As you should expect from a college student, I barely managed to finish the assignment by 12:40, just in time to attend Ethical Necromancy with a few monologue-able minutes to spare. Until class starts or someone interrupts me, let’s monologue.

The topic on my mind at the moment is ‘procrastination’.

‘They’, whoever ‘they’ is, say that procrastination is the death of opportunity and the thief of time, but I think about it differently. While there are certainly many examples of poorly-adjusted adults, I like to believe that most of us have our own unconscious priorities. In my anecdotal experience, there aren’t many people who deliberately go out of their way to fail. In reality, there is often a discrepancy between societal expectations and personal desires.

What do I mean by this?

Take my own case as an example. By any normal standard, I would have been considered a success. I graduated with a Bachelor’s Degree in Electrical Engineering in my early twenties, and I worked a stable job for a few years. I made more than enough money to live comfortably, I had a girlfriend, and I lived in my own place, completely independent from my parents, which a lot of people at that age can’t say.

By every societal metric that I know of, I was succeeding at life.

So why wasn’t I happy?

If I knew, I would have made myself happy. My running theory is that I succeeded at checking off all the ‘boxes’, but I didn’t actually care about my education, my job, or my living conditions beyond a certain point. I wanted fulfillment, and nobody can give you that—it’s something you have to find for yourself. A lucky person might find meaning in their career, but I wasn’t that lucky.

For healthy, well-adjusted people, procrastination isn’t a disregard for responsibilities or an act of rebellion against social expectations. Rather, procrastination is the mind’s covert declaration of its personal desires. It’s like a protest march of your subconscious mind, a little nudge toward alignment with our inner truths.

But there is a layer of nuance here. I don’t advocate for indiscriminate procrastination. Doing so would be like rolling my face across my keyboard and hoping that it happens to make beautiful prose. No, the ‘procrastination’ that I’m talking about is strategic. It’s a mental maneuver in which you sift through a multitude of tasks, priorities, and demands, deferring some while advancing others. It’s about understanding that the loudest expectations and demands aren’t always the most urgent, and the ones that scream for your attention just might not deserve it.

Strategic procrastination is, in essence, a sophisticated form of prioritization. It’s about creating a delicate balance between the demands of the world and the whispers of your soul.

When Jessica left me, I started to learn one of the greatest life lessons that many people never seem to consciously recognize:

Not everyone can be happy by appealing to the people around them.

I’ve lived my whole life conforming to the expectations of others. I succeeded academically because my parents praised me for it. I learned to play the piano and the guitar because people praised me for it. I played soccer and basketball because people praised me for it. The societal messages I received growing up all told me that I only had value if I earned a lot of money, and so I became an engineer.

But amidst all of that, what did I want?

I loved Jessica.

I wanted to be an author.

These were the two points that I never should have compromised on. I learned that lesson too late. I had money, but I couldn’t buy happiness, I could only buy distractions, and the hollowness only contributed to the despair. When I put my soul on display in the form of a web novel, I wasn’t strong enough to endure the brutal attacks I received, and I hid from it. I started to ignore the whispers of my soul, and from that point on I lost the ability to be happy.

A heavy plonk interrupted my thoughts. I turned my head and saw Jessica dropping into the seat next to me, her heavy grimoire sitting on the desk. Her long, curly brown hair glistened under the dim candlelight, and her warm, brown eyes sparkled. The gentle smile on her face was pure and comforting, contrasting with the dark and gloomy atmosphere of the Ethical Necromancy classroom.

“Hiya Brick, still remember me?”

Her words hit me like a gentle punch, bringing with it a subtle ache in my chest. Closing my eyes, I took a deep breath to steady my beating heart.

‘...Huh?’ To my surprise, I quickly regained my composure. When I opened my eyes again, she was staring at me, the look on her face a cross between hesitation and curiosity.

“Hey, Jessica,” I finally replied.

“You finish the paper alright?” she asked, her eyes flickering toward the completed assignment on my desk.

I groaned. “I finished, yeah. It was a really stupid assignment.”

“I think its a fascinating topic,” she said. “Who wouldn’t want a pet that lasts forever?”

“Nah, not for me,” I said while shaking my head. “Pets are too much trouble. You have to feed them, walk them, clean them… even undead pets have to be reanimated and you have to maintain their bodies since they aren’t alive anymore. Pets are too high-maintenance for me.”

She giggled. “I figured you’d say that.” Then her expression shifted and she studied me with an unsettlingly serious look. “You know, I think you’d do well with a pet. It doesn’t need to be undead.”

“...What makes you say that?”

Jessica leaned back in her chair and started counting off on her fingers. “First, you’re responsible and good at taking care of things. Second, you’re patient. That’s important for pet owners…” Only two of her fingers were extended, the rest still curled in a fist as if physically trapping her remaining points.

She paused for a moment, looking me dead in the eyes. Her gaze was firm and unwavering, forcing me to meet it. “And, not to psychoanalyze you or anything, but I think you could use a bit of company, Brick. It gets lonely being by yourself all the time, doesn’t it?”

“...” I shifted in my seat, avoiding her gaze and focusing instead on a point over her shoulder.

