SISTERS OF THE HARVEST by J. T. WHITE Down in the valley, where the vineyards grew their succulent grapes basked in the light of the midsummer morning. A wooden caravan, the colour of wine, gilded with golden features, pulled by two identical white horses wearing peacock feather plumes made its way gracefully down the dusty dirt road. Sitting at the front of the caravan was an old man with a long, pointed, white beard and eyebrows wearing a bright blue tailcoat with a white rose placed in the breast pocket. Insects chirped in rhythm with the foot falls of the horses hooves and grinding of pebbles against dirt under the wooden wheels. The caravan gently rocked from side to side over the uneven terrain before coming to a crossroads and stopping in the centre. Stepping down from his seat the coachman walked around the caravan and pulled down on an engraved golden handle and opened the door before pulling down a set of wooden steps. Holding up his rough, calloused hand, palm facing upwards. A dainty, white gloved hand and wrist emerged from inside and gently placed itself in the old coachmens. Out of the caravan stepped a woman in a ruffled yellow dress and white heeled boots stepped down, lifting a white lace parasol above her head, shading her porcelain like skin and large honeycomb styled chestnut hair from the sun. A few seconds passed and out of the caravan stepped a second woman, this time wearing a similarly styled dress but in a pale pink, with the addition of large purple flowers attached to the bottom of the dress running up and diagonally across her chest, her hair was bright blonde and was much more uncontrolled and frizzy than the other woman's. It was decorated with a large blue bow on the left side and she wore small gold framed oval sunglasses which hid her eyes behind dark black lenses. Standing out in the crossroads the two women looked around studying the valley, the woman in yellow gazed up at the snow peaked mountains and smiled while the woman in pink skipped over to the grape vines and plucked a perfectly ripe, red grape, popping it into her mouth and admiring the sweet, juicy succulent flavour of the fruit; closing her eyes and lulling her head as she lost herself in the satisfaction of her work. "This is the place" The woman in yellow said, resting the parasol on her shoulder and spinning it with her fingers, she stepped towards the woman in pink and stood a mere two feet behind her and watched as the woman came down from her ecstacy. "How is your fruit sister?" "Delectable my dear sol, although I suppose I should be thanking you. Without your help, they would never even reach this stage" The woman in pink turned around and smiled at her sister before looking past her towards the old coachman. "Driver would you mind bringing me the little vial with the blue liquid please. It should be in the bag next to my seat" "Of course Lady Fauna" The old coachman stepped into the caravan and Fauna began to walk around her sister, whistling an upbeat melodic tune. "Don't you think it is strange that we do all of this without receiving any thanks?" Sol said staring ahead, voice monotone as her sister passed in front of her, standing still and lifeless. "Are you tired dear sister? Tired of providing life to those who need us?" Fauna said with an inquisitive yet melodic tone, she stopped walking and instead appeared to start dancing to the tune of the breeze blowing by just like a flower would. She looked at her sister trying to read her expression, it was however useless as always; she found that Sol only ever had one mood and it didn't give anything away. "Not that no, merely disappointed that they hold us in such low regard despite the fact their entire survival is reliant entirely upon us, and unfortunately... We Shall also be the death of them" Fauna stopped moving and considered what her sister had just said and stared back. "No... Not we, you dear sister. They are killing me and in return you are killing them" Sol stared at her sister, the parasol no longer spinning on her shoulder, instead she was now looking through the dark lenses of the sunglasses resting upon her sisters cute button nose. Footsteps grew closer behind her until the coachman stepped between them and handed Fauna a small crystal bottle filled with a brightly glistening pale blue liquid, Fauna took it in her gloved hand and pulled off the top before breathing its scent in deep. "Mmm thank you coachman, we shouldn't be too long" The coachman bowed his head and headed back to the caravan. Fauna stepped back over to the vines, giving her sister a sly smile as she turned. Tipping the crystal bottle she poured the liquid onto the ground at the base of one of the vines, watching as the soil absorbed the liquid and was taken up by the vines as the leaves became greener and the branches grew thicker. "We are the cycle of life dear sister, soon enough it works itself out, we just have to wait. We've already been patient enough, billions of years with you has been a test of that, you're not exactly the most fun" Fauna turned back around smiling at her sister, she stared into her sisters' eyes and could feel the heat coming off her. Sol stared back, she wanted to smile but couldn't, her face was unmoving, everything around would change but her face would always stay the same. "My dear sister, it breaks my heart that I am not only older, but also knowing that I will outlive you and everyone here, brings me sadness that I can't even explain" Fauna stepped closer to her sister and wrapped her arms around her and held her close. "I love you Sol, do not worry of the burden of the end, as long as you shine bright enough I will be by your side. The harvest season is nearly over and we can both rest for a while" Sol stood motionless as her free hand moved up and rested on her sisters back pulling Fauna closer to her, it was then she felt a hot tear run down her face before sizzling and evaporating, she could only imagine how much it hurt her sister to hold her like this, but she knew it wouldn't stop her. Faunas love for Sol was eternal, she needed her big sister and though she could not hold her for long she embraced every second before she had to pull away but not fast, she took her time and enjoyed the warmth of her sister. Not saying a word the two walked back to the caravan, dirt and gravel grinding beneath their footsteps as the two sisters stepped up into the caravan before the door was closed by the old coachman who walked around and returned to his seat as the caravan of the harvest set off once again.


Amelie Brekhart's nose wrinkled, disgusted with the rickety staging ramp leading up to the pipe's 4 foot wide black hole. "I knew the Starfleet 679 airships were ghetto, but this is ridiculous." She said to herself. The 679 looked like a giant ocean cruise ship with wings. The top levels still had windows for cabins but doubled in a collision reduction frame. That way the ship could handle the pressures of outer space. She was in dock at the Centra space station for minor repairs and maintenance. From the cabin levels to the machinery rooms, and the recreated atmospheric City, the 679 was in overhaul. Amelie worked on the 23rd floor where the engines were surrounded by monstrous steam pipes, pumps and valves. The engine room pipes were painted red but topped with gray dust from long exposure to failed ventilation shafts and floating skin debris. Gross. She thought, as she climbed down the ladder into the space. Her black pony tail swung from the gap between her hardhat and the head strap that ratcheted tight. The incandescent lighting in the space was accentuated by a flood lamp pointed at the black hole at the end of the open pipe. David Arnand came around from behind the 20 foot steam plant. He walked over the air propulsion piping that snaked its way around the ship. His hardhat was tilted because it was too big for his head. He was a weasel of a man, all skin and bone with beady eyes. "What's wrong, Amelie? Can't get your big behind up to the main steam cover?" He heard what she said. It was written all over his slimy sinister smile. She glared at him. She hated this guy from a previous job they did together. "It's sloppy, like you set it up in a rush. The blue cleanliness tarp is sagging, not to mention the gangway is 1 foot 10 inches wide. That's too narrow to stand side by side. We can't line up the cover with the bolt holes." "Yeah yeah. Stop your belly-aching. You got fall protection gear on anyway." He spat. Amelie was a fair skinned, black haired woman. Standing 5'9" and not a frail thing but not rotund either, she could hold her own in a fight. Let's just say, her biceps were strong but her hips could kill. When David spoke so arrogantly, so, so, machismo- all she could see was red . "I still need to stand on something, Dumbass! The staging is only good for 130lbs per square foot. How heavy do you think that cover plate is, Arnand? " She didn't wait for a reply. "Its 350lbs and I am 160lbs, which makes the 4 foot by 4 foot plate maxed out. It's resting on the staging that I can't stand on. If I fall through because of your poor communication skills, I'm going to ring your neck! Now, I have to straddle the staging, just to get the cover plate in the air." She yelled. Her red face made Arnand pause but didn't stop him from talking back. She tuned him out. It was hard working for the Starfleet as a female. They only want the strongest, fastest men. Sadly, the fastest talkers weasel in too. Amelie had to show them what she's made of. With no delay, she got to work, even while Arnand continued to berate her. She skipped the ramp and climbed into the overhead piping to set her pick points. "So, you complain about the ramp and then don't even use it?" David's squeezed his hands into balled fists. "If I stand up by the hole, I can receive the cover