“This is the hunter's badge of glory - That he protects and tends his quarry, - Hunts with honor, as is due - And through the beast to God is true.” -- Jagergmeister , by Oskar von Riesenthal (taken from the back of a Jagermeister bottle, half-full). * * * I am left to imagine the circumstances of a most unusual case, which has the Grimlace’s handiwork written all over it. The Grimlace has stolen another victim’s visage and memories, leaving her a withered amnesiac. She was wandering ghostlike amid the streets of Frankfurt with no idea how to return or where she called home. “My name is Hildergard Koeppen,” I tell her, “But everyone calls me Hilda.” “Pleased to meet you... I’m...” and she trails off, unable to remember her own name. “It’s ok, my dear, this is all quite normal,” I tell her. I turn on my Dictaphone and make my report: “It is 23:36 in the evening. The patient’s name is Greta Thunderberg. The patient is approximately thirty-two years of age according to confirmed medical records. Greta presents with symptoms of sudden onset retrograde amnesia. She reports no memory of her whereabouts or how she reported to Polizeireiterstaffel HE off the river Main. She complains of persistent tinnitus, disorientation, and a total loss of recent memory, as well as an inability to recall various aspects of her personality--or, apparently, her own name. When asked if she is a serious person or a fun-loving one, she says, ‘I hardly know myself, at all--I couldn’t say.’ When asked if she enjoys large gatherings and social occasions, she says, ‘I should like to try it and see.’ She is completely flat. When asked, ‘Are you upset about your present condition,’ she says, ‘I feel fine.’ Her face is frozen as if she has had an excessive amount of Botox serum injected. There are neither any signs of physical trauma nor any indication of the use of surgical instruments and the bloodwork is normal. My diagnosis is that there has been a sudden hypoxic event and a hardening of neural connections occasioned by calcification from exposure to chemical antagonists--causing sudden onset retrograde amnesia--all of which is consistent with a Grimlace attack.” I release the patient back to her police escort, who thanks me and is on his way. Brainy. That’s me. Cut it, treat it, study it. I do it all. Neurosurgeon, neurologist, and neuroscientist. Check, check, and check. And you can add dissect it to that list. Did you know that forgetting is actually part of the learning process? I’ll bet you didn’t. But not everyone has brains on their mind like I do. My true calling, however, is the hunt for the Grimlace. I have been stalking this freak of nature for over a decade. But this is the first time that I have ever been able to anticipate catching my quarry and finally seeing what it is made of. We are the Knights of Kadosch, a sect of the Scottish Right. We are closely aligned with our brethren, the Knights of Tavistock in St. Petersburg. We hunt monsters. And my special assignment these many years is to rid the world of the dreaded Grimlace. After all this time, I have finally found a witness to the first Grimlace attack. * * * Just past one o’clock in the morning, Agatha is coming to life. The tea kettle is whistling in the kitchen, and Agatha hums as she pours herself a cup, her hand shaking as she tips the kettle. Although Agatha was a precise woman and always had her hands perfectly manicured, the ends of her nails are growing out with ragged abrasions, and the nail polish is badly chipped. Our shared apartment is a high-rise at 140 West in Westend-Süd. There is a view of the city skyline and the Taunus mountains beyond. “Where have you been Heidi? I’ve been worried?” Agatha asks. “Interviewing a victim of an attack,” I say with a shrug. “I called you two hours ago, remember mum?” “But what about your dinner with Rene - did you forget?” Agatha asks. “That was last week, mutter.” “Is someone changing your calendar?” she asks, hands on her hips, “You know there are a lot of doctors that want your position in the Faculty of Medicine at Goethe-Universität--who would do anything to get you out of there.” “Oh, mutter. No need to worry about me. Did you watch your show?” “Uhh, is it already eight?” Agatha asked. “Mutter! It is nearly two in the morning,” I tell her, and walk into my study. “I have to finish some work mum, get some sleep.” I can barely stand to look at her--when I can’t do anything about it. My mother was a fine physician and a woman of prominence. She has now been reduced to this dwelling invalid who sulks about being imprisoned by her own mind. I know she won’t turn in until the sun comes down. I have given up trying to get her into a normal sleep schedule--after all, it is not as if I have one myself. She’ll just sit on the balcony now, staring into space, as if the vista of the horizon will give her a chance to remember that she is in the process of forgetting. * * * It has taken nearly a decade, but I am able to locate the stagehand who was present the night of the first Grimlace attack. “The English Theater was playing ‘Saint Joan of the Stockyards,’ and Dearil Verloren had top billing on the Playbill,” Luis recalled. “I’ve heard of that play--he was playing--" “--The meat packing magnate, Pierpont Mauler,” Luis says. “And you were there, watching from behind the curtains, during the entire play?” I ask, jotting notes. “Not the whole time,” Luis says. “Where did you go?” I ask. “At one point, I ended up going out back in the alley to have a cigarette, and found the understudy, Rache, speaking with a strange-looking woman,” Luis says. “We will come back to that,” I tell him, blowing at some hair that has come untucked from my ponytail and is dangling over my left eye. “What did Dearil look like?” “Dearil was a tall man--about 6’4”--just stunning. He had a lean lanky build. His coiled hair hung down in a shag cut. He had large, straight white teeth that gleamed in the stage lighting--he had really bad ADHD--with a cutting manic intellect--he was always gesticulating and animated and always at an eleven out of ten,” Luis says. “Was he under the influence of anything?” I ask. “Other than his own self-importance and fame, you mean--amphetamines--Adderall was pretty standard--breakfast, lunch, and dinner,” Luis said. I think that addiction is an impermanent solution to a permanent problem. “How was the performance?” I ask. “He was a star. I remember his voice rising to a crescendo as he said, ‘Oh, everlasting slaughter! Nowadays things are no different from prehistoric times when they bloodied each other’s heads with iron bars!’