The first thought I have when I land is more like a strangled mountain goat's cry than anything. "Where is everybody!?" my shaken voice cracks. I have been alone before, but now I know I am missing something, like an empty hole that something has only recently filled had been dug out again. The hole where my new friends stand. Or stood, I'm not sure yet. Arjay, Jules, and even Ay, my newest... friend? Competition? Companion? Friend, I guess.

I stumble to my feet, the weeds swishing against my skin, flaunting their slimy fronds, coating my shins. My shins! Where are my diamond leggings!? And... my diamond chestplate...? And my depth strider netherite boots and netherite helmet. All gone. All my endless mining and secret pillages and years of trading... have I died?

Ay's long lost boyfriend or something respawned... I don't really know much about respawning, though I know forgot-him-already "Ghost Boy" lost his inventory when he respawned. Whatever, I think, I didn't die. I just jumped into Ay's mysterious never-ending void. Nothing die-y about that.

I force my feet, my bare, cool feet to cooperate and ground myself on this unfamiliar turf. My eyes rove over thin, frivolous darkish grey boots. I cannot even tell they are there. Nonetheless, they plod into the shallow, dirty slime of a river. Suddenly the flashback hits me. So many previously trivial, unbearable nights unravel before me like a roll of film.

I am three years old, my long, black mourning dress swaying in the earthy breeze that glides over Dead Man's Hill. It is dark, grey grass. Swampy grass. I feel a brief flash of the grass's reality before being sucked back into the flashback. My fathers grave site before me, the earth still fresh and dark, without a speck of the slimy, swaying grasses. A sign sits in front of his grave. Reminding us only of grief, sorrow, and helplessness rather than out of memorial.

I am in the little house. The wind howls and the door creaks and I sleep on the cold, hard floor. My mother lies in the bed just above me. Creak... thump... creak... thunk... thunk... crunch... crack... crunch, crack, crunch! My eyes open and rove over a familiar cottage from another lifetime. My mother jumps to her feet as the door shatters and the raiders rove in. Crossbows notch, arrows fly, witches throw splattering potions that burn me and shatter my mother as though she were the door. The zombies follow. "Run!" Mom's voice echoes. "RUN..."

I was running, huffing, puffing, tears melting my charred face, fear plastering my heart. The moon waned as dread and sorrow settled like a knife through my heart. And there were my horrible, cowardly feet, grounded in the rock, preventing me from flying into the sky like a bird, safe from my cruel reality. And yet filling me with determination. My tattered darkish grey boots tethering me, my baggy, torn green-grey blouse and patchy brown hide leggings waving like a flag. Like now.

The present clubs me and my greatest desire is to shed my clothes, to destroy them with a weapon as strong as all I've endured and lost to this day. A weapon of anguish, terror, rage and raw power greater than anything of this world, even a netherite sword with a thousand enchantments. Even Felix, my beloved, lost weapon who I greatly cherished for seemingly thousands of lonesome years.

But the only way to free me from my invisible chains these garments bind me with is to advance through the gamely world, to loot, to pillage, to mine and place my life on the line and become the villainous character I once was. A griefer of a sort.

Dig, dig, dig! I launch myself onto one of the sad, yet numerous swampy isles and claw through sands, dirt and grime. Launching at a nearby tree, a scrape and pound at the bark and wood with crude sand blocks. My learned fingers crack a familiar pattern and the dream-like crafting table imparts with me pickaxes, swords, and shovels.

After shoveling enough sand I begin to form a sort of bunker. Hitting stone, my pickaxe chews through the rock, unveiling more pristine blocks. Overestimating my abilities, as usual I keep digging until the sun fades and I hit my goal: a first vein of iron. And an absolute hoard of monsters.

With no roof, no torches, no available nearby crafting table and a pitch-black mini mineshaftI have no way of guaranteeing survival. I am a lost, small three-year-old orphan with a toy sword in a sea of monsters. Again. Because of my stubborn, I-am-the-best and I-can-do-anything, stupid, stupid, mindset. Again. 

Author's Note

Okay, so I published this chapter but somehow accidentally deleted it? So here is is again... 

That was really weird. Anyway please consider voting if you liked this story and please comment and give me feedback!

Just Be!