plate while you do, whatever it is you're doing." Out of the corner of her eye she saw a tall, dark haired man come down the ladder and stand next to Arnand. Oh great. Another boy scout to hate on me. She scooped up her gear over her shoulder. "If you stand there like an idiot, you'll be under the load. By the time it's lined up for your part, I'll have to stand there and hold it for you." "And?" He spat. She deftly clipped her harness around a square stock of metal framing and stepped onto the ledge of the 4x4 foot main propulsion steam pipe. "And- if I'm gunna stand in front of the hole, I should do the whole thing and not put you in a dangerous position." She said. Amelie swung a hydraulic cylinder hoist off her shoulder and clipped the hook onto her shackled anchor pad she made. "Terry- you hear this crap?" Arnand asked his buddy. Amelie grimaced. Yeah Terry. You hear your boy mouthing off? What a couple of jackasses. She thought. Terry stood at 6 foot with his legs wide, feet splayed apart, and with his beefy arms across his chest. His deep baritone voice rang louder in her ears than the hiss of the hydraulic hoist. "She's got a point even if it's a stupid one. You screwed the setup, David. Improvise." Uncoiling the 20 feet of chain, she gently lowered it smack-dab centered in front of the pipe. David Arnand, always playing the victim, said, "She's more of an asshole than you are, Terry!" Her second pick was directly over the cover plate on the gangway. The transition from deck to pipe would happen as it drifted in the air between the two hoists. "So she outsmarted you. And you gave up." Terry retorted. "No! She wants to do everything her way. So I let her." Amelie stopped the hoists. The silence was palpable. The guys watched her as she rappelled down the side of the steam pipe to the gangway, and straddled the section with the cover. She could rest her left foot on a secondary pipe and her right foot balanced on top of a hand wheel. "He's lying." She said. "I can see that. What's your point?" Terry said. The hoist chain's hook was attached to the anchor pad on the cover plate. She pulled the long ropes connected to the hoist trigger to pick up the plate, from lying flat, to a vertical. Slowly, she lifted the plate into the air. With one hand, she held the cover steady from spinning, and the other pulled the hoist's trigger rope. "So David," Terry said, "she's aligning your steam plant cover plate without any prior inspections. What are you going to do about it?" He had a hint of sarcasm in his tone. "I tried!" He whined. She bit her lip to stop herself from screaming in rage. Deep breath...two...three. She stopped drifting the plate. Her head snapped around to stare down her accuser. Terry was a tall, workman's muscular Spaniard with a goatee. Her long black bangs slipped loose from her ponytail and feathered across her vision but nothing could stop her piercing gold eyes. She was laser focused. "David ordered staging that was too small for more than one person at a time and too low capacity for the work to be done correctly. He..." "So!-" Terry's voice boomed in the empty space. "You took charge, knowing exactly how to rig the cover. But do you also know how to attach guide rods and gaskets before bolting it in place?" He echoed across the engine room. When he flexed his chest muscles and swung his arms, she couldn't think straight. "Are you qualified to do steam-plant cleanliness? Do you know the process for inspections? What's your name, Miss?" He thinks he's so damn smart. I'll make him wait. She thought. Amelie finished her drift and tied off her hoists, now that the cover plate was in front of the 4 foot black hole. She climbed down to sit on the staging, before her right foot could give out on the loose hand wheel. His green hazel eyes were gorgeous and never left her face. She locked eyes with him while walking halfway down the staging. She wondered where his eyes were when her ass was in the air climbing over the piping? My, how confident he is! Let's see if he's a good leader or just a name with a sexy face. She sat down and flipped her ponytail over her shoulder then fixed him with a glare. "No, I'm not steam plant qualified, but I know the process. The name's Amelie Brekhart and don't forget it." She said. "Oh, I don't forget anything , Miss Brekhart." He said. Did he have a twinkle in his eye when he said that? What did he mean by 'anything'? She thought. He was talking about my ass! He crossed his arms again. Flexing his biceps. "My name is Terry Jones. I am the lead mechanic for the Starfleet's machinists, and if you mind your P's and Q's, I'll instruct you how to install that cover plate." Even if he's right, he's such an ass. She thought. "This is so stupid!" David whined. "That's my job!" Terry stared him down until David looked physically ill and hung his head low. "I'm taking charge of this job, and since it requires a strong rigger to move that plate, I suggest you try not to stand in her way. You already fucked up on the setup, so how can I expect you to finish the job safely?" David puffed up his chest and grabbed his bag, handing it off to Terry. "Whatever. I'm out." He tried to stomp off, out of the space, but got turned around. And, 10 seconds later, David had to come back and trudge up the ladder. Totally embarrassing. "What a mess." Amelie said, as David left. "Are you done gloating, so we can get back to work?" Terry asked. She got up and dusted herself off. "I knew old men had to sleep more but they still need to get here on time." She said. She knew he was smart enough to pick up that her meaning was about him. Terry stared her down with those smoking green hazel eyes. If he was trying to intimidate her, it only made her horny. He must of seen something because suddenly he ran over and jumped 5 feet up onto the staging behind her. That was hot. "Did you hear what I said?" "Hmm? Nope, I was waiting for your Ego to sit on the back burner. You were saying?" She asked with a false innocence. She still didn't hear him because she was taking in all the details of his face. He had very Spaniard features almost Mediterranean with dark brown almost black hair, cropped shorter on the sides and longer on top. She could tell because the bangs poked out from underneath his hard hat. He had a heavy brow and strong nose with a thinner top lip to his thicker bottom lip. He had a neatly trimmed goatee, with his square jaw accentuated by his cleanly shaven cheeks. Those glowing green eyes were outlined by a shadowy halo either from ancestry or lack of sleep. He looked wild, dominant and masculine. She blinked and lurched back as she felt his hand gently on her cheek. "Sorry! You surprised me." She said. He smiled a wicked grin that made his eyes shine like emeralds. "Gotcha. Are you ready for me to show you how this works?" He asked. "Yes, Sir." She said. Wait, why did I say Sir?!? "Okay. Head up to the plate and hold it steady. I'll come around you with the gasket and hold it in place." She got up to the plate and held it firmly with both hands. She heard his heavy boots drop to the deck and he grab something with metallic scraping. Then he walked back up the gangway to stand right behind her. She could feel his warmth, he was standing so close. "Crouch down Amelie, so I can reach over you and slide this gasket between the pipe and the cover." He said. Oh. She crouched down. He leaned over her and clicked on a pocket flashlight. His body blocked the flood light with his massive shoulders as he slid some kind of metal ring down the gap between the cover and the hole. He took two metal guide rods and twisted them into the bolt holes at the ten and two o-clock. "Okay, now push the plate onto the rods so I can get a nut on the face of it." Alright now he's messing with me. She thought to herself. I'll show him. Two can play at this game. She pushed the 350 lb plate by hand and as it swung on the hoist chains, she carefully lined up the holes with the guide rods he put in. "Okay, nut in the face." She said. He dropped two metal nuts right after she said that. They rang on the pipes as they fell into the belly of the ship. "Ahem, I got more for that exact reason." He said, as he dug for more in his bag. "For what reason, exactly?" She asked. "Being a klutz, Mr. Mechanic?" Amelie looked up at him with a smile. She was glad she wore red lipstick today. It always made her feel sexier and her lips seemed bigger. He looked down at her with a straight deadpan expression. "No, for having slippery fingers, my dear. They're so fast, they sweat." "Ahuh. Well, Badass, can you put your nuts on already? My arms are getting tired." She said. Which was true, she was getting tired and she didn't want to be seen panting in front of this guy. Already he knows she thinks he's hot. Which means she lost two advantages: knowing more about the job, and staying a step ahead on controlling the flirting. She didn't mind flirting at work but when they know you're into them; they expect more than words. Terry put the nuts on the rods and she was able to relax her tension on the plate. They were almost done with the job, and in good time. He added more rods and nuts to the bottom and as he was screwing them on, she felt something hard pressing against her back. She slipped backwards, out from between his spread legs. He paused his wrenches when she moved. "You good?" He asked. "Yep. Just getting out of a tightening situation." She said. Gawd, I've resorted to puns. Ugh! He chuckled and continued tightening down the bolts. "I guess my screwing around got you all tied up." She smirked and grabbed a section of the slack chain and pulled it around his waist. She leaned in close and whispered in his ear with a sultry voice. "Speaking of, I'm going to take back my rigging." "Yes, Miss Amelie. Anytime you want to crawl over me is A-okay by me."