--it was quite the performance,” Luis said. The words set off a spark of revelation, as I struggle to understand my prey. I think of the price of fame for a performer. One must corral and direct a revelatory energy. From the crushing terror of the stage--the spotlight that leaves one exposed and vulnerable--an artist must mine this energy for a competence, that once achieved is received, applauded, and becomes the most addictive of drugs. Yet the act is separate from the actor--the skill is separate from the skilled. The applause is not love, but mere recognition. This is not connection. There is a deep spiritual appetite in all of us for true connection. Nothing looks like a better cure for being invisible than fame. And yet fame is the great invisibility cloak--a mask more isolating than a veil of solitude. For it expunges the person altogether, elevating their vocation, and placing all value in the performance of their craft. The person behind the act starves and is strangled and becomes a slave to their role. I think of how similar this is to my mother’s spells of dementia and the forgetfulness brought on by Alzheimer’s. In between those shining moments for her when she has clarity of thought--in between those turns upon the stage--both die and fade into oblivion. Returning from my daydreams, I ask, “Did anyone have any reason to wish him harm?” “Just Rache Eggeman, a little worm of a man--that is what we called him-- 'Irm the Worm’ --ever since he played some slithering stock character named Irmin. Name just stuck. Anyway, Rache was next in line for the male lead on one show after another, and he couldn’t get anywhere with his career with Dearil in his way. He had the acting chops. But he wasn’t a star. He was short, unmemorable looking, just average in every way--whereas Dearil was extraordinary all around. It was never a fair contest between the two of them.” “And you say you saw Rache speaking with someone in the alley during the show?” I ask. “Why yes, in fact, we knew her--she was a stage designer--a mystic gypsy from the outskirts named Emil Sioli--a real loner if there ever was one. She was a sharp-featured woman of about seventy, thin as a bird, with a long P-Coat--always wore a blue amethyst Hamsa on her neck. She was smoking a Marlboro cigarette impatiently,” Luis recalls. “Did you overhear what they said?” I ask. “Yes, ‘Did you bring what I asked,’ she said, stamping her foot against the bitter cold. Then he responded, ‘I have it.’ That was it, and then he rushed back inside with something in his hand.” “So what happened next,” I asked. “At some point, toward the end of the play, Dearil collapsed. When he came to, he was like a man possessed. He began pacing the stage and then as he looked out over the audience, he screamed at them as if a wild animal baring its teeth and growling to keep a threat at bay.” “And do you know what caused this transformation?” I ask. “No one does,” Luis says. “Are there any working theories,” I inquire. “There is a rumor that Rache was deeply jealous. Apparently, Rache had originally been cast as Pierpont Mauler. It was all settled. The Playbill was printed. But, then Dearil called the theater director and said he was interested in the part. They couldn’t refuse. So Dearil upstaged Rache, right when he had his big break. Rache could not forgive it. He went off in long tirades. Some believe that Emil Sioli--the gypsy--was part of a group that worshiped the Kroten-düvel--the toad devil. They had tattoos of toads stamped on their eyelids and believed that this deity possessed the ability to erase memory, to turn invisible, and to walk among men as a blind wanderer, spreading the void of loss among the people. Some believe that toads are poor sinners serving a penance of tears and relegated to the dank, dark places and to a life of slime and bugs, in order to purge their souls--wandering spirits in an earthly purgatory. The grips and stagehands who know Rache best said that he has a pearl toad statue, given to him by Emil Sioli. That has the words inscribed on it, which say Beng tasser tute! And they say the toad has a golden choker collar on it and is somehow connected to the affliction poor Dearil suffered. They say that Rache guards the toad statute with his life and if it is ever destroyed, Dearil will be healed.” “This is very helpful Luis. That is a lot to digest. I’ll be in touch if I have further questions,” I tell him. * * * The Grimlace has no shadow. It walks below the streetlights in the alley donning a black cloak. Its hands and face are green. Its face has no contour, just a flat canvas, until it dons the visage of one of its victims. As the Grimlace slinks through the streets of Frankfurt by the train station, the streets are filled with drunks, prostitutes, and panhandlers. An old man sits with a bottle, huddled in a corner by some trash overflowing from a dumpster. He has rags about his shoulders. But his face is thin and handsome below his rugged unkempt beard. The Grimlace turns his green blank face to the man, who looks at him transfixed, and the Grimlace latches on to him. A beam of translucent, opaque jelly forms between them--the bond--and the Grimlace slinks in, bends to his knee, and draws out the man’s visage, the man’s memories, and shrinks within his robes to the height of his victim. Renewed, he stands to his feet, like a performer taking on a new role, and gains comfort in his own skin--lets the memories inhabit him--and he throws off his cloak, strolling into the square. * * * I receive a call from the Detective. He tells me that there has been a beggar who has gone missing. His daughter has come to the precinct to make the report. He tells me that the incident occurred near the train station. I thank him, and I am off with my hunting bag to find the Grimlace. The cloaked creature with the green hue to his skin is pacing along the entrance to the train station where the beggar used to set up each morning. In my bag is a mirror, a cattle prod, and a Sig Sauer .45 mm pistol. I find a bank of deep shadows by the corner and observe my mark. The Grimlace does not seem to know that it is adorning the persona of another human being. It seems utterly lost in its contrivance--cursed--as Luis had said. It seems to be in agony every bit as much as the woman Greta who came to my clinic the other day. Does this creature sleep? It lets out a blood-curdling chortle. Oh, my God! The beggar must have been schizophrenic. The creature is hearing voices! I see the creature begin the painful, agonizing pantomime of a schizoid talking to himself and arguing a rationalization audibly, projecting failures to a second personality or a persecutor. This is one of the most common psychotic breaks, where the mind cannot accept its own failures and must personify or anthropomorphize its afflictions. “If you hadn’t told on me, I would’ve kept my job-- “--You were drunk... drunk... it was you--” “--You sneaky f**k, you falsely accused me, you went to Lars and made a fuss, and see where I am now, I hope you are proud of yourself. Rat. Rat! Rat!!!--” “--You are the one. You. You. You. A drunk. An ingrate. A lazy, good for nothing, piece of s**t--” “--La LA la LA LA LA. Shut up. Shut up. Get away from me. Police! Police! I am being attacked. Owwww. Ow. Stop, get away!