilted her head, voice dripping with amusement. "I can very well make hell, if you'd like."
"You know what? Never mind," I said quickly.
"Before I go… what do I even call you? There's not exactly a religious name for a white, featureless being like yourself."
"Just call me God," she replied, her tone almost smug. "And I'll make sure you don't end up in my newly refurbished Hell."
"Good deal," I muttered.
"Alright, ready, Cal?"
I took a deep breath and nodded. "Yeah, ready as I'll ever be."
She floated closer, her movements eerily smooth. With two fingers, she tapped my forehead.
The world blurred instantly, and I didn't even have time to react before I fell, unconscious.
I jolted awake, my face pressed against rough, splintered wood. The heat hit me first, searing pain.
Flames roared around me, at the edges of the platform I was on. My skin felt like it was cooking, and the air was thick with smoke.
"What the fuck?!" I shouted