“Ever since I was a little girl I’ve been able to see through the eyes of birds. It works on any bird I’m close to--there’s some power in me that reaches out to their brains, and I can see what they’re looking at through their eyes for as long as I want. The only problem is that I can’t feel what they feel, or control them at all, or take on their bodies as my own. That problem seems small when you consider how incredible the power still is--but I assure you it has completely and thoroughly ruined my life. Maybe it only did that because I let it. Maybe if I had been a more positive or mentally strong person, I would have used my power for good and not cared about the limitations. I would have been some sort of elite sniper who could spot any target, or a magician, or a cartographer, or some other useful type of person. As it turns out, though, it appears I used my power to become a depressed loser. I don’t remember exactly when I learned what I could do, but the way I used it started out real simple--as a little girl, on summer days when my mom was at work, I would wander through the forest and connect to the eyes of sparrows and robins. I would sit my heavy body on a stump or lay it on a patch of moss and watch for hours through their eyes, swooping through the leafy canopies of trees, catching worms, building nests, feeding babies. For a while that was all it was--just a fun distraction, a way to spend a summer day. As I got older though, life started happening to me, and along with that came some nastier things. I began to get into a habit--whenever anything really bad happened to me--when my mom would throw shit at me or when I fell off my bike and exploded my leg into a thousand pieces, or when I got laughed at for being fat or...when a bear stumbled across me lying motionless on the forest floor--I would watch whatever happened not through my own eyes, but through the eyes of the birds. Everything looked so poetic through their eyes--people were reduced to tiny specks, atoms colliding and bouncing off one another, just a biological and inevitable process. Most of the times the birds would only watch what was happening to me for a few seconds--then they would look elsewhere, to a bug or a rabbit or the wide open sky, and I would focus hard on being the bird and forget what was happening to my human body down below. How wonderful it was to see my own life as an outsider, put into what I felt was proper perspective--no matter how much pain I was in or how much I wanted to kill the person who was hurting me, I would close my eyes and open the bird’s, and look at myself through from high above--and feel that I knew that nothing really mattered. As time went on I became more and more detached from my own eyes and my own body and I did nothing but watch the world through the birds, and I lay inside all day in the dark and I longed. I longed for my bones to be hollow, for my head to be empty, for the currents and updrafts of wind to push me upwards high above the earth rather than throwing me backwards and fucking up my umbrellas. I started to feel like the world had been built for birds and not for me. Why else would so much of it be sky and open air? Why did I have to spend my life confined to the ground? I gave being human a shot. I promise I did. I did middle school and high school and tried to date and tried to play sports and tried to care and tried to love my mom and tried to love myself, and yet every day I would find myself returning to the eyes of the birds. I began to feel overwhelmingly that nothing could compare to what I couldn’t have--to fully be a bird and to leave all of the stupid squabbles and entanglements of human life behind. When I graduated high school and summer came I locked my door, turned off my lights, and I committed myself, beyond anything, to forgetting that I was human. My mom worked so much she didn’t have enough time to care and no one else was around to notice. I barely ate, I barely slept. At night instead of sleeping I would watch through the eyes of owls, relishing their night vision, praying to every God I could that somehow the psychic connection would short out and my consciousness would be flipped with the owl’s, and my mom would do one of her nightly checks and find a girl with an owl’s brain flapping around the room while I soared and smiled and hunted for mice in my forest. It never happened, of course, and every time I fell asleep against my will, I would wake up for a few painful seconds as the species I hated in a body I despised that I made no effort to upkeep, with my mother pounding on my door to offer me food that made me want to vomit just from the sight of it. I would close my human eyes and connect to the eyes of a bird as fast as I could before I could fully remember who I really was. My weight dropped so, so low, until my bones felt hollow and my head felt empty, and after a few months of focusing on nothing but being a bird, I felt as if the wind might finally treat me like one. So late one August night, looking through my own eyes, I climbed up to the very peak of the roof of my two-story house, and I thought about trying to fly--not in some clunky stupid cartoon way with cardboard wings where I drop like a stone and splat on the pavement--but for real, using all the techniques I’ve learned from the birds, using my new body. I thought that maybe watching the world through their eyes for more hours than I’ve watched it through my own has given me some special--relationship. With the air. I thought maybe the wind would think I’m one of them and carry me. And then you saw me standing up here, and you got off your bike and climbed up the tree and onto the roof and you asked me to tell you what was going on, and for some reason I broke down and told you all of this and I’ve been talking for so long and you haven’t been saying anything, and I think I feel stupider and more embarrassed than I’ve ever felt in my entire fucking life.” A thick August wind blew softly through the trees, and Serena wiped tears from under her dark, sunken eyes. She was winded from speaking for so long. She usually tried not to speak--it was more effort than she remembered. She suddenly felt very, very cold, and she wrapped her bony arms tightly around herself and looked at Tim. Tim was scrawny, and a little sweaty, and a little drunk, and he swayed slightly on the roof six feet from Serena. He had big eyes that took up too much of his face and no idea what to say. He stared at Serena for a while, trying to process everything she had just said, trying to imagine the life of the translucently-pale, shivering, tiny girl who stood before him, one foot on either side of the roof’s spine. They had gone to high school together but he had never spoken a single word to her or about her. He thought about how weirdly pretty she looked and then spent a much longer time thinking about how that wasn’t really an acceptable thought to have when she was in such distress. It occurred to him that what he said next might be one of the most important things he had ever said in his entire life, because he was pretty sure this girl had never told any of this to anyone and if he said something wrong he was basically going to shit on her whole life and destroy it. He wasn’t fully sure why he believed her. But he did. Serena took a slow step towards him, feeling suddenly that she *needed* something from this kind of goofy-looking guy who had interrupted what she now realized was almost 100% a suicide attempt. Although there had been some part of her that thought she was going to fly, there was a much larger, more realistic part that knew what was going to happen. Tim and Serena stood still, looking at each other, five feet apart on the roof. The August wind blew again, taunting her, feeling so full-bodied and strong that she felt *surely* it could carry her, and she thought about how she had not looked through her own eyes for this long in months. The burden of being in her own body felt unbearable again. She took a step back towards the edge of the roof. Tim, still having said absolutely nothing, stepped forward, one step, keeping his distance exactly the same as before. She took one more step back, and he one forward. Again. This time her bare heels kissed the very edge of the roof, which flexed under her weight. She swayed in the wind, and Tim swayed from the beers in his bloodstream, and then he finally spoke, abandoning the hundreds of sentence rough-drafts he had been accumulating during the silence and going with his gut. “You really think the wind’s good enough?” “What?” “To fly. You think the wind’s good enough to fly?” Tim smiled at her with an expression that he figured was close to his idea of coy. She looked away from him. “No. Not really.” “Not *really.* So you kinda do.” Serena stayed quiet. She felt like she was being mocked. “Cause--I’m a pretty skinny guy. I don’t know much about birds, but--if you’re saying it’s doable, I trust your judgement. It feels strong tonight.” Tim suddenly strode to the edge of the roof right next to Serena, and dangled his toes over the edge, and grinned at her with the biggest, stupidest grin he could put on. Slowly she turned around and put her toes over the edge, too. His smile grew even wider, and he began to feel a pressure in his chest and a strange magnet-like pull to this tiny, bony girl on the edge of the roof, shivering and trying not to return his smile. He wasn’t really sure what he was doing or what character he was playing but the alcohol felt warm in his stomach and the wind was cool and he couldn’t stop staring into Serena’s eyes, and he felt like everything he said was smoother than he could have possibly hoped for. “Hey. Are you looking at me with the birds’ eyes? Or yours?” Serena looked into his eyes with hers, and imagined what it would be like to see herself through his. She wondered how different his sight was from a bird’s. She wondered what she looked like to him. She realized it was taking her way too long to answer. “Mine.” “Isn’t it so much better this way? To be in your body, to have control over what you’re doing--to feel the wind on your face?” The wind, as if in harmony with Tim, rose up and passed over them both. Serena blushed a little. “Yeah. It does.” “I don’t really know you, but--I don’t think you should be a bird. I think you should be you. Maybe what you have isn’t perfect. But at least it’s yours.” Serena smiled as she hadn’t in years, and Tim smiled too. Against all of the cowardice he had known in his life, he obeyed his chest and leaned in to kiss her, and against all of her desires to be a bird, she closed her eyes and leaned towards him and allowed herself to be human, and their lips touched, and then the wind blew hard and Tim stumbled off the roof into the shadowy blackness below. Before she had time to think, Serena went off the roof after him, and her fingers stretched as wide as they could, reaching for his. She was too late. She heard the great harmonious whoosh of the wind and the bone-rattling smack of Tim against the hard asphalt of the driveway simultaneously. She braced for her own smack, but it didn’t come. When she opened her eyes she saw a vast vista, her entire town stretching out underneath her, orange lights twinkling in the summer night. She thought she had done what she always did when something terrible happened and switched to a bird’s eyes--until she looked down and saw her own pale, fragile body, being carried by the wind, high above the town. She realized the eyes she saw through were her own, and she could look around wherever she wanted, and then she realized she was truly flying, as herself. She felt the August wind on her face. Just for a second, to indulge herself, she connected to the birds all around. She could see herself through the eyes of every one of them, the wind carrying her higher and higher above the town, looking bold and majestic and finally like she belonged. Then she watched through the birds’ eyes as she began to descend, first ever so slightly, then very unslightly, and she felt the tender hands of the wind that had raised her so high slip away. She was falling fast now. She switched back into her own eyes and watched the red-stained asphalt of her driveway fast approaching, and for a second she was grateful that she was at least watching this through her own eyes. It *was* nicer to be in her own body, to feel the wind on her face, although this wind was very harsh and loud and nothing like the wind that had carried her just a few seconds ago. She briefly hoped that Tim was alive, and then she thought about how funny it was that her last thought was going to be about a person she had only really known for ten minutes. Then she looked down. She reached out towards the ground, and she felt her fingers brush Tim ever so slightly, and then she felt the smallest gust of August wind push against her chest and carry her for just a second. Then she hit, and she felt her legs shatter and explode, and she felt herself screaming. Tears streamed down her face--then a weak, bloody hand grabbed hers and squeezed, just a little. She looked to her left, writhing in pain. Tim smiled at her from a pool of his own blood on the asphalt. She smiled back, just a little bit, and the two of them closed their eyes together and listened to the sound of sirens in the distance.