--" “--I didn’t touch you--” “--AHHHHHHHHHHH. Nooo. Stop. Get away. Violator. Violation. Stop hurting me. Stop talking, you dirty snitch.” I watched the Grimlace rummaging back and forth, gesticulating manically, screaming, yelling, and talking to himself in a fierce blame jeopardy, that I know from experience can go on for many hours. The paranoid spell of a tortured mind trying to reconcile an unacceptable fate and a cruel, unforgiving world that hands down curses and bruises with indiscriminate malice. I could find him again soon. I could make a quick detour. He would be going on like this for hours if not days. Until he was arrested, which would just land him down at the precinct. * * * Back at the English Theater, I find Rache Eggeman’s dressing room. He is now playing the part of the lead in every play. He has ascended to the pinnacle of the profession. “Ahh, my adoring fan! What--do you want me to sign the Playbill?” “Yes, yes, can I come in,” I ask. “Here, here--come sit!” he says with glee. But I do not sit. I take out the cattle prod and place it on the carotid artery on his neck and with a small squeeze, he shrieks and falls to the floor. I begin my search. After a few minutes, I find the toad talisman and stow it in my bag. * * * Back by the train station, Dearil is still going on and on. I take out my gun and the toad statute. I place the statute on the ground. I fire a single shot and the talisman shatters into a thousand pieces. I look over at Dearil and see his face suddenly return to its natural state. I walk up to him, cautiously. “I am Hilde,” I say. “I’ve been searching for you a long time.” “Where am I?” Dearil asks. “The train station is just down there. What do you remember?” I ask. “I don’t know,” Dearil says. “You must be disoriented,” I say. “It’s more than that, I don’t even know who I am,” Dearil says. “Quite right. But who among us really does? We all wear a thousand masks and scarcely know where the real person begins, and the artifice ends--don’t you think?” “Who are you?” Dearil asks. “Let’s go back to my clinic and see if we can’t get this sorted out,” I tell him. As we walk together in the eerie alleys of a lovely Frankfurt night, we pass by the English Theater and I watch as Dearil’s eyes sparkle with intrigue. “What are they playing tonight?” Dearil asks.


It wasn't the intensity of the feeling but rather the existence of it that scared her. It was foreign, alien, and raw; something she had never felt before and something she'd never ever imagined experiencing. She wasn't sure of the steps she had to take next or how she would deal with it, but the only thing that she was sure about was the euphoric feeling that ran through her veins. But she snapped out of it, she had to. As much as she wanted to relish this feeling of pure, unadulterated joy, she had to work on her feet and handle a situation that she hadn't handled before. Many described her to be as adaptable as water, but right now she could feel herself drowning. She could feel the panic set in as she scratched her Gemini tattoo and felt her palms sweat. Her heartbeat was now starting to quicken with every passing second. This wasn't supposed to happen. It was an accident, wasn't it? She had to do something and whatever it was, it had to be fast. Time was passing and by the looks of it, he had stopped breathing a long time ago. CPR, seven pumps, and then stop. Or was it 14? Either way, she placed her shaky palms on his chest. She couldn't feel his heartbeat as she started the compressions but she blamed it on her numb hands. Love is supposed to make your heart skip a beat, she thought bitterly, but not stop your heart entirely. It was his fault, after all. If he hadn't pushed her, touched her, released the beast within her, he would still be alive. Probably enjoying the last sips of his red wine with her, polishing the night off with some dessert and a kiss. She told him that he was going too far, he knew what he was doing himself. But he took pride in it, smirking with every flinch that was caused by him to her. Maybe he thought the shivers were of anticipation and not of fear? She had to stop wondering about his philosophy and what was going on behind that delicious mop of brown hair because there was only so much you could ask a cadaver. She sat on top of him, just the way he would've liked it, and decided to try and revive him again. She knew her efforts were as useless as his advances had been but she had to snap out of it. He wasn't coming back to life, and that was something she couldn't change. After all, it was her bare hands on his neck. Not scratching the skin but pressing hard on the jugular and trachea to blow the wind out of his body. She got up, staring at his lifeless, but gorgeous, body and walked towards the dinner table. The food was still somewhat warm, but the candle was beginning to melt. It hadn't been too long since the entire exploit had occurred. Time had slowed down or rather paused for her. She could still feel his warm hand in places she wishes it had never gone. She sat at the table, on the same chair where she'd spent the last hour laughing and feeling warm after consuming glass after glass of the red wine he'd opened especially for her. The night wasn't supposed to go this way, but if there was one thing she knew, it was that life threw her curveballs at the least expected times. She hadn't anticipated committing a murder when she'd put on her red dress and had carefully done herself up for him. She had anticipated certain other things, things that would've made her face glow with heat during some other time. But something had snapped. The sound of the clock ticking had started to grate her nerves, and she knew she had to get out of there faster. She couldn't walk away and treat this travesty like something trivial. There was a time of death, clear signs of strangulation, his skin under her nails, her DNA all over his body. The night wasn't supposed to go like this. The bottle had a quarter of wine left inside, which she took as a sign of optimism; the bottle half-full or something along those lines, she thought, gulping the remains. She rarely needed liquid courage but there was always a first time for everything. Something animalistic and malicious had been woken up inside her, and the cogs in her brain had started turning. It was an easy way out; burn the entire place down. Checking her bag, she found her box of matchsticks, something she had placed in her bag on an impulse. He had put up a fight; her legs were scarred and there was blood dripping from her hands and legs. Mementos that would never go away, she thought, dusting herself off. She knew exactly what she had to do and the fact that he lived in the dingiest of places just helped her. The gods had conspired for this to happen, her unbecoming, the death of this sorry excuse for a man, and her finally discovering her life's true path. Men. She felt like she was a creature of the night, as stealthy as a cat with her kill and exit. They always say that you should let your impulses take over once in a while, and sometimes they knew what they were saying. The euphoria was back, and so was the feeling of satisfaction. She never knew something like this could be satisfying but watching the light go out of his eyes satisfied her in ways that no man would ever be able to. Unless, of course, he was one of her victims. She collected herself, proud of the fact that this date was planned verbally and there was no real way to prove that she was here. She would, of course, find herself at his apartment tomorrow, mournfully crying to the cops about how she misses him and how she can't believe that this had happened. If there was an apartment to come back to, she was sure she would put on her best act. This felt like second nature to her, as she collected herself and reapplied her lipstick. One last kiss, she thought and bent down to place a kiss on his cold cheek. She'd probably miss him, but that wasn't the reality. He was her first kill, and she'd always remember him and the warm feeling of his body going cold would never leave her hands, no matter how many others would experience the same fate as him. She opened the door to leave and turned back to look at the pile of her so-called problems. She pulled out a matchbox from her clutch, lit a couple of matches at once, and