How was I supposed to respond to that? Was I really that transparent, or was this character just particularly intuitive?

“I’ll think about it,” I murmured to put a lid on that line of discussion.

“Good,” she replied with a knowing smirk. “Make sure you introduce me to your new companion next week.” She punctuated her statement with a playful tap on my shoulder.

‘She’s so similar to the real Jessica…’

This was exactly the kind of thing the real Jessica would do, and I couldn’t help the fond smile dancing at the edge of my lips.

But even so…

‘I’m not getting a pet.’ I shook my head as if to physically dismiss the idea.

There was no compromising on that point. I crossed my arms over my chest—a silent vow of resistance. She wasn’t my girlfriend so I didn’t have to listen to her.

The main door to the room swung open with a slow, grand creak that echoed ominously. A short, round figure appeared in the doorway, silhouetted against the dim light of the hallway behind him. His flowing black robe contrasted against the shining baldness of his head, while a regal grey beard cascaded from his chin down to his waist.

“Good Afternoon,” Professor Morte greeted in his gravelly voice. As he trudged to the front of the room, skeletons burst from the walls, spraying moist dirt across the tables. I brushed away some clumps that landed on my sleeve.

“Today, we will continue our journey into the murky depths of Ethical Necromancy,” he said. With a gesture, Chalky burst into bone dust that spiraled up and rearranged itself on the board, spelling out the words ‘Necromantic Companions’.

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“I hope you all completed the first homework assignment as I will be collecting your papers at the end of class. Today, we will explore the societal and personal impacts of creating a companion from the realm of the undead.”

Professor Morte paced back and forth, his dark eyes scanning over the rows of students. “Necromancy, if used wisely has the potential to alleviate some of life’s burdens. I’ll pose a question: What benefits might there be to creating an undead companion?”

Jessica’s hand shot into the air.

“Yes?”

“Depending on the nature of the companion, they can provide comfort, company, or assistance with various tasks.”

His gaze hardened as he looked down on her, his lips twisting into a cruel sneer. “Is that a direct quote from a children’s picture book?” he scoffed, a dry laugh echoing around the room. “In this world, there’s no room for comforting, cuddling undead companions. The undead are tools, weapons… not some child’s playthings.”

An involuntary response bubbled up inside me, my mouth acting faster than my mind. “You’re wrong, Teach,” I declared. “You said yourself that the undead can alleviate burdens. Would you not classify ‘loneliness’ as a burden?”

He turned to me, his expression twisting. “Don’t forget your place. If you’re looking for a friend, go get a pet.”

Despite the harshness of his words, the edges of my lips curled into a defiant grin. “Maybe I will.”

After a moment of tense silence, Morte cleared his throat and continued the lecture. “Necromantic companions aren’t just tools or simple pets. They are extensions of ourselves, bound to us through our magic and will. They can indeed alleviate burdens and provide a form of companionship. But remember, this power also comes with responsibility. They are not simple playthings and should not be treated as such.”

His gaze swept across the room, stern and demanding. “Neglect or mistreatment of these beings can lead to serious consequences. They are linked to us, both physically and spiritually. Any harm or neglect they suffer and lead to dire, and often unexpected, consequences.”

“Can you provide an example?” I asked.

“Of consequences?” he stroked his long, magnificent beard thoughtfully. “Spiritual drain, degradation of health, instability of mind, to name a few. In the most extreme cases, the necromancer might be consumed by their own power, transforming into a lich. I’m sure you’ve all heard the stories. They aren’t mere stories; they are the dark truth of necromancy.”

I’d forgotten that detail of my setting. Undead didn’t occur naturally, and there was no such thing as an ‘undead dungeon’. All forms of undead in this world were a product of human action and intention, though that detail might have evolved further with the introduction of demons, aliens, and treaders to this world.

“The takeaway,” Professor Morte concluded. “Is that necromancy is not simply a tool for power. It is an intimate art that demands respect. Understanding the essence of your companion, connecting with its past life, imbuing it with sustenance and cognition… these are the subtle nuances that separate the amateur from the master, and neglecting these factors may lead to disastrous repercussions. Remember, ignorance is not bliss in the field of necromancy.”

He clapped his hands together. “Today, we’re going to put theory into practice. You will each attempt to establish a connection with a skeletal companion in pairs.”

His skeletons immediately set to work, distributing small skeletal creatures among the students. Jessica and I were given a tiny skeletal bird, no bigger than the palm of our hand.

“Take this exercise to heart. Understand your skeletal companion, relate with its past existence, and infuse your mana into it with delicacy and consideration. This is not a battle for dominance, but a dance of understanding and mutual respect.”

Under the professor’s watchful gaze, each pair of cadets began the intricate process of fostering a necromantic connection. The first part of the exercise involved crafting a talisman, a conduit that would, in theory, provide a tangible pathway to perceive the past life and the present ethereal existence of the skeletal bird.

With practiced ease, Jessica went about crafting her talisman. Her mana flowed, a bright and steady stream, as she sketched a complex array of lines and circles on the provided paper.

