The Final Request

The ground shook as The Boss’s, aka L, deep voice boomed when he called Jurie. “Come out now! Your creativity is something to die for!” As he maneuvered as a gigantic mass of thick black clouds, he slurped more ink from the panicking Blankians. “Your ideas are so unique, I want them to be mine! You can’t escape this world. You’re trapped here forever! I’ll feed on your creativity, but mind you, my appetite is insatiable!”

He then burst into tears. “I used to be a prolific writer, but the trend for popular story themes and tropes paralyzed my creativity. The competition forced me to write in genres that are not really my forte just to please the readers. Yet I failed! No one appreciated my forced output.” He bellowed even more. “My creativity was hindered because I had to write like the others.” His tears scattered like rain, hitting some workers.

The creatures couldn’t move at all. They hardened like cemented statues until they crumbled like fine sand blown away by the miserable wind.

“I created this world to lure creatives who are desperate to escape creator’s block caused by either procrastination or fear of not succeeding in their craft. But do you know what’s the most appetizing? It’s a creativity so unique that the idea paralyzes the creator with negative thoughts and what-ifs, including imposter syndrome!”

Jurie watched as the number of pulverized Blankians increased. She kept running, finding sheds and buildings to protect her from the ink storm. She scooted behind a wooden table in the office so ink drops couldn’t reach her.

Then she remembered the paints she had; unfortunately, she had dropped them. She brought the jar with her, though.

“Think, Jurie.” The mysterious voice spoke to her once more. “The Boss suffered from writer’s block because creativity paralyzed him when he forced himself to produce pieces, crafts, and a voice that didn’t belong to him.”

“Does this mean that as writers try to imitate others, their own creativity slips away? They’re stupefied by the idea of writing what genre and trope are popular, which encapsulates their uniqueness because of doubting their skills.”

“You’re getting the point,” the voice replied.

“The ink from the awakened Blankians represented their individuality, making them unique. So, once ink drops hit unsuspecting, norm-tied Blankian, they petrify because they absorb other Blankians’ identities!” She snapped her fingers when the realization struck her.

“Smart girl.” L’s normal voice echoed in her head. “I knew all along that you’re one of a kind. Just believe in your own capacity. Never doubt your writing skills.”

“L?! Is that really you?” Jurie asked. Her teardrops fell, hearing from him again. The memories they had shared flooded her mind. “What can I do to save you and Blankia?”

“Nothing. I couldn’t save myself, so you also can’t save the world I created. Now, write your own story, and make me proud.” The soft-spoken voice disappeared in Jurie’s head, and another thunder and lightning sound replaced it.

“L? Are you still there?”

No response. Only the growls of The Boss and the despondent cries for help permeated the air.

“Come on, girl! Think!” She hit her head several times as if doing so could induce instant ideas. She rummaged through her belongings in the body bag she carried around and found the quill. It glistened in the reflection of another lightning. “What do I use you for?”

“Remember what L told you? ‘Write your own story and make me proud.’ I think what he meant was don’t be afraid to write what you love to write,” the female voice spoke again.

“I know what to do.”

She grabbed the quill, but before she could run outside, the jar called her. “Bring me with you.”

The moment she stepped outside, drizzles of ink sprinkled on her body. She winced every time she got hit. The pain felt like being bitten by a bullet ant. The droplets blotched and gradually spread to her face, arms, and legs, but she kept advancing.

“Hey, Boss!” she yelled at the top of her lungs. She even waved to get his attention.

The dark cloud’s face slowly turned in her direction. A massive grin appeared on its face. “Finally, my most exquisite meal!”

“L! I know you’re still in there! Can you hear me?” She sniffed as her eyes watered again. She hadn’t thought of being attached to him. He was like a brother and friend she never had. “If you’re still there, please talk to me!”

“Foolish!” The Boss shouted at her. “L no longer exists!”

She hid behind a thick Corinthian pillar of the office building, not to get caught by the storm. “You really think I believe that? He just talked to me earlier. And do you know what he said?”

The Boss squinted. Though without eyes, the sudden movement on his glabella made Jurie realize it was his facial expression. “WHAT?!”

“He said that he created this world, and that I can’t save it, as he failed to save himself from being you. But you know what?” She slowly emerged from her hiding place with the quill in her hand. “This may be your world… but THIS IS MY STORY!” As she uttered the last few words, she letter-by-letter wrote the sentence on her arm using the quill. “Do you hear me?! This is my story, so I get to decide what happens to you, or to me!”