threw them in. His house had always been a fire hazard and that made her work easier. Smoke started engulfing his little one-bedroom apartment. It looked gorgeous from a few streets across, she noticed. The fire melted the evidence of her ever being there. It felt cathartic in the best way possible and she knew that this was the start of something great. Funny how it was always him to say this with conviction and she never believed the poor bastard until now. The night wasn't supposed to end this way, she muttered to herself while walking down the street, but who said the night had ended? It was still young and she was still riding the high from finally becoming a woman and growing into something she never imagined herself to turn into. Her eyes were fixated on the sight of his burning apartment, with no siren sounds echoing the city yet. She knew that she didn't have three hours, because even though the gods were smiling at her, she realized that this was real life and she had set his entire apartment on fire and someone ought to notice. The most she had was an hour before the authorities got there but it was enough time for the entire thing to beautifully unfold on itself and carefully throw her out of the picture. Her gait, her appearance, and the hour of the night earned her catcalls and whistles from almost every man on the road. She bared her teeth in response, and the men mistook it for a smile. She was a creature of the night, just not in the way the men on the street imagined her to be. But she let their imagination run wild, gently smiling to herself. They would never know the truth unless they tore their eyes from her, pulled themselves out of their fantasy-addled minds, and actually took a look at her. Everyone wears masks and disguises themselves, but she had mastered the art of showing every aspect of who she actually was without getting caught. The palm-sized ‘Gemini’ tattoo on her neck was practically an autobiography - a footnote into there being more to her than what she showed the rest of the world; there was another side of her, another face, facade, mask, something she donned whenever she did what she was best at: men. One of her hands was still wet and dripping from the liquid it was coated with. She scowled to herself but winked at a taxi driver whose eyes were fixated on her skimpily clad body. Without a word, she climbed into the back of the cab telling the taxi driver her location in the huskiest voice she could muster. The ride was long which gave her plenty of time to think about what had transpired a couple of hours ago. Her body was still sticky but she bore the scratches that ran the length of her thigh and back with pride. She had finally done it and had savored every little second until it ended. That’s when the emptiness and feeling of deflation set in but there was a euphoric high to balance that out. “Fun night?” The pot-bellied taxi driver asked, slyly winking at her through the rear mirror. He reached out to adjust it so as to get a better look at her. Shifting in her seat, adjusting her dress so that there was very little left to imagine. “You could say that...” She smirked. Could he be her next conquest? He seemed easy and desperate, and she was addicted to the feeling she had felt a couple of hours ago. It didn’t hurt that he resembled her father, with his balding head and his empty, grey eyes. This way she could work out the anger towards her father and quench the thirst that dominated her senses. Killing two birds with one stone, she thought and giggled at the little pun. Who said murder lacked humor? She checked her phone. The screen was cracked. When did that happen? Another memento from the best night of her life. She hoped that the scars would remain, as a badge that proudly proclaimed that she had finally become a woman. Enough, she told herself. Reminiscing could come later. There was an easy target in front of her and knew that even if she didn’t put in the effort, she’d get what she wanted but the tease thrilled her more than the act. She wiped her hand on her dress (wearing red had its perks) and slid her hands across the taxi driver's back. His eyes widened and she moved closer, her hands draped around his neck. She could feel pulse-quickening and Adam’s apple bobbing. A soft moan escaped his mouth and she grinned to herself -- the feeling of euphoria was back. The cab had already come to a halt, the driver knowing, or so he thought, what was about to happen. He couldn’t believe his luck when she climbed into the front seat and onto his lap. She could feel his breath hitching and quickening, with her arms still around his neck, as he slithered an arm around her waist. She scowled and started placing her hands around his neck. Softly, at first, and then tightening her grip with every passing second. This is the part she enjoyed. Locking her manic eyes with his confused ones, she briefly felt sorry for him -- he reminded her of a puppy and she didn’t want to strangle a puppy to death -- but she definitely didn’t mind the murder of men like him. His arm started clutching her waist even tighter as tightened her grip, pressing down on Adam's apple with her red, glossy nails. He was almost there, almost dead; she could practically see the light slowly and surely fading from his eyes; she didn’t take her hands off his neck even when his eyes rolled back and his breath was long gone. Instead, she stayed there for a few minutes, savoring the feeling. This wasn’t as satisfying as the first one. At least the first one had put up a fight and turned it messy and difficult for her. But that’s what they all say, the first murder is always better than the second one. A few more minutes passed. She got out of the cab, retrieved her clutch from the back seat, reapplied her lipstick, and placed a visible kiss on his cold cheek. She stood there examining her handiwork when the feeling of emptiness returned- the high of murder only stayed that long. Ignoring it, for the time being, she checked her surroundings. She had been impulsive with this kill, letting her emotions and instincts take over her, not caring about witnesses but thankfully it was a deserted area. Hopefully, no one had seen her and even if they had they wouldn’t have guessed what she’d actually done. She struggled with the hood of the cab for a while, her hands were sore and sticky but she had to eliminate all the evidence. Once it opened, she pulled out a matchbox from her clutch, lit a couple of matches at once, and threw them in. Smoke had started making its way around the car and it was very obvious that it would explode. She had to get home soon; two murders were enough for a first-timer. She would return the next morning to see the carnage, the murderer always returned to the murder scene anyways. As if someone had pressed a rewind button, the scene went back to the way it began -- with her walking alone on a dimly lit street. Only this time she would actually go home instead of seeking out her next victim. She was a creature of the night, just not in the way the men on the street imagined her to be; in the way that she was her own instrument, and murder was her art. But she let their imagination run wild, gently smiling to herself. They would never know the truth unless they tore their eyes from her, pulled themselves out of their fantasy-addled minds, and actually took a look at her. And that pleased her a lot.