I was suddenly aware of my consciousness, though something stopped me from opening my eyes. It wasn't that a physical obstacle prevented me; the slow build of dread rising in my chest at what might meet my gaze was enough to keep my eyes shut tight. I had woken up with no recollection of how I’d gotten here... wherever “here” was. The soft undergrowth cushioning my body felt cool against my burning skin, but it remained the only clue of my whereabouts until I could manage the strength to open my eyes. Perhaps I should take inventory of my surroundings. I forced myself to lift my lids, a hiss escaping as the bright orb singed my eyes. I instinctively winced at the brilliant rays, lifting a hand to my face to block them from paining my eyes. As I finally let my eyes adjust, I glanced around at my surroundings to get my bearings. Vivid colors met my gaze, still too brilliant to quite make out as the sun had dazed my eyes, but even their blurred, dancing vibrancy enchanted me. I tried to lift myself to get a better view of what was around me but immediately felt a throbbing pain building in my head as a whimper escaped my throat. Perhaps that wasn't a good idea yet, though the reason as to why only elusively fluttered around my mind. Soon, however, I pursued my original goal of getting up, much more carefully this time, though my body seemed to refuse to cooperate. Ever-persistent curiosity, however, soon got the better of me. I finally managed to struggle into an upright position, trying to ignore the pain as I felt my eyes hungrily sweeping the landscape. The otherworldly view swam before me; it was like nothing I had ever seen before, though I wasn't sure how I knew that... Funny, now that I thought about it, I couldn't seem to recall that much at all. My brow furrowed in confusion as the mesmerizing color of the surrounding nature entranced my eyes. Swirling reds and purples of floral vegetation curled around sturdy hazel shoots reaching for the sky, though the shoots eventually got lost and tangled together with their neighbors in a net of green arches. The ground below me seemed to slightly shimmer from the glistening droplets upon its sleek surface. Suddenly, the hypnotic lull was broken as a large object caught my attention, one that had wings and a gaping wound in its side. I crawled towards it, a muffled, nagging voice in the back of my mind trying to tell me its significance. Though as I edged closer to the mystery, the voice fell silent. There were bodies strewn around the beast. They were mostly mangled and a few half-eaten; however, none were left alive. It was sickening. The world suddenly began to sway as the feeling of dread started roaring again in my chest with panic clawing alongside it. My eyes continued trailing from one corpse to the next, flitting between bloodied injury after bloodied injury. I collapsed to the ground again, curling up and trying to sift through the pain in order to figure out what the hell was going on. A few thoughts began bubbling up, though they twisted the knife of pain further into my skull and prevented me from focusing on them. Finally, I was unable to withstand it all and let out a guttural howl before my vision faded once more. As I came to for the second time, I realized that my overworked brain had managed to wring out a few details as I lay unconscious: the winged beast that had appeared to have consumed the then-animated corpses was instead the airplane that I had arrived here in, and the unfortunate beings surrounding it had been my fellows on the journey. Something had gone terribly wrong during the travel, causing the vessel to crash in this strange place, killing most of the travelers. The rest, perhaps, had gotten lost in the phantasmagorical jungle surrounding the site. I didn't want to have to think of what else could have occurred. In fact, I refused to pursue that thought further as the indistinct growling, purring, screeching, and other noises of the area did not sound the least bit welcoming. But the noise only grew. The brilliant radiance of day was beginning to tuck away her sleepy head, and night began his prowl, bringing all manner of foreign beasts with him, as evidenced by the unwelcoming sounds. I had somehow managed to force myself into a standing position, nervously scanning the area. I needed somewhere safe. I finally found and locked my eyes on the prize, grateful for anything as I headed towards the only source of shelter I could find: the vessel. Alas, even such a simple plan was destined to fail. As I staggered off towards the gaping maw of my to-be home, I felt an uncomfortable prickle on the back of my neck, my muscles beginning to tense. A glance backward told me the shadow of something much more limber and stealthy than I had started its hunt with me as its prize. Panic started to take over as I registered the danger, causing me to blindly stumble faster towards the hope of safety. I barely heard my pursuer, as it likely had much more practice at the art of silence, though I knew it was there as I trudged forward. Was it a doomed endeavor? Panic and logic tussled in my mind as my legs blindly stepped forward to create distance from the unknown threat. The crunch of leaves beneath my feet was amplified to a deafening roar in the pursuit, though was it much of a pursuit if there was no chase? I could feel the unresolved tension of the unknown prickling at my neck as I got closer and closer to my destination. A moment of relief was on the cusp of flowing through me, as I had almost reached the center. Just a few more steps and I would be safe. My outstretched hand reached for the chipped white surface of the vehicle to begin my climb into its shelter, but it was a false hope. The creature (being much faster than I) had finally decided to pounce. It was midnight black and sleek, seeming to blend in with the very air itself. I barely had time to register its attack before it clamped down on my leg, earning a stifled cry from me, its unfortunate prey. It seems the beast had been toying with me, allowing me to feel a glimmer of safety before it assured me that I wasn't out of the woods yet. I began to struggle for my life, wildly kicking out and scrambling for some sort of hold or weapon or anything that could save me. Though initially slender in appearance, thick muscles bulged as the creature yanked at my leg. It was a cruel game of tug-of-war as I fought to hold on to the edge of the plane. The feral foe bared its teeth and pulled at my leg to dislodge me, its unforgiving emerald green eyes locked on me as I struggled. It seemed to be telling me that my time was up, and maybe it was right. But I wasn’t going down without a fight. A growl was all that came of my efforts, then a roar as my foot connected with something hard; playtime was over. Claws raked at my sides, and I felt a sticky warmth trickle down after, a gurgling sickness rising in my throat. My pursuer sunk its teeth in my neck, and a metallic tang was all that was left before my life whisked itself from my body. ... All I could see was black, and a strange language surrounded me as the cold air hit my body. I struggled to open my eyes, soon scrunching them back up as a small wail escaped my throat at the unfamiliarity. Someone shushed me and gently picked me up, slowly rocking me and comforting me. I continued to cry, though I soon tired myself out and clung to the person, still whimpering slightly as I wasn't sure what else to do. It seemed that I had been given another chance at life, though I didn't know it yet at the time. I was but a newborn child, fresh and reborn to the world with infinite possibilities; I was blessed with a new start. A new beginning.


October 10th, 1997 Angie was the head waiter tonight. She asked if any of us wanted to leave early and I volunteered, so it was about 8:30 PM when I walked out the back door with my apron and tie stuffed in my backpack. We put so much work into making the front of the restaurant look like this elegant, understated, classy place -- but the space behind the restaurant would shatter that illusion if guests saw it. Rusty dumpsters smell like expired meat. Weird slimy fluid, mostly from decaying salad greens, trickles out from under the dumpsters across the concrete and into the storm grates. Big plastic containers hold used grease from the deep fryers and recycling bins are overfilled with empty glass wine and beer bottles. The back is the shadow of the front. You can’t provide a beautiful dining experience without also having a place to dump the offal. And the same thing is true for the staff -- that servility generates a byproduct -- us waiters gather in the back to complain about which guests stiffed us on tips and which guests we wanna fuck. Anyhow, I wanted to leave early because in the morning when I was at school, I saw a bunch of fliers tacked up in the college union. They showed a grainy drawing of a giant squid eating sailors. Block letters spelled out “One night only -- work by hometown artist F. Mayfield -- inspired by the cosmic horror of 19th century weird fiction writer Harry Ludlow. Tonight at Prehistory.” Pretty cool stuff, right? Right? Once I got around the corner of the building, I saw the downtown bus coming down the road. I ran the distance and got there at the same time the driver pulled up. I love that moment. It feels like winning a footrace. The driver grinned at me and yelled over the sound of the bus engine something like “Don’t worry brother... I’m looking out for you” and it warmed my heart. I walked back to an empty seat while the bus bumped down the road. But that good feeling didn’t last. The bus ride to Prehistory takes a while because it’s in that burned out area on the east side of downtown. While I sat in my bus seat, by myself, I remember trying to get Jake to come out with me to this. Before a shift when you’re on the schedule, you can eat at a discount. I like to get to work early and have a bowl of soup and a roll. Today when I got there, I saw Jake in the break room. I’ve known Jake since I started at the restaurant. He trained me a few nights. He and I get along. While we ate, I told him about the show tonight. I dug out the flier that I grabbed at school and showed it to him. “Doesn’t this look fascinating? When are you getting another chance to see something like this?” Jake had no idea who Harry Ludlow was and so I explained how he lived somewhere in New England like a century ago. He was one of the last survivors from some really rich family. He wanted to be a poet but he wasn’t good enough. He had better luck with his short stories. I told Jake how his stories were all pretty much about the same thing too: “Some young aristocrat one day discovers a horrible evil thing right under his nose. Like a monster that only he can see that visits him at night. And then the horrible evil thing usually kills the narrator, or drives him insane, or transforms him into a monster that then devours others.” Jake didn’t look interested. More like he was confused why I was interested in this. “The stories aren’t amazing. And he was real into racial superiority pseudoscience. But the stories -- they’re just so dang bizarre, Jake. They’re like reading somebody else’s nightmares.” I went on, “he kind of invented a new genre of horror. Rather than the wolfman or the vampire that hunts us down, the monsters are within us.” “And this guy” -- at this point I gestured at the flier -- “is drawing pictures based on that. Pretty cool, right?” I could tell Jake wasn’t into it by how he looked at the flier then back at me and back at the flier. While I sat in my seat on the bus and this scene replayed in my head, I felt alone. I looked around the bus. It was the typical bizarre mismatched crew of bus riders. Nobody on this bus looked like they were going to the show. They looked like they were going home maybe after work. Then I realized I was still in my work clothes, and of course they were pretty dirty. Every so often during the bus ride, when the sun would go behind a building, I would see my own reflection in the window for a second or so. Every time it happened, I disliked what I saw a little more. I