She kept walking forward, toward the eye of the ink storm, as if she feared nothing. And as she advanced closer… and closer, something impressive happened. The ink drops could no longer penetrate her skin. Her body repelled the ink like a taro leaf—like she was wearing a raincoat or being protected by an umbrella.

“What’s going on?!” The Boss panicked. “Why aren’t my ink drops hitting you?”

“Those bits of creativity weren’t even yours. They’re not mine, too,” she teased. “You stole them!” She kept her pace without even blinking. “Why am I not hit? It’s because I refuse to accept what isn’t mine! From now on, I’ll choose to write what I want!”

The jar, surprisingly, absorbed every drop of ink that hit her body. She hung it at her waist. She left it open at the jar’s request.

Enraged, The Boss directed the storm’s wind towards her. “I’ll drown you to my heart’s content! Take all these creative ideas! Be overwhelmed! Let’s see if you can stand your ground.” He laughed.

Jurie smirked. “Bring it on!” She glanced at the other Blankians, especially those who had returned to their human forms. They stood outside the office, confused about the havoc. Others were disoriented.

She smiled, realizing she had helped those creatives to reclaim their true identities. But the smile on her lips faded when she looked at herself. She still had the Blankian form.

“It’s because there was still doubt in your heart,” the voice from the jar said in between gulping huge amounts of ink. “Only in accepting your flaws and fully believing in your skill will you regain your identity.”

Those words stabbed like a dagger to her heart. She stopped advancing, deep in thought, zoning out.

“Looks like victory is mine!” The Boss’s voice boomed, followed by the thunder.

Jurie glanced at her arm, where she had written the words. Then, she bitterly smiled at her opponent.

“You know what… you’re right. Maybe L was right when he said that he couldn’t save this world—that he couldn’t save himself.” She sighed and dipped the point of the quill into the ink inside the jar. “I helped those people remember who they really are.” She began writing on her arm again. “I can save myself from writer’s block! I will be a famous writer!”

As she added more scribbles and texts on her skin, her color gradually changed from white to moderate brown. As more words tattooed her arm, the jar absorbed more volumes of water until…

“Good job, Jurie,” L’s voice cracked amidst the turbulent fight. The massive storm cloud had already thinned, allowing L to return to his human form. His transformation synced with Jurie’s as she stood in anticipation, waiting to have a glance at her friend’s true identity.

The clouds that consumed L gradually floated towards the jar, along with the Blankian identity that encapsulated Jurie.

She first saw his black leather shoes. Then, his perfectly ironed royal blue slacks up to the hem of his tuxedo of the same color, but the transformation process stopped when it reached his chest. His head and shoulders were still of a Blankian.

“Jurie, ensure your escape from this world. And if you do, please bring a piece of me with you,” he said before collapsing to the ground.

She ran to his side and wept.

“The storm drained all his energy.” The voice from the jar spoke again. “I don’t think there’s anything we can do to revive him.” 

She could only sob as L's body slowly turned into powdered charcoal. She picked a handful of his remains.

The jar burped after drinking all the ink stormwater. "Excuse me, that's a lot. Put him inside me."

She did as she was told, and in a few seconds, the charcoal turned into a bottle of ink.

"There. You'll surely have an unlimited supply of ink and ideas," the jar said.

She wiped away her tears and stood up, her knees wobbling. "Are you kidding me?! My friend just died, and that's what you have to say?" She pulled the jar string from her waist and lifted it in an attempt to break it.

"Whoa! Easy. Do you want to be stuck here?" it said. "If you break me, you'll never find who stole a portion of your soul."

"On second thought, I'll just break you when you have served your purpose."

"Ouch! Jurie, look at three o'clock!"

A familiar figure caught her peripheral view. "It's the thief!" She saw her mocking expression; she turned red in fury and ran towards her laughing doppelganger, who floated back inside the office.

"What a sentimental view." The copycat's laughter echoed.

Once they were inside, Jurie caught a glimpse of a cascading black robe entering a room with the sign DO NOT ENTER. AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY!

She pushed the door, enraged. "Hey, you! Ahh!!!!"

She could only scream when another vortex sucked her in.