Magic is dying. At least that's what my grandmother says. I can't believe her though. It's not like magic was ever real to begin with. Sure it's been several years since the cherry blossoms have bloomed but that doesn't mean they were magic. It's all because of global warming. As I walk outside my apartment complex I take a look at the cherry tree in the front. When I was young every year it would have these beautiful blossoms that would slowly appear, stay for a few days and then fall. It was nice, I suppose. I don't really remember them. I guess I took them for granted as a child. Now the tree hasn't had any bloom for the last four years. It still goes green but there are no petals. Spring time is supposed to be the cherry blossom season. With the white flowers blooming and people drinking under the tree. Taking a branch in my fingers and holding it to my nose I can just smell a hint of the blossom that's hiding in here, but it refuses to come out. Why has nature abandoned us? Is it a punishment for all the hell we've given it? Dam, I'm late for school. I just make the train. It's the same train I've taken for the last four years. When I sit down I see her. Sitting across from me as usual. A foreigner, with long brown hair and big green eyes she looks like something from a fantasy story. She looks a year older than me and goes to a different school. Ishtar I think it says on her label, I don't recognize the uniform though even after the four weeks she's been on the train. She doesn't wear any make-up but she doesn't need it. One of these days I plan on saying "Hi" to her, but the timing is never right. Maybe today will be better. I just hope that she doesn't say no. I'd better wait. I don't want to get hurt. No maybe I should... Here's my stop. Darn. That was too quick. I'll try again tomorrow. It's not like she's going anywhere. Besides I'm sure I'll be able to work up the courage tomorrow. "You got off again. Why do you never talk to me? It's been four weeks since I first saw you. I knew then that you were the one. You are the only one I could ever have, but you ignore me. I know that you look at me and I can feel that you like me but why do you never try? What could you be scared of? One word on your part is all it takes. One word and we could have had a connection. I can't keep coming here any more my Tammuz. Today was my last day. I'm sorry but I no longer believe that you wish to hold me. Farewell my love. I'll try to hold on to the magic as long as possible but I must go home. Please remember me. Find me if you can. If you even want to." I get on the train that evening and try to look for her again. I had a strange dream in class about her but I don't remember much about it. I'm a little worried but not much. She's sometimes here but not always. My evening schedule often changes so I don't always get to see her. I was sure that this time I was going to talk to her. I'd even worked up my line. "Hi." That took me three hours to decide. Oh well. She's always there in the morning. I'll try it again then. "Magic is dying. Can't you see it." I hear my grandmother say as I walk in the door to our apartment. She`s on that topic again. Mom's convinced she has dementia or some sort of psychotic fit, but grandma is pretty much all there. "I'm home." "Tam, sorry could you be a dear and run to the store. I forgot the milk." "Mom I just got home. Come-on." She gives me the money. No choice. I take it and put my shoes back on. "Look at the cherry blossoms. You can tell that she`s not doing her job. It's going to be the death of us all I tell you. She's missing something." "Okay Ba-chan. Do you need anything at the store too?" "Get me some smokes, and don't tell your mother. She'll throw a fit. Here's a 50. You can keep the change." Grandma is cool like that. I know some of the things that she says are weird but that's just who she is. Stepping outside I take another look at the cherry trees. As grandma said I can see them wanting to bud and I'm sure I can smell something but no. Global warming has done its job too well. Better get the milk. I have some homework to do before bed. I leave early the next day and quickly pass the tree in the courtyard. I want to make the train before it leaves. This day I'm going to talk to her, I can feel it. The air feels a little dryer than yesterday and kind of strange. It hasn't rained in a few weeks but I think it smells a little like my closet full of moldy books. I make the train but when I sit down in my usual spot she isn't there. Maybe she changed seats. I get up and start looking down the aisle. I don't see her or her purple uniform. She`s never missed before that I can remember. I remember a bit about the dream yesterday but push it aside. I walk up and down the train aisle and even open the door to the next compartment. Still no sign of her. Maybe she's sick today. I'll have to try her tomorrow. I really wanted to speak to her and I can't really hide my disappointment when I get to school. "Hey why so sad Tam? You look like you lost your dog." "Morning Shin. No I just had a bad train ride. There's this cute girl on in the mornings. I really wanted to talk to her today but she wasn't there." "A cute girl? Really? Don't tell me our resident herbivore is switching diets. The girls will be so jealous. They wanted to be the one to catch a hunk like you." "Very funny. It took me four weeks just to work up the nerve to talk to her. It's not like I get the chance to do that often." "Of course use the school as an excuse. Nobody asked you to go to an all boys academy. You could always transfer to the other one across the street." "That's not it." I could try explaining but they just don't get it. They are always able to talk to the girls that visit. I have trouble just looking at them. I get all tonged tied and fidgety. If any girl liked talking to a pile of sweat she'd be mine. But I don't think that such a girl exists. The next day on the train is the same and so is the day after that. I don't see her for the whole week and next week is the spring holiday. That's two weeks and nothing. Not a glimpse of her. I'm getting kind of worried. "What's wrong Tam?" I look up at my grandma taking a seat across from me at the kitchen table. "You look upset." "It's nothing Ba-chan. Just some troubles with a girl." "Really? Tell me about it." Since I was a boy I could always talk to my grandma about everything. She's been living with us for the past six years and despite her belief in magic she's always been pretty dependable. I tell her all about the girl on the train and how I wanted to talk to her but the minute I got up the nerve to do it she disappeared. I really would like to find her. I tell her how when I saw her bright smile, green eyes and brown hair I knew she was unlike any of the other girls I had ever met. I pour out my soul and she sits there quietly, listening. When I'm done she doesn’t say a word for a few minutes. "Tam have you thought about trying to track this girl down? I know you can draw and she sounds like a foreigner who would stick out. You could probably work up a sketch and ask around." I sit there stunned. Why didn't I think of that. "Thanks Ba-chan. I'll do that." "My pleasure dear. And don't forget to check everywhere. You never know where you'll find her." I draw a description of her uniform with the label on it "Ishtar" and the next day I start asking at the other stations down the line. I don`t know exactly which one she gets on but I know it's probably one of the local stations. I try the first one back and then the next one before that and the previous one down the line. At every station I get the same answer. They've never seen the girl. "Sorry." I go back further and further but no luck Finally I reach the first station on the line, my last chance. "Oh yeah her. I saw her almost everyday. It's kinda odd to see a foreigner out here. I mean this is the middle of the countryside. She get's off the express train coming from Nagoya and transfers to this local one. I don't know where she starts from but I haven't seen her in the last two weeks. Maybe she went home." I thank the station man and sit down off to the side. The Nagoya train? Where does she come from? Maybe she did go home as my dream said. It`s hot and the heatwave doesn't look to be ending anytime soon. Maybe I should just go home too. I know my grandma would be disappointed in me but if there's no way to find her then what can I do. Standing up I look over at the wall of TV's at the side of the station. That's when I see it. Her uniform. It's the same purple and the same design. I tried looking for it on the net but there was no school in Japan that had that design registered. But there it was. The school must be really private. I put my face close to the screen hoping for a glimpse that will tell me where the school is. I'm not disappointed but I wish I was. India. Time passes. "Help me Tammuz I need you. You are the only one who can save me." I wake up in a cold sweat. That dream again. It just started suddenly and now I've been having it every night for the last two weeks. Ishtar is floating in a void of some sort surrounded by billowy clouds and wearing almost nothing. It's a good dream but I wake up just before anything really exciting happens. It`s been five years since I stopped looking for her. After finding out that the uniform was from I school in India I tried to track it down on the net but no luck. I even called the studio that did the piece I saw it on but still no use. My mother wouldn't let me go to India then even though grandma said she'd pay, so that was that. I had to move on with my life and I eventually just forgot about her. That is until the dreams started Beep beep beep beep Ah nut's I'm going to be late. I jump out of bed and quickly pull on a suit. I run out of the house holding the toast my mother made for me and just make the train. Panting I scarf down the toast brushing the crumbs into my hand so I can throw them away later. There are no seats so I have to stand but that's okay, it lets me look out the window. It's springtime again but still no cherry blossoms. They just haven't been appearing anywhere. Even the tress no longer smell like they have something waiting to sprout. If anything they smell like my old socks which is not a good smell. The heat is becoming oppressive and there is no end in sight. Ten hours later I'm still at my desk. Working for a big advertising agency is all well and cool but they do drive you hard. I've been here for two years now but I'm still getting used to the job. This place is better that what it was though. That big scandal last year over the girl who committed suicide really forced them to cut back the overtime hours, even if it doesn't feel like it. "Hey Tam we're about to go out for some drinks. Wanna join us?" I look up at Jun and Soichi, My sempai. They know how to work the system at this company to get out of the worst of the overtime but I don`t want to go. They head out almost every night and the last time I got so drunk I woke up on the station steps. Besides I don't think my wallet can handle it. "You're going out for some drinks? Do you mind if I tag along?" Dammit the boss. There's no way I can say no now. "You're going to the usual place right? I'll catch up. I just have to finish this report." "Okay, but don't take too long we'll be waiting." I wave bye to them as they head out the door. Another night of drinking. And being the youngest they like to force the beer on me. They say we're bonding but I think they just like to get me drunk. I'm so tired and this report is staring me in the face. Five minutes. I'll just close my eyes for five minutes, dash this off and head to the party. I'll beg off after one drink and head home. Five minutes. "Tammuz I need you. Where are you? Why have you never tried to find me? Why did you give up? The magic is dying Tammuz. You are the only one who can rescue me Why have you forsaken me? Why!?" I wake with a start. I'm groggy and look around unsure. It takes me a second to realize I'm still at work. I look at the clock. 3 am. There goes the party and my report was erased when my head hit the computer. Tomorrow's going to be hell. I'm not disappointed. My boss chewed my out for messing up the report even though it turns out they didn`t need it. Just some busy work. Jun and Soichi ignore me, so that's good but I heard them bad mouthing me to some of the other sempai because I didn't come to the drinking party and left them all alone with a boss who doesn't like to pick up the bill. When I finally get home it's 12 am. I've been at work for two days straight and my socks are standing up on their own. "Tam are you okay? You weren't home last night and I couldn't contact you on your phone. You aren't overdoing it at work are you?" My mother is waiting for me at the kitchen table. I shake my head but don't answer and head to the shower. The hot water feels so good. "Tammuz." I jerk awake. Sleeping standing up is dangerous. I quickly finish and drag myself to bed. I gotta wake up at 6 am tomorrow to get to work. "Tammuz are you happy? Is this what you want? Do you wish me to go? Is this your desire? Like the last time?" I reach for her but she turns away from me and vanishes. My heart is breaking. I feel like a pit is swallowing me up. NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO! Again I wake up. 5 am, early this time. I don't think I'll be able to sleep again and after that last dream I don't want to. Getting up I go to my desk and pull out an old notebook. Inside is the sketch I made of Ishtar. The same one from my dreams. I remember what it was like seeing her on the train. It was like I'd always known her. She had a presence about her that felt hypnotic even after all this time. I wanted to find her then and did everything I could but, well, life got in the way. She asked me in my dream was I happy and I had to think about that. When my mother wakes up an hour later I'm sitting at the kitchen table. "What is it dear?" She sounds worried. I wish grandma was still here but she passed away last year. She was easier to talk to. "Ka-san do you remember me wanting to go to India a few years ago?" She tilts her head. "I want to go there again. I have something I have to find there." "What about your job?" "I hate it and I don`t like my co-workers. I can't say no to them and they know that so they're always giving me the worst jobs available. Just like in school. I can't stand it. I've made a choice. I want to try and find her." My mother is silent. The last time we had this conversation she used every sneaky mother trick she had to make me feel so guilty that I quickly gave up any desire to go. "I can't talk