looked too skinny. Anxious. Not sure of myself. I hated my hair. I was going to stick out when I got there. I imagined walking into a crowded space full of happy cool people and then people would stop talking and look at me. I could hear somebody say “who is that?” and everyone would be morbidly curious about the loner weirdo that showed up. Showed up in clothes spotted with stains. Showed up smelling like french fries and old oysters. Or what if I saw somebody that I knew? They would realize how I have no friends. A voice in my head said how the people there will know how I grew up poor. They’ll see how empty I am. How I nearly ended everything a year ago. They’ll see I’m a fucking ghost. Why couldn’t anyone else come out? Why didn’t I think this through? It is hard to describe what it feels like when I’m in one of these spells. I knew my heart was racing, but I couldn’t slow it down. It almost feels like those schlocky movies when somebody’s own hand tries to strangle them. Except it’s your own mind and this is real life. One waking nightmare after another played out in my head. At some point during this ride, I was hunched over, with my eyes closed, clenching my fists, and whispering SHUT UP over and over. And then I realized what is happening, what I’m doing, how I must appear to others. I unfolded, I sat up, I looked around and checked if other people noticed me. Tonight on that bus ride I felt like that time at the bowling alley this spring, right before when Penny and I broke up. That night, we were there with her friends from out of town, and I realized she was paying more attention to that other guy instead of me. I started breathing fast. My voice shook when I talked. I could barely hold my hands still. And of course every fucking time I bowled, it went straight into the gutter, and her asshole friends thought that was hilarious. Looking back now, it was obvious that she didn’t want me anymore. The resentful part of me says she wanted to end it because I wasn’t good for her image. Another part says she and I only got together in the first place because we were stuck in the same place at the same time and we were both miserable kids in a small town, waiting to get the hell out. We were in prison and I was cheap hobo wine she drank to get through it. Now she’s in another city where she is around lots of other beautiful cool people. I don’t fit in that world. I centered my universe around Penny. But I wasn’t the same thing to her. I sure mattered to her a few years ago. I should be glad that now, she’s not the same hopelessly sad girl she was back then. But I loved those nights we used to spend driving around and listening to our favorite songs. I think those were real moments. I can’t accept that she was killing time with me. I get it. People grow apart. But I still miss her. When I get really down, like tonight on that bus, I think about how P was way, way outta my league. I will never ever be with anyone like her again. It was a fluke, an aberration, that somebody like me got a moment of her attention. Gawd, that Saturday night at the bowling alley sucked. We left early that night and Penny was angry at me for acting so weird. She left the next morning and she told me on the phone that night how it was just too hard to be with me but living so far apart. Tonight I stared out the bus window and watched the city landscape change from my neighborhood, which is mostly nice little houses, antique shops, cafes, and restaurants, to the raunchier / seedier gay neighborhood, studded with leather bars and adult book stores, then to the empty night time downtown district, and then under the raised freeway bridge, and then past the empty train yards and boarded-up warehouses. The east side makes me think about the forgotten commercial ruins of a dead ancient empire. Gloomy. It matched my despair. But then I remembered another reflection I saw tonight. It was at work at the restaurant, when I was on the patio. It was during a conversation I had with a diner in my section. He was out for dinner all by himself on a Saturday night, but he was totally at ease the whole time. He ordered enough food for three people and he was so relaxed and happy that it was infectious. Right after I laughed at something he said, I saw myself in the big glass windows that separate the patio from the main dining room. That reflection was a nice image. I didn’t hate how I looked in the reflection, at that moment, at least. I asked him if tonight was a special occasion. He told me tomorrow morning he gets on a plane to some part of rural Africa and it will be a very long time before he would be anywhere like our restaurant. When I refilled his water I saw how he ate all the capers off the fish right away. Later I brought him a ramekin with extra capers. I put them on the table and we talked for a few more minutes. It was a slow night and at that moment I didn’t have any other tables. He said he was a soil scientist and was going there to work on reforestation. I guess modern agriculture has turned the land into deserts. He said how people there have been farming for at least twenty centuries with no problems. Then aid workers came in and taught the farmers to grow for global export, and now after just a few decades, the land is a dust bowl. He made air quotes when he said “modern” and “taught.” Then he leaned forward and asked if it wouldn’t be too much trouble, he would love a few more capers. I realized how he hadn’t noticed me slide the little ceramic bowl on the table, so I pointed them out. He saw them and it was like watching somebody win the lottery. In general, I don’t love being a waiter. Sure, it pays better than anything else I can do, and it opened my eyes to the artistry in food and wine, and I love cooking on my own now. I’m grateful for that part. But it drains my soul to get dressed up, night after night, in my starched shirt and tie, and smile and nod my head and fake my joy while I serve these aging brats as they get drunk and plow through dinner. We place masterful artwork in front of them, and mostly, they don’t appreciate it. We have dead serious, expert chefs in the kitchen, working with the best ingredients money can buy. But the diners for the most part barely notice it. Sometimes I watch them while they eat. They focus on each other. They look around, assessing their rank versus other diners. Who laughs the loudest? Who is the best dressed? They drop almost as much money in one night as what I need for a month’s rent. But tonight was all right. It felt really good to make sure that Mr. Africa capers had a nice dinner. And somehow, his enthusiasm rubbed off on me, and it gave me the whimsy to run and catch the bus tonight. And if I hadn’t left early and then jumped on this bus, I would have done what I always do -- finish my shift, do my sidework, settle up, clock out, buy two cigarettes off Jake, and then walk home. (I buy singles off Jake because I don’t want to start buying whole packs again. Somehow I don’t feel like a smoker if I just have one or two.) Sure, walkin home while smoking feels pretty nice, but after I get home, and lock the door, it gets lonely real fast. It’s usually past midnight, but I’m too wound up to sleep. I check my voicemail. Then I play records, I study for school, I do push ups, I read, I watch the guppies in my fish tank, I write in this notebook. I check that the phone is plugged in. It isn’t fun. It’s fucking bleak. So, as I see it, my only choices tonight were A: jump on this bus, or B: stay in and wait for the phone to ring, and hope it’s Penny and maybe she’s had too much to drink and she feels alone and wants to know that somebody still thinks about her. That’s what happened two weeks ago. We stayed up all night talking. I felt so good at the end of the phone call. I went to sleep easily. And when I woke up the next morning, I felt so peaceful. Everything was how it should be. But then over the next few days, I didn’t hear anything from her. She didn’t call me back after I left messages. I still feel like trash. Psychic hangover. The bus reached my stop. A voice in my head shouted I should just stay on the bus until it looped back around and I could ride it back home. But I kept reminding myself of Africa capers... he was so relaxed! Why couldn’t I be like that? So I got off the bus. It’s a free country. I go where I want. Acute panic disorder or not. I walked across the street and then along the broken trash-strewn sidewalk. The air was a little colder now and the sun was down. The building had layers and layers of pasted-up advertisements, going back for years, maybe decades. Beer and liquor ads, posters for obsolete blockbuster movies, sports events, fashion lines, car ads, invitations to spiritual revivals. They all promise happiness somehow. They all just want people’s money. Sometimes one layer peeled off in parts, showing the ads underneath. In one funny combination, an enormous bag of fat-free pretzels floated over the head of a preacher with both his hands raised up in fervent prayer. By the time I opened the door and went inside, I didn’t feel so bad. I could walk right back out if I had to. Maybe even catch the same bus when it loops back. Prehistory used to be a hardcore club and then it was closed for a long time. I never went there when it was a punk place. But now, for whatever reason, I’ve been here several times. After you open the door and go into Prehistory, you’re in a big room with cinder block walls and a concrete floor. There’s a bar against one wall and stairs going up to the second floor balcony. Thrift store couches and easy chairs and coffee tables and shabby rugs are scattered around. They keep the lights mostly on and the music is quiet enough to chat. What they play for music is really far out there: the night I was here with Angie, there was a guy on stage playing sounds made from NASA telescope recordings and his own homemade drum machine loops. When Penny was in town, the weekend before we broke up, I brought her here on Friday night after I finished work. I thought she was gonna be impressed that I found this place. But she wasn’t impressed. She looked around and said this place went too far, past the ironic, into the realm of the bizarre, and that’s why I loved it and she didn’t. She said this wasn’t a diamond in the rough. It was all rough and no diamond. The next night, when we were out at the bowling alley with her friends, she told them how the place looked like a dingy waiting room in a Russian psychiatric hospital. And I realized she meant it in a mean-spirited way. Where Penny lives now, in MacArthur, there are no places like this. And nobody would go if there were. Everyone in Mac is too trendy and gorgeous and rich. But here, there’s a fat old guy sitting at the bar, eating who knows what out of a paper bag, while reading a paperback, and he looks like he might live in his truck. This was exactly the kind of place where nobody would notice if I still had on waiter clothes stained with wine and cheese sauce. In Mac, no matter who you are, there are a hundred other people that do whatever you do, but better. Everyone you meet is writing screenplays or dissertations or doing activism or negotiating record deals. You don’t make friends there -- when you meet somebody, they scan you and then calculate where you fit in the social hierarchy. If you outrank them, they become sycophants. I never outrank anyone so I become invisible. I never met anybody in MacArthur that was just trying to scrape together rent and not kill themselves. Here though, standing in the middle of the room and looking around for where the Ludlow paintings might be, I felt a little like I was among people kinda like me. Not social climbers. Scavengers. I bought a coffee and the guy behind the bar said the paintings were on the balcony. The balcony is a cool spot. You walk up two flights of old rickety wood stairs and then you’re in a dark loft. Or maybe it’s a balcony. From up here, big dirty windows let you see the vacant parking lots and boarded up buildings nearby, and further away, the lights from downtown. The two elements in the view from those windows -- a burned