I studied her design, the intricate and precise patterns, the way her mana swirled and danced on the page. I took note of each symbol and every connecting line, memorizing the configuration to the best of my ability. With a deep breath, I gathered my own mana and attempted to replicate her work.

With each stroke, my mana crackled and sparked, intense pain radiating from the mana scar on my hand. Despite the clear picture in my mind, the unruly storm lacked the refined grace needed for precise work.

‘Let’s try the Resonant Breath,’ I decided.

I breathed deeply, drawing in the air slowly and deliberately, my belly expanding with each inhale. The process was calm, controlled, my chest remaining steady as I filled my lungs from the bottom up, like a reservoir. As I exhaled, I released the air gradually.

The storm began to dance to the rhythm of my breath. It swirled and pulsed, ebbing and flowing in harmony. Feeling the growing synchronicity between my breath and mana, I began to etch the magic circuit once again, infusing each line and curve with my mana.

When I finished the last line, the talisman glowed for a moment, signaling the completion of a magic circuit.

Now came the most crucial step. My mana needed to flow into the talisman, threading through the components, linking them together, ultimately forming a bridge to the skeletal bird. I gazed down at the skeletal bird on the desk. It was tiny, delicate, but the presence of the talisman let me sense the enormous dormant energy within it.

I tentatively extended my mana, attempting to follow the path outlined by the talisman. But I couldn’t find the bird’s spirit. I breathed deeply, attempting to maintain the calm rhythm…

Without warning, the surging storm roared back to life. It surged, chaotic and uncontrolled, like a flash flood overwhelming a creek. I struggled to direct it, but it was too much. The scar on my hand began to glow, radiating intense heat that seared the surrounding skin. I immediately released my mana and clutched my hand to my chest.

I failed.

While this result wasn’t unexpected, it was still disappointing…

Seeing that I had stopped, Jessica immediately made her attempt. Her mana, bright and controlled, slipping into her talisman like a whispering breeze. There was a gentle glow, and I could sense the connection being formed, the bridge between her and the skeletal bird taking shape. Her breath hitched, her face paling slightly as she established the connection.

The bird twitched, a tremor that rippling through its tiny skeletal form, before its eye sockets lit up with a soft, spectral light.

Jessica remained silent, her gaze locked onto the small bird. As her connection deepened, her eyes welled up with tears. She took a shuddering breath, her free hand moving to cover her mouth.

“Brick,” she barely breathed out, her voice just a whisper in the quiet room. “I… I can feel its past, it’s memories…”

Despite the pain throbbing in my hand, I turned my full attention to Jessica. “Are you okay?” I asked, reaching out to touch her arm.

She nodded, her hand trembling slightly as she caressed the tiny bird. Her eyes were wide and filled with a complex mix of emotions; awe, sadness, understanding. “I’m fine,” she whispered, her voice choked with emotion. “It’s just… overwhelming.”

I nodded and watched over her as she tenderly cradled the tiny skeletal bird, her tears dropping onto its delicate frame.

My heart squeezed seeing that even this side of her character was just like the real Jessica. She was strong, but also compassionate. And her character was skilled. She may have had the help of a skill, but she still succeeded while I failed. There was something powerful in what she just did… something fundamental that I needed to learn.

While it was a good thing that she succeeded, I couldn’t let her stay ahead.

It would take some time, but someday, I would summon undead. I didn’t need them for power, understanding, respect, or anything like that…

Standing up from our table, a wry smile tugged at my lips as I looked at the skeletal bird, its soft spectral light illuminating Jessica’s face.

“One day,” I murmured, my voice firm with resolve.

Though I understood the world on paper, it was hard trying to catch up to a decade or two of experience. Even so, I would do it.

Worst case scenario, I would just have to steal another skill. I still had four slots left, after all.

“Did you say something?” Jessica asked.

“Nice job with the ritual,” I answered.

She glanced up from the skeletal bird, a soft smile blooming on her lips. “Thank you, Brick.”

The skeletal bird chirped, sending an echo of spectral resonance through the room, which was matched by the cries of the few other spectral animals that were reanimated.

“Those of you who succeeded at forming a bond may keep your new spectral companion, or release them if you wish,” Professor Morte announced. “And with that, class is dismissed. Hand in your papers before you leave.”

When prompted, I handed my paper to the nearest of Professor Morte’s skeletons and then got ready to head out. Jessica followed me, her new companion perched on her shoulder.

“Where’re you headed?” she asked in the hall outside the classroom.

“The practice field, probably,” I answered vaguely. “Or maybe the gym? I dunno yet.”

She twirled her finger in her hair. “Wanna get some coffee? My treat.”

I froze.

‘Did she just…?’

“No,” I declared firmly.

“...Huh?” she stiffened, shock and hurt crossing her face.

Seeing her expression made me hesitate for just a moment, but no longer. I was over her, and I refused to reopen that wound. There would be far too much baggage involved in a relationship with her. It wasn’t fair to her, but life isn’t fair.

“I gotta go, sorry,” I said.

Without looking back, I left. I didn’t have a particular destination in mind, but I did have plenty of things to do.