you out of it this time can I?" "No. My mind is made up." She silently goes to her drawer takes out a thick letter and gives it to me. Then she starts to make breakfast. I`m puzzled but I open it up. There is a piece of paper in it and a huge wad of 100s. I stare at it with my eyes wide. Opening the letter I recognize Ba-chan's writing. "Dear Tam. If you're reading this letter than you have finally made the decision to follow your dream. I made your mother promise that when this day came she would give you the money and no guilt. With it you can start your journey. It's all I can do to help you find the magic again. I think you need it as much as it needs you." "Is this for real?" I look up at my mother. She's just finishing the toast and putting some salad on the table. "Ka-san?" Silent she looks at me. "Your Ba-chan wanted you to follow your dream. I guess I did too, but after your father was transferred up north I guess I didn't want to be alone. I think I may have placed too much on you." She sat down at the table. "After seeing what your job was doing to you I didn't want you to continue but I didn't know what to do. I know you love design but the hours and pressure. I'm afraid that if you continue like you are I'll lose you too." This was the most vulnerable I've ever seen my mother. I get up and give her a hug she returns it for a second then her usual cynicism comes back and she pushes me away. I feel great. My bosses at work almost refused to let me go. They kept telling me how valuable I was and how much they needed me but I couldn't take it. Two years without a vacation, 40 hour weekly overtime shifts and useless make work projects are finished. I was really happy to see the back of Jun and Soichi. They were made for this company. I have my ticket and passport. All that's left now is getting there and finding the school. I have done all the research I could and I know it's in the south in the main coffee producing area of India. From there I'll have to expand my search. It's been five years but I feel better than I ever have. Making this decision was the best thing I could have ever done. I really wish I had done it earlier. Even the smell of the trees is getting better. I could swear that I smelt a hint of cherry and not the usual pungent socks order. It's too bad blossom season is almost over. The way I feel now seeing the petals would put me over the top. "Tickets please." I find my seat on the plane and look out the window at the airport. Since making the decision to do this I have never been so scared or excited in my life. A few times I wanted to back down but no. This is the most confident I've ever been about something. I can't wait to get there. The only sore spot is that my dreams have stopped. I don't know if it`s a good thing or I bad thing. I kinda miss them though. "Excuse me is this seat taken?" I shake my head while still looking out the window. I can't wait to get started. The woman sits down next to me and I catch a whiff of her perfume. It`s a nice smell. It reminds me of spring as a child. Fresh and green. I love this smell. I close my eyes trying to remember where I last smelt it. Maybe the train? "Please fasten your seatbelts. We'll be taking off shortly." I risk one last look out the window as the plane taxis to the runway I swear I saw a white flower on the tree outside. Maybe global warming hasn't killed them all yet. "Is this your first time traveling?" I look at the woman sitting next to me. About as old as me but more fashionable than I could ever be. She reminds me a bit of Ishtar. "Yes. I`m on my way to India." "Really? What are you going to do when you get there?" "I`m looking for somebody. I have something I must tell her." "Thant sounds very romantic. Is she waiting for you at the airport.?" "No. I have no idea where she is. All I have is a memory and a picture." I show the woman the picture I drew. She looks at it and wishes me good luck and opens her book. She was nice but I can tell she thinks I'm kind of strange. I mean who travels around the world looking for a woman they don't know. The only other person who knows what I'm really doing is my mother. I think my grandmother guessed I'd do this before she died but that’s it. The funny thing is I feel more alive now than I did working that job. Maybe this was the right choice. I mean just talking to the strange, attractive woman should have unnerved me but it didn't. I'm really looking forward to finding her. It's been five years since I've been home. India was beautiful and I've been able to learn so much about this wonderful culture but I still haven`t found her which is disappointing. The dreams haven't come back either but I don't know how I feel about that. When I arrived in the country it took me a while but I found the school. It was located in the south western part of the country, close to the tip. It's name was Ishtar girls academy so that told me I was on the right track. It was local, very small, elite and difficult to access. When I got there I tried to find out if anybody from the school had ever gone to Japan. It took some doing because they were very private and protective of their rich clients but I found that a few had. When I showed my sketch the headmistress said she recognized her but refused to give me a name or any information beyond the fact that she had graduated. None of their records were available online and after getting that much information I was shut out of the school. They refused to let me back in after that. So I searched. Starting around that school I searched everywhere. Spreading out in wider and wider circles. No luck. Everyone I met who looked like the picture I drew just wasn't her. Many times I wanted to give up but the memory of that last dream, the loss I felt, spurred me on. I also spent time learning how to grow coffee, farming silk and just cultivating the land. The experience was eye-opening. The work was harder than the advertising company ever was but I didn't feel the weight of a soul-crushing presence over me. In Japan I was used to concrete. The hills to protect against landslides. The rivers to prevent flooding. The parks we had were small and dedicated to the spring cherry tree which had stopped blooming. Nature was controlled for the most part. But here it was alive. Not once in my time here did the trees smell like my socks. Sometimes they smelt worse but that was just because of the fertilizer. From what I could see global warming had nothing on this place. And the people. They were so friendly. I was able to make so many friends that when I told them I was heading back to Japan they threw me a farewell party. They had to rent a huge hall to hold everybody. When I compare my time here to my time in Japan I can't help but love it. Even if I couldn't find her. However it was time to go home. My mother is getting older and I am the only one who can take care of her. I don't know if it's what Ba-chan would want but I miss her. I know what I'll do when I get there. After spending all this time learning how to farm I'm going to continue. I still have some of Ba-chan's money left so I'm going to use it to invest in a farm and grow something. Besides it'll give me time to continue searching and maybe do some drawing in my free time.. My life replays itself as I land at Kansai airport and am reminded of how sterile everything