Oc oneshots I made

The Troubles of Creation

(The title is a play on "the Joy of Creation")

The Creator was tired. She was so tired, weak, and so, so sad. her glasses were stained with tears. her red beanie only served to cover up the brown hair she was too tired to care for. Her pink jacket was covered in stains that she never bothered to wash. She looked at herself in the mirror, disgusted at what the burnout did to her. She was too concerned about creating things that others would enjoy to take care of herself.

The poor Author had a demon and angel, but rather than being on her shoulders, they were in her heart. They fought for control of her emotions. the angel's side was sparkling with warm gold, while the demon's side was black and filled with holes that were unable to be filled.

She burst into tears as she remembered how she got into this mess. She was an attention seeker, a people pleaser. She found joy in creating stories that everyone loved, but over time, she couldn't keep up with deadlines, overworked until her fingers bled, and had still yet to be recognized. If she didn't tell someone she met about her stories, they wouldn't even know she was a writer.

Not to mention the words that haunted her. The hurt, the despair, the hate, the trauma... she had to stop. She needed a break. But a break to do what? Writing was her only coping skill.

Talking to people? No, they all said she was annoying.

Maybe a run? Her legs felt like noodles from the thought.

A nap?

Well, a free trial of death couldn't hurt, right?

She always used that joke, saying sleep was a free trial of death with ads, but now... why did she feel like sleeping wasn't enough? Like a free trial wasn't enough death for her? What if...

No. Do not think about death. Don't do that. Her angel warned, knowing the spiral at first sight. It took a little bit of the heart from her demon. Her demon was upset, but knew it was for the greater good. If she died, they died too. So the balance was necessary.

She tried watching a few YouTube videos to calm herself down, but couldn't seem to focus on them. She started to read some Rick Riordian books, the inspiring writing only serving to make the girl jealous. If only her writing was that popular.

She went to do a craft, but was stopped by the sight of it. An exactoknife. She breathed shakily, going to grab it. The angel told her not to do what she wanted to do, and she reluctantly obeyed. She didn't want to start that habit again. It was for the best.

She looked at her many sketches, and decided what she was going to do.

Talk to her imaginary friend.

It had been years, but she envisioned her imaginary friend sitting across from her on the bed.

Hey friendo!

"Hi bud, it's been a while."

It has! What have you been up to?

"Well I was feeling a bit burnt out so I decided to take a break and talk to you."

The angel smiled, glad his girl was getting the attention she needed, not the kind she wanted. She needed more than fame. She needed someone to talk to, to hug her, to make her smile.

He loved that smile.

(A/N sorry for all the lazy endings)