Psyche is powered by Vocal creators. You support Marilyn Rae by reading, sharing and tipping stories... more

Psyche is powered by Vocal.
Vocal is a platform that provides storytelling tools and engaged communities for writers, musicians, filmmakers, podcasters, and other creators to get discovered and fund their creativity.

How does Vocal work?
Creators share their stories on Vocal’s communities. In return, creators earn money when they are tipped and when their stories are read.

How do I join Vocal?
Vocal welcomes creators of all shapes and sizes. Join for free and start creating.

To learn more about Vocal, visit our resources.

Show less


Everything is wrong to her.

She carried herself quite well, despite the dilemma of her life. Her shoulders once sat cooly below her neck in a relaxed notion. Today, they rise just below her ears, the creases above her eyebrows grew in deeper. The happiness in her eyes that stood brightly against any cloudy day, now hung in dark purple rings and were often swollen. She has been wanting to be alone and she fought that battle, the constant game she called “shadowplay.”

She could not relate really to anyone, and that made her absolutely stubborn. She grew with anxiety every day, facing life was always her biggest fear. She won’t believe you when you tell her you want her there, or that nothing is wrong. Everything is wrong to her. Her smile felt forced, only allowing herself to do so long enough before she must let go—before her lips started to tremble. Behind closed doors, you never see the demon peek out. The one who makes you pull at your hair while every part of your body trembles. The kind of hurt you feel in the depths of your chest while you let out an ongoing cry for help, desperately. 

Alas, she must stand back up. Drag herself to her bathroom, and see her face in that dirt stained mirror that hung low above the cracked porcelain faucet. Looking into her eyes, she knew she felt destroyed. She started to choke on her tears because she felt like the girl in the mirror was just a damaged soul. You knock on the door, and she panics. She refuses to let you see her like this. In furious haste, she wipes the tears from her cheeks and gives herself one last look in the mirror and let her shoulders fall. “ Come in…” She will meekly say, just only loud enough to hear had you pressed your ear against the door. The doorknob starts turning. With a sigh and a small shake of her head, she looks up quickly and placed a smile. He stood and in a concerning nod, he walked up to her slowly. She inched back on instinct. He paused for a moment, letting herself gain back her composure. He lifts her chin up, and slowly, the color bled back into her life. The color bled in an arrangement of vivid colors, a variety. The warmth creeps up her body and she feels her lips form into a smirk. He laughed and brought the music back to her life, the lovely melody that could tame her ongoing anxiety for a moment. He leaned in and kissed her softly. His lips like a fresh breath of air for her, she wraps her arms around his head and feels their bodies cling to each other. The warmth they shared reached her heart, and for once in her life, she stood before the gateway of security. Safe and sound, she tells herself. She blooms, like a bud of a spiraling lavish rose. 

Now Reading
Read Next