out and blighted section of town nearby, and the gleaming steel and glass skyscrapers a mile away -- show two different cities, with two different kinds of people, somehow occupying the same physical space. The haves and the have-nots. The diners at my restaurant and the souls that sleep in their cars. I looked around and saw cheap metal easels holding a few paintings. Smaller illustrations were taped on the walls. I noticed somebody sitting behind a folding table behind plastic tubs of drawings. I guessed he was the artist. In the first painting I looked at, I recognized the story it was based on immediately. A guy travels to this dying seaside town to research his great grandfather and discovers his ancestors practiced a secret religion. And another painting showed a scene from the same story where the narrator spies on a beachside blood sacrifice. A curvy woman is tied up to a wooden post on a pier and cultists are all lined along the beach, watching the sacrifice. These two were pretty much illustrations... like what I might find in a Ludlow anthology at the start of each story. In other words, there was nothing unconventional. He drew what the text described. I didn’t recognize the scene that was in the third painting. While the other ones were just pen and black ink line drawings, and only about 18 inches across, this was huge. It was maybe six feet across and four feet wide. The artist had started with a photograph, enlarged it, and then painted on top. The smeared paint across parts almost looked like vandalism. I recognized the photo; it was taken after a lynching in the 1930s. Just the photo itself is really disturbing -- white youth smile and casually chat almost as if they’re at a party, while two murdered black men hang from a tree over them. On top of the photo there were big green smears of paint across the sky, and red splatters all over, almost randomly. That was what I noticed first. But under that, what looked like wrathful graffiti, the artist did something powerful and clever by subtly altering the photo. Above the tree line, in really muted colors, almost too faint to notice because it was nearly the same color as the night, I noticed a vague outline of a hideous gigantic beast hovering over the crowd, above the tree line. Pale translucent tentacles, like the stingers on a Portuguese man o’ war, reached down into the people below. The green paint and red splatters on top looked like it was applied quickly and angrily, but altering the photo to splice in this giant translucent ancient evil ghost in the sky -- this picture was so subtle, and so detailed. I imagine it required patience and focus. And mixed in with the people, he had spliced in butchers wearing bloodstained aprons, holding cleavers, and the ground was littered with dismembered body parts. And then I saw how some people’s clothes and faces had been altered to look like alien monsters. The more I studied the painting, the more detail I noticed, and the more I loved it. I looked at the price. Way out of my league! Between looking at the art and sipping this mediocre coffee out of a styrofoam cup, I studied the guy behind the table. I was pretty dang curious. He didn’t match what I had expected. He was black, first of all. I imagined that the artist would look like Harry Ludlow the author and Harry Ludlow was a sickly aristocrat that rarely left his house. This guy looked tough. He looked more like a carpenter than some anemic old money snob. The fact that this artist was black jumped out at me. It doesn’t take a literary critic to see how Ludlow’s stories about swarms of monsters were really about eastern European slavic immigrants changing the culture of New England. And Ludlow wrote hateful racist stuff in his personal letters. I walked up to his table. He barely looked up at me. I asked him “Is this your work?” and he kind of shrugged. He had a cardboard box with prints mounted on cardboard and the sign said they were $20 each. I could afford that. I started going through them. I wanted to talk to this guy. Heck -- he drew pictures of sea monsters for a living -- in any other context, we would be best friends! After I flipped through a dozen prints, I held up one. I asked if this was the story about the stage magician that gets kidnapped by the people that think he can do actual magic, and they want him to resurrect their mummified Pharaoh. I said I always liked that story. No reply. I paid him for the print, and then I asked if he wouldn’t mind signing the back. I said, “So you’re F. Mayfield?” He nodded. “All this stuff is really good; but that one” -- I pointed to the one that I was so hung up on -- “that one is amazing.” I wanted to talk about that painting but I didn’t know how to make that happen. An awkward silence began. He asked me how the coffee was. I said it was pretty good... maybe not quite as good as a church basement AA meeting, but still not bad. He smiled and I felt kinda proud that I pulled that out of nowhere. I wondered though... should I tell him how I quit drinking? Does he already know? Is it weird to drink coffee at a bar or do normal people drink coffee in bars? In other words, me drinking coffee right now... does it telegraph how I’m a mess and trying to get my life together? The dizziness started and then F’s voice interrupted it. “I’m getting a coffee. You want another? I got free stuff cuz of this show.” “And F is the name I use for art. I’m Freddie.” I followed Freddie downstairs. We went to the bar and he ordered two coffees. I felt cool hanging out with this artist and getting a free drink. Then on our way out, I walked right into Freddie because I was looking backwards at an absolutely gorgeous woman at the bar. Luckily didn’t spill the coffee. He smirked at me and shook his head. We walked outside, out onto the sidewalk in front of the bar, and I watched Freddie fish cigarettes from his jacket. It was now completely dark and much colder outside. I shivered. Then I remembered I might have my sweater deep in my backpack. I dug around in my backpack and lucky for me I still had my sweater; the brown pullover. After I put it on, I wondered why I didn’t wear this earlier, when I was so dang nervous about sticking out. I asked him how long he has been drawing. Freddie explained how when he was a teenager, he made his own comic and tried selling it at this one comics shop. The comic shop owner liked how Freddie had also drawn scenes from a Ludlow short story anthology. The owner encouraged him put his pictures up on the wall with a price tag. He sold more of the Ludlow illustrations than he did of the comic. Then I thought about that one big expensive painting. I said something like “what I don’t get -- how the hell are you not famous?” I said how that painting upstairs was brilliant. He was doing something really new. He smiled at that. More quiet and then I said to Freddie how there was something on the wall that he might like and I pointed to where I saw the pretzel preacher ad mashup on the wall. He walked down with me and I showed him the weird accidental collage. I gestured at the spot, and Freddie looked at it for a minute and then laughed out loud. “That’s great! This is amazing!” I was gleeful. “Right? I saw it when I walked in tonight.” We went back inside and back upstairs. While we walked back, I felt like I was floating. Like the exact opposite of how unhappy I was, earlier on the bus. We leaned on the balcony rail and watched the people at the bar. From up there, I kept watching that woman downstairs. She didn’t match the crowd here whatsoever. She looked more like the women that go to my restaurant than the people that come here after putting together ironic outfits from used clothes. I don’t know shit about women’s fashion but I know what brands correlate with big spenders and she dressed like a very big spender. I watched her finish one drink and order another. She acted like nobody else was here. Like she was here all alone. She didn’t glance around as people came in. We were all ghosts. There was something in her face, in that weird stare, her lack of movement. Lost in her thoughts, except when she realized her glass was empty, when she became aware of the room again. I asked Freddie where the idea came from. Like where did he get this idea of taking Harry Ludlow monsters and remixing them. Freddie told me how he escaped from the stress of growing up through obsessive reading. A librarian said he might like Ludlow stories and he got hooked. It was after he became a fan, and after he was selling his illustrations at the comic book store, when he discovered how Ludlow was a white supremacist. He explained how the experience was bewildering. He found a book of Ludlow’s letters to his friends and that’s when he realized how Ludlow would not have been happy this kid was drawing his own versions of Ludlow’s stories. He said something like he didn’t fit in at home or in his neighborhood, so he escaped into reading. And he loved reading, but he found out he wasn’t welcome there either. He said he felt hurt, heartbroken even, when he read letters between Ludlow and other writers and he read his own hero say such awful things. Just listening to him talk about it, tonight, I felt angry. He said he realized that his affection remained despite this slap in the face. He said something like, “I was hooked on him, even though I knew it was bad for me.” He sighed and said, “I loved something that didn’t love me back. I stopped drawing after that.” Freddie said he joined the Navy and In southeast Asia, he toured some old temples and then Freddie realized these were the ruins of the pagan temples that Ludlow only read about. Freddie said that night he started drawing again. Thats when he decided to reverse the heroes and the monsters. Now, colonizers would be the cultists worshipping the evil gods. We stood quietly for a few minutes. I was grateful for the coffee because it gave me something to concentrate on. Then Freddie pointed to somebody that just walked in. Right away, I felt like I knew him, or at least recognized him. Older, long, stringy gray hair, holding court with several admirers orbiting him. You could tell he was a big shot. He had an invisible aura that you could detect. Watching from up on the balcony, I saw other people in the room seemed to notice him. He magnetized the room somehow. I watched heads turn and strangers drifted toward him. At one point everyone near him laughed out loud. Except for the woman. She was a few stools down but also very far away. She was ignoring him. And I could tell he hated it. He said something to her and she ignored him. Then he said it again louder, and still no reply. Then he grabbed her around the waist and pulled her close to him. We couldn’t hear what he was saying, but she looked uncomfortable and he looked like he was enjoying himself. Almost maybe because she was so upset. But I know I sometimes imagine motivations that aren’t actually there. The next part happened so fast I barely followed, but it looked like she struggled to twist out of his arms. And he gripped her tight. Then she either pushed against his face or slapped him. Then he smacked her in the mouth. Everyone started screaming and pushing away. Next somehow she tripped him, they both fell to the floor, but she landed on top and started punching his face in. The guy from behind the bar pulled her off by grabbing around her waist. She looked tiny in his arms. She ran out the door while he helped up the guy. His nose was gushing blood. I turned to look at Freddie. He was holding his hands on top of his head and looked as stunned as I was. I checked my watch and the last bus was coming any minute. I wanted to stay and figure out what the hell just happened. And also keep talking with Freddie. This whole night was so fuckin vivid. But I hate waiting for the bus late at night. It is absolutely no fun when cars pull up to the bus stop and I have to explain that I’m not playing hard to get -- I’m just not a prostitute. So I told Freddie how Ludlow is gonna be a footnote in F Mayfield’s story and then I ran outside and for the second time in a row, just barely made it to the stop in time.


