goldfish_afthr

A coming-of-age at the end of the world.

OId habits die hard. Even with only three weeks left until the world ends, Wendy can’t help but follow whatever her mother tells her to do. Whenever she wants to do something, she’ll write a little note and put it in her wish bottle, telling herself she’ll be able to fulfil it all someday. 

Her entire life, she has done this without complaint, but with the world ending in less than a month, Wendy finds herself scrambling to finish it all. 

A young fortune teller and her younger brother offer to help Wendy, but what do they gain from helping her? What exactly do they want?

Warnings: Discusses topics like depression, anxiety, and suicide.

To the Garden

She stopped writing and glanced up from her homework, puzzled. "What are you talking about?"


"You heard me," Winston said, not looking up from the book he was reading. "Well, do you?"


"...This book. There's someone who's in love with their best friend, and can't decide what to do."


"Well…tell him and risk ruining their friendship, or…" Winston paused. "Have things stay the way they are right now, I suppose."


Wendy tapped her chin. "It'd be nice if his best friend also felt the same, but it might ruin their friendship. What would you do?"


She thought a bit longer. "I think I wouldn't tell him," Wendy said finally. "It's safer."


"Yes, you're right." Winston continued to stare down at the book in his hand, but she could tell he was no longer reading the words on the page.


Wendy woke up with a start, but it was not the dream about her brother that made her sit up in alarm. No, it was something else.


The smell of smoke, drifting in from the open window.


Wendy dashed to the window. The sky was pitch black, but in the distance, not so far away were red and orange ribbons, twirling into the sky. Shouts pierced through the glass, and she could hear calls for water as they struggled to put out the house fire.


She tore herself away from the window, throwing open the bedroom door and dashing down the stairs. She raced into the kitchen, where she found Wisteria, standing by one of the windows with a serious expression on her face. She was no longer dressed as the Holy Oracle—she was back in her grey canvas dress, a violet shawl wrapped around her shoulders as black hair flowed like a waterfall down her back.


"Wisteria…" Wendy breathed, and she turned towards her. In the silence of the night, something about her looked different. Wisteria's eyes seemed to stare directly through her, and she had an eerie calmness surrounding her.


It was like the wisdom of a thousand years was in this girl, looking back at Wendy in the dark kitchen.


A small smile lifted Wisteria's face, popping the bubble of tension in the room.


"Wendy," she said. Her voice was quiet, but she may as well be shouting with the way it filled the room. "Are you hungry? You slept through dinner, but we didn't want to wake you up."


"I'm not hungry," Wendy responded, her throat rough and sore. "The fire…"


"Yes, I know." Wisteria nodded, turning her attention back to the window. "I can see it from here."


Wendy tiptoed to her side, peering out the window. She was met with the view of the neighbouring houses, their outlines barely visible in the dark. No fire.


Wisteria let out a soft sigh. To Wendy's surprise, she felt a small hand stroking her hair as Wisteria patted her head.


"Go back to sleep, Wendy," she murmured. "It will be alright in the morning."


Nine