Christine twiddled her thumbs as she stared at her computer screen. The page she was trying to access was still loading. She had been attempting to buy some material for her job for the last 30 minutes, but the internet wasn't running as quickly as it usually was. The dentist she worked for approached her. “Have you been able to order the material I requested?” Her hands flew into the air in frustration. “I've been trying!” she said louder than she had intended. “The internet isn't working and the typical sites I go to don't seem to be online. I'm sorry, but I have to do this tomorrow!” “Whoa!” Dr. Hansen said defensively. “I was just curious. When was the last time you had some time off?” he asked. “I don't know,” she replied shortly. “Well, I'm ordering that you take some time off. I'll have Hector deal with this tomorrow. You go home, get some rest, and do something fun.” “I don't have time for a vacation...” Christine started to say. “Go!” Dr. Hansen interrupted. Christine exhaled sharply. “Okay,” she finally surrendered. “I'll see you next week.” Dr. Hansen wasn't wrong. It had been years since she had taken time off work. She needed a break. She needed to do something fun. As she walked to her car, something in the parking lot caught her eye. She squinted her eyes, trying to make sense of a shiny object. She walked towards it, and saw that it was a rock; it sparkled blue in the sunlight. She had never seen anything quite like it before. Fascinated by it, she took it home and put it on her dresser as a decoration. She stared at it for a moment, mesmerized. Shrugging, she went into her living room where her boyfriend was sitting his lazy boy rocking chair. “Any luck finding a job today?” she asked crossly. “Huh?” he asked as he pried his eyes from the TV. “Uh... no, not today.” he shoved some pop corn into his mouth. “You know we're behind on rent,” she said angrily. “The least you could do is at least try to find a job.” “Yeah, I will,” he responded without looking at her. “That's it,” she said, exasperated. “I'm going to take a nap, and when I wake up, you had better be on that computer looking for a job!” “Okay, okay!” he said. “You don't have to get so angry.” Gritting her teeth, she slammed her bedroom door behind her. Her boyfriend was just a moocher. She honestly didn't know why she stayed with him. Burying her feelings, she climbed into her bed and closed her eyes. All she needed was some quiet alone time. As she attempted to fall asleep, she was interrupted by what seemed like a flash light blaring into her face. “Tony, I swear if that's you, I'm going to kill you!” she said angrily as she sat up. To her surprise, she was alone; just her and her glowing rock. She stared in shock and wonder. What was this rock? She wondered. Was it magic? She got out of bed and walked towards it slowly. She reached a hand out, seemingly unable to control herself. She touched it, and there was a brighter light that consumed her. She shielded her face and in an instant, it was gone. She looked around, confused. She felt grass beneath her feet. Looking around some more, she noticed brightly colored plants surrounding her. She stared in awe. What was this place? Had this mysterious rock taken her to some sort of fairy-tale land? She looked towards what appeared to be a brightly lit night sky. There was blue light emanating from two moons. “Hello?” she called out. “Where am I?” obviously, no one answered. Finding a trail to her right, she followed it. The trail consisted of dark red dirt and it was lined with bright blue plants. Ahead, she saw a town that was lit up with what appeared to be glowing plants. She gasped; it was the prettiest thing she had ever seen in her entire life. She entered the town and found a strange looking animal taking a nap in some sort of nest. “Hi there little guy,” she said as she petted its head. “Hey!” the animal said, causing Christine to jump with surprise. “What do you think you're doing? How would you like it if someone came up to you and started to pet your head?!” “I...I'm sorry...I had no idea,” she stuttered. “Aw, new around her, 'aye?” the creature asked her. “Well, you wouldn't be the first.” “How did I get here?” she asked. “Last thing I remember is being in my bedroom with a...” “...glowing rock?” the creature finished. “Yes.” She eyed the creature, unsure of how he knew that. “That rock senses when someone needs an adventure, or maybe a fresh start. It brings you here, and you have to decide if you want to stay or go back home.” “Isn't that choice obvious?” Christine asked. “Go home, of course.” “Is there anything worth going back home to?” Christine pondered on that question. He was right. She was behind on rent, with a mooching boyfriend who never showed any affection towards her and her parents were long since deceased. And her being an only child, had no siblings to go home to. What was there at home for her? “Being here, you can live out the remainder of your life in peace,” the creature explained. “There are other people who live here as well, but they are few and far apart, so you don't have to associate with them if you don't want to.” “Is this a dream come true?” she asked in astonishment. “For some, yes. Others prefer the comfort and familiarity of home. Which one are you?” She knew exactly which one she was; and that was exactly what her choice was going to be. If it was you, what would you choose?


“Thank you for choosing to participate in our study, Mr. Frangere.” Her voice was familiar. She must have been the one that called me earlier in the week. She’d called asking if I wanted to be in some study, a pharmaceutical drug test. The pay was good; $250 per day for two days minimum of testing. I wouldn’t have to stay overnight, and I’d get breakfast, lunch, and dinner for free. I really didn’t need the money, but why not? I have the time to spare. “It's not a problem. So what will we be testing?” She ignored the question and peered at her clipboard from behind the desk. She was wearing a completely white outfit; dress, stockings, heels, and a lab coat to complete it. After she finished shuffling through the papers, she held out the clipboard and a pen. “I need you to fill out these forms, and then we can get started.” I took her offering, and proceeded to sign my life away. The forms consisted of basic information; a medical history form, a liability form, and several pages about the test, which I was told to read and sign. They didn't tell me much about what was going to happen or what I would be taking, just about all of the possible dangers and side effects that could occur from the medication. I skimmed through those without giving it a second thought. “All done, Miss... what was your name?” She took the clipboard and checked to make sure I’d completed it correctly. “If you could just follow me Mr. Frangere, we can get started.” The building that I entered wasn't what one would have expected to house a drug testing facility. From the outside, anyone would assume that the building was just a warehouse, and that would be the end of it. However, inside the building was much different. The room I was in wasn't that big, and was completely white. From the floor to the ceiling tiles, the walls to the doors, even the furniture, everything was white. I felt as though I could have been in the early stages of a horror movie, but I shook the feeling. The only color that I could see around me, besides my own clothing, were several small plants that had been strategically placed around the room in an attempt to negate the lifeless feeling. When I entered the main door into the lobby, I was greeted by an admission desk, which was where the woman was seated . On the wall behind the desk there were two doors, one on each side, along with a door on each wall to the left and right of where I stood. They weren't marked in any way which made the building feel like a maze. The people that work here must know where each door leads, because the woman suddenly stood and proceeded to the one that was to the left of her. I began to follow, as per her request. As we passed through the door, we entered what appeared to be a very long hallway, which continued the color scheme from the previous room. This hallway also included many unmarked doors, and more long hallways, enhancing the maze-like feeling. *How could anyone stand to work in a place like this?* I thought to myself as I followed her down several different corridors until finally we stopped in front of a specific, unmarked door. I tried to remember how to get back to the lobby, but lost track after the third or fourth turn. “Here we are Mr. Frangere, this will be your room for the next fifteen hours. Inside, you will find a set of clothes we would like you to wear, a lavatory, and breakfast. Please put all jewelry and belongings in your pockets now, and enjoy your meal. Someone will return to you shortly.” She sounded like a machine at this point, reciting pre-programmed lines quickly and poignantly. She opened the door, and I proceeded into the room, hearing the door close behind me. She was suddenly gone, and I was alone, in my entirely white room which I would remain in for the next fifteen hours. The room wasn't very big. It consisted of a desk and chair, a bed, and a door which led to the bathroom. I changed quickly and ate my breakfast, which was an enjoyable meal of eggs, bacon, ham, sausage, orange juice, and black coffee. However, while I ate, I noticed several cameras which I assumed were supposed to be hidden, but they didn't do a very good job at that. After twenty minutes passed, I heard a knock at the door. It then opened, and a different woman entered my room. She didn't say a word, but she grabbed my personal belongings and meal tray. “Excuse me, when will...” She also ignored me, and was gone before I could finish my question. *What the hell did I sign myself up for?* *This had better be worth it.* Another ten minutes passed before I was graced by a third person. This one had a tray in their hands which carried a small condiment cup and a clear, plastic cup filled with water. He placed the tray on the desk before speaking. “How was your meal, Mr. Frangere? Are you nice and full? Ready to begin testing?” This one seemed a little more friendly than the other two. “I suppose I'm as ready as I'll ever be.” “Great.” He slid the tray over to me. “In front of you, you will see a small, white pill with the numbers '3702' engraved into it.” *Of course it's white, what else is new?* “You will also see a cup of water, which you can use to assist in the ingestion of the pill. You are required to finish the contents of the cup.” The man's friendliness disappeared, and the mechanical personality was in charge. “After you take the pill, we do ask that you lay down in your bed until you hear this tone.” Suddenly, a ringing sound pierced through the room. *What the? Where did that come from?* I hadn't seen any speakers in the room, so the sound completely took me by surprise. “After you hear the tone, you are free to do whatever you choose within the room. You may leave in fifteen hours, which will make the time 12:00 a.m.” With that, the man was out the door. *So take the pill and lay down. That seems easy enough.* I took the small pill in one hand, and the cup of water in the other, and did what I was told. The pill must have had a powder-coating over it, because I had a foul taste in my mouth after I took it. I stood from the chair and used the bathroom before I laid in my bed. I wasn't sure how long it was going to take before that ringing sound played again, so I figured I'd take advantage of the chance I had. Afterward, I got in to the bed that was provided for me which wasn't nearly as comfortable as it looked. It felt as if the entire bed had been chiseled out of stone, pillow and all. I got myself as comfortable as I could, and stared at the ceiling. *Well, I guess I could close my eyes while I wait for, whatever this is, to kick in. Hopefully this will be quick.* Everything around me went dark as my eyelids closed. What felt like minutes passed, and I was shocked by the sound of the tone. *Already? I'm not feeling anything yet. Is it over?* However, something was different. The walls of the room no longer looked white, but almost a light pink color. *That's probably just from closing my eyes. They said I could do anything, so I guess I’ll sleep until they bring me lunch.* I closed my eyes again, and submersed into a deep sleep. *Adrian. Adrian, you need to wake up.* I was abruptly awakened by someone saying my name, but I didn't open my eyes right away. “Is it lunch time already? I could go for a good burger.” There was nothing but silence. *Adrian, you need to get out of here.* The voice sounded familiar, but I couldn't figure out whose it was. I finally sat up and opened my eyes, only to be startled at what I saw. The walls, which were originally white, then looked pink, were a dark shade of purple, and had a translucent liquid running down them which was glowing a baby blue color. The floor had turned a tint of red, similar to roses just after they had bloomed, and each door in the room was radiating neon green, with the color fading lighter and darker. “What the fuck dude,” I laid back down, trying to collect my thoughts. But what I saw on the ceiling is what put me over the edge. It looked like someone had painted a universe on it, however, this was much more than a painting. The swirling mass of clouds and stars were spinning, the universe was alive, and I was moving closer to it. My body wasn't physically moving as far as I could tell, but I was approaching the center of the large mass, and I was doing it quickly. Stars began to fly around me, glowing specks disappearing and reappearing everywhere that I looked, and for a second I could swear that I felt some type of wind on me. It was then that I decided this test was over. “I'm going to the bathroom, puking up this pill you gave me, and going home.” I yelled this loud enough so if there weren’t microphones in the room, someone outside of the door could hear me. I had a hard time standing, but finally managed after becoming acclimated to the rosy red-colored floor. My movement wasn't how it normally was, I had a hard time lifting my legs, and I couldn't stand up straight. I couldn't tell if I felt hot or cold, but half of my body had goosebumps and the other half didn't. I shuffled to the bathroom door but I didn’t want to touch it. The glowing green was completely unnatural, but I had to get rid of this pill. I managed to turn the knob and get the door open. As I walked through the door, everything went black again. *Adrian. You need to get the fuck out of here, Adrian.* I awakened yet again, to find myself still laying in bed where I had been after I took the pill. I hastily sat up and peered around the room. Everything looked exactly as it was when I laid down; white, and entirely blank. “Shit, it was just a dream. What kind of drug did they give me?” As I looked around, I noticed someone had entered my room while I was asleep, because there was another tray atop my desk. It was my lunch, and it consisted of a cheeseburger, a large amount of french fries, and a chocolate milkshake to wash it down. “Wow, this place delivers.” I threw my legs off the bed and stood up, giving myself a sudden head rush. The room began to darken, and I could see the familiar little stars floating around that always visit me when I stand too quickly. *Adrian, why haven't you left yet? You need to leave, Adrian.* There was that voice again. I keep hearing it, but I have no clue where it's coming from. I looked around to make sure I was alone in the room, and sat down at the desk. “Whoever keeps talking to me, you need to cut it out. You're really starting to piss me off. Unless that's the point of the test, then you're doing a fantastic job at it!” I waited for a response, but I heard nothing. I was becoming agitated, and turned back towards the tray filled with food. My perspective changed yet again. The burger on my tray was still a burger, but it also had eyes, and a mouth slowly began to appear on it. The french fries began to melt, and the milkshake was boiling over its glass. “What are you still doing here, Adrian?” The burger started talking to me. *Why is this burger talking to me? What’s happening to me?* I wasn't sure what to make of it, and I felt trapped and scared in this small room, so I did the only thing I could do. “What are you talking about? You're a burger, how can you talk?” “You need to leave. This place will kill you dead, Adrian.” I started getting worried at this point, not specifically at the fact that a burger just told me I was going to die, but the fact that the burger said anything at all. “What do you mean this place will kill me? And how are you talking?” *You need to listen to the burger, Adrian.* The voice was much louder now, as if the person who owned it was directly behind me. I jumped out of my chair and spun around, only to find that I was still alone in the room. I turned back to my plate, but the food that was there looked as it normally would. The burger no longer had eyes, and the fries and milkshake looked as edible as they did when I first saw them. I decided not to eat my food, partially because I felt guilty eating something that was talking to me a moment ago, and told me I was going to die. I walked towards the bathroom instead to rinse my face with some water, hoping to shake whatever it was that I was feeling. The drug must have kicked in at this point, because there was no way this feeling was natural. *You're going to miss your chance, Adrian.* I opened the lavatory bathroom, only to find that it was no longer a lavatory. Instead, a long corridor stretched out in front of me. This corridor wasn't like the other hallways I had seen though. The walls were a very dark gray, and every ten feet a candlestick could be found hanging on the wall on both sides. I could only see within the first fifty feet though, after that it was completely dark. I closed the door and reopened it, but the hallway remained unchanged. “I think it's time for me to leave.” I turned toward the door that lead out of the room, and rushed over to it. When I opened it, the familiar hallway I had seen before entering the room gave me a good feeling. *You're too late, Adrian.* Before I had the chance to step out of the doorway, the hall melted right before my eyes. The walls, the other doors, the ceiling, all looked like they were dripping blood, as if they were alive. *There's only one way to go now.* I looked to where the lavatory should have been, down the dark corridor, and back to the melting one. Before I could realize what I was doing, I went in to a full sprint down the gloomy hallway into the black. However, every time I would get close to the shadows, more candles on the wall would suddenly light up. I continued to run, and checked behind to see if I could see back to my room. There was nothing but darkness. *You need to run faster Adrian, or they're going to get you.* I still wasn't sure where the voice was coming from, but it somehow knew more than I did. “Who's going to get me?” I screamed as I continued running in to the abyss. “What do they want with me?” *They're going to kill you, and no one will ever know.* “Who is? Who's going to kill me? Answer me, damnit!” *They're going to kill you.* Without warning, I was encased in a giant light. I was no longer standing in the hallway, and I came to a complete stop. I was surrounded by shadows, but for some reason I felt comfort standing in the light. I knew in here, the shadows couldn't get me, but they were still trying. I could feel them moving around me. *It's too late. Only you could have saved yourself, Adrian.* The voice rang incredibly loud, to point where I had to put my hands over my ears. As I did, I could feel something warm running through my fingers and down my arms. I pulled my hands away from the sides of my head and put them in front of me. They appeared to be covered in blood, and I could feel the same warmth begin to drip down my face. “What's happening to me? Why is this happening to me?!” *You never should have came here, Adrian. You never should have came.* “Tell me what's happening! Tell me who you are! Why is this happening?” I couldn't help but be scared now. I don't think anyone would have been able to hold their composure while this was happening. I was invited here as part of a study, was told I was being paid for it, and all I had to do was take an experimental pharmaceutical drug. No one said anything about anyone dying while they were here, so why suddenly me? The light started to close itself around me, my cage shrinking smaller by the second. “Please don't kill me, I didn't do anything. I'll give you whatever you want, just don't kill me!” Tears started to fuse with the blood that was still running down my face. I couldn't figure out exactly where the blood was coming from. There weren't any cuts on my face or head, but I continued to bleed. Another spotlight lit up the floor about ten feet in front of me, hoarding off the shadows just as my beam of light was doing. I waited to see if someone would appear in the light, but no one did. After what seemed like hours, a figure began to shine. The light reflected off of their skin, so I couldn't tell who it was at first. As my eyes began to refocus, I noticed something oddly familiar about this person. They were wearing the same clothes I was wearing when I first arrived to the mysterious warehouse, and they fit them perfectly. They were also the same height, and their hair was the exact same length as mine. *Hello, Adrian.* The voice was finally recognizable. It was my own. The person that was standing ten feet away from me, was myself. But how could I be in two places at once? Was the figure I was staring at the exact same person as me? “Who are you? Why do you look like me? What the fuck is going on here?” *You don't know who I am, Adrian?* I was no longer just crying or weeping, at this point I was sobbing. I couldn't control myself any longer. I was terrified, alone, and I had no clue what was going on. And according to the doppelganger I'm standing face-to-face with, someone, or something, is trying to kill me. “If I knew who you were, do you really think I'd be asking you?” *You do know who I am, Adrian.* “Stop avoiding my questions and give me answers!” I was becoming furious, and my worries of what would happen to me began to dissipate. *I've been with you throughout your entire life, Adrian. I've been there to tell you the difference between what's right and what's wrong.* A million thoughts were racing through my head after I heard that statement. I was recollecting all of the people I had met in my life, thinking that the drug I had taken had put me in a deep sleep and I was personifying someone I knew through the image of myself. *You're not sleeping, Adrian.* I was snapped out of my thoughts and brought back to the moment. “Well you have to be in my head, or you wouldn't have known what I was thinking. None of this must be real.” I started to walk out of the light barrier surrounding me, but an unexpected force stopped me. *I can't let you do that, Adrian.* “Then answer my questions. What's in the shadow?” *The shadow is what you make of it. It could be anything you want it to be, even your fears.* That’s when it hit me. No matter who I was thinking of, no one that ever entered into my life knew of my fear of the dark. That was a secret I was prepared to take to my grave. “You must be some part of me.” *That is true.* “Were you the one that was talking to me the entire time?” *Yes, I was.* “You were trying to help me escape before any of this ever happened. Except for one problem, it wasn't until after I had taken the drug that I began to hear you.” *You could always hear me, Adrian. However, you were not aware of the apparent danger that laid ahead of you due to your choices. Tell me who I am, and I will answer your questions.* I remembered everything that I had done that day, and sequenced my thoughts in order. I played the entire day over in my head at least two or three times, every conversation I had, and everything I had told myself. That was it. Everything I told myself. Or everything myself was trying to tell me. That was the point where it all made sense. “You're my self-conscience.” Both lights suddenly vanished. I shut my eyes and prepared myself for what was going to attack me from the shadows, but I felt nothing. The warmth that was rushing down my face and my arms had ceased. I stopped crying, and I no longer felt afraid. *Open your eyes, Adrian.* We were both back in my room. We must have teleported or something, because there is no way we could have gotten back to the room after the distance it felt like I had ran. Everything appeared to be as I had left it, except for two components. The reason why I could tell this was my room, was because the food was still left on the desk. However, there was now a clipboard sitting adjacent to the tray. Also, there was a body in my bed. At some point while I was asleep in my drug-induced haze, they must have switched me to another room and put another subject in here. *You need to look at the person in the bed.* “Don't you think that's a little creepy? You are my conscience, you know.” Something didn't feel right about this situation though, so I took his, or my, advice and walked to the bed. As I did, my look-alike walked to the desk and grabbed the clipboard before joining my side. As I looked down, I had this feeling that I should have been upset, crying, screaming. But I felt nothing. I felt nothing but solitude. I wasn't happy or sad, angry or passive, I felt nothing. I stared down upon the person that inhabited my bed, and I was content. My conscience handed me the clipboard, and I read the contents of it out loud. “Theodore Frangere, male. Height, 5 foot 10 inches. Weight, 165 pounds. Test subject number 205, experimental group A. Time of death... 10:00 a.m.” My eyes switched from the clipboard to my pale, lifeless face. I had accepted the invitation to participate in this study just for some extra cash. I didn't need it, and I had no reason to be here. But I chose to do it, and I paid the consequences for doing so. “So what do I do now?” We looked at each other for what seemed like a lifetime. I was still having trouble getting past the fact that I kept thinking I was looking in a mirror, and I shouldn't be expecting an answer. *You can do as you desire. You are no longer attached to this world. You are finally free.