is here. After so much time in the sun I don't know if I can take it. The smell hasn't really changed. I already miss the fresh smell of dirt and don't know if I can take sock again. "Tam is that you?" I look around and a man is approaching me. It takes me a minute to place his face but then it hits me. "Soichi. How have you been?" I can see he's been successful. His suit is freshly pressed and he has on an expensive watch. A Fred Perry. He's carrying a Louie Vuitton suitcase as well. Those things cost money. "Pretty good. I've been made head of the department and we just got back from a business trip to Singapore. I couldn't believe it when I saw you here. It brought me back to the old days, remember?" I can see a subordinate behind him looking frazzled and stressed. His suit's not as clean and it looks like his suitcase has seen better days. "That's good to hear. How's Jun?" "We got married three years ago and have a daughter. I don't get to see them much because I'm always busy but they are doing well. I try and get back home once a month. In fact I'm going to stop by there before I head back to my place in Tokyo." Watching his face as he spoke I felt that he was missing something. His image now was all he had. It was too perfect. He was always trying to do as little work as possible and take it easy, but now? I can't quite put my finger on what it was until I asked. "Are you happy?" He looked startled at the question and tries to blew it off like he usually did before. I think if I was the old Tam I wouldn`t even have asked him. However five years of living in the sun and talking with people, not at them, have changed me. I'm not the same man I was before I left. "Yes really happy. Anyway I have to go. Talk to you later." Soichi looked quiet as he left and gave his subordinate a sharp wave to follow after him. He's no longer quite as carefree as I remembered him. Getting on the train from the airport I take it home. I missed this. Not the silence on the ride, the sights. Looking at the people sitting staring at their smartphones and completely ignoring everything around them I have to smile at what they were missing outside the window. I partly can't blame them. It's spring again so the cherry's should be blooming if the heat hadn`t been so strong. When I transfer to my local train and sit down I can't stop a smile coming to my face at the memory of her. This was where I first saw her. The moving train lulled me to sleep. Near home a bump wakes me up and there she is. Ishtar. Sitting across from me. This must be a dream but she hasn't appeared to me there in over five years. This can't be real. Groggy I rub my eyes and pinch myself for good measure but no it's real. There she is. I'd spent ten years of my life looking for her and she pops in right on the same train I've always ridden. My grandmother always said magic was everywhere and looking at her I could understand why. She was beautiful. If anything the years have made her even more perfect. There was still no need for makeup. Her long brown hair and green eyes sucked me in just like before. I want to jump up and dance for joy. My journey is over. All I need to do was talk to her. To tell her "Hi." But I can't. After all this time it was like I was back in high school. What if she says no? What if she rejects me? That same herbivore that burst into a pool of sweat at the mere thought of talking to a girl was back. Is everything I had experienced over the last ten years gone? No! I won't let this slip away again. "Arriving at Akameguchi station. Please remember to take your bags and belongings when you exit the train. Watch your step and have a nice day. "Hi, my name is Tam. Nice to meet you. What's your name?" "Next station is Nabari. Please stand away from the doors as they close. This train is departing the station. Thank you for riding and have a nice day.


Today is Thanksgiving. I know because I woke up at 5:00 AM to find my mom already halfway through cooking Thanksgiving dinner. I plopped down on the couch and started scrolling through my phone until I heard her talking to someone on what sounded like the phone. I was still in my pajamas and I knew I would be scolded for my messy hair and tired appearance, so I cleaned up and changed my clothes before saying hi to our extended family. Most of them are from my dad's side. He has 11 total siblings, 7 brothers, and 4 sisters. Or it's 12 siblings and 8 sisters and 4 brothers... I can never remember. Anyway, I said hi to my aunts and uncles. My mom also has one brother, but no other siblings. I kept greeting them until I was pretty sure I had everyone, and then I realized that I couldn't eat anything until dinner that day. It was tradition to go super hungry until dinner so you could stuff yourself and eat as much as possible. My sister does that anyway, she doesn't eat that much. She came upstairs from her room in the basement and my mom and I along with our extended family on the zoom call jumped in surprise. "You scared all of us!" my mom said. "Sorry!" my sister seemed genuinely upset so we forgave her. My dad still wasn't up yet at this point, and it was around 7 AM. The Macy's Day Parade would be starting soon and he needed to hurry so we were able to catch it on TV. We never go in person even though it's just a short car ride away. My parents say that it's too cold and there are too many tourists. Well, not this year, anyway. I was also hoping we could watch the Charlie Brown Thanksgiving Special, but ever since Apple bought the franchise, we haven't seen anything on regular TV. There's always YouTube I guess. After a long while, my dad finally woke up and started making the lasagne. I wanted to help, but our kitchen is only so large. My parents were going to be on the family zoom call all day making the feast for later in the day, so my sisters and I crowded in the living room and watched the parade with the volume all the way up. We had hot cocoa and blankets wrapped around our shoulders because we live in New York and we can't have our house be too warm because my cat starts shedding. Speaking of that little rascal, he was sitting next to the fireplace we had crowded around. I guess he got tired of the cold too. We watched the Paw Patrol float, Wendy's float, the turkey float, and Kool-Aid Man float go by before we started playing some cup pong on our phones. Time flew by and before we knew it, the parade was over. We decided to find the Charlie Brown Thanksgiving Special on YouTube, so we searched it up and found it. My sisters complained that the story was terrible and the colonizers were the ones who ultimately brought upon the Native American peoples' downfall and death. I had to agree, and afterward, we all sat and recognized the grief and sorrow that was truly behind Thanksgiving. There was a sour and sad mood in the house until the food was being served. Then we all said what we were thankful for. My sisters went. The elder one spoke first. "I'm thankful that I get to spend this holiday season with the people I love the most, and that I get to spend it with you guys at all. The health and wellness of all of you" she pointed at the laptop camera and then gestured to all of us, her nuclear family, "my amazing family, is so important to me and I couldn't imagine living without you." My mom started crying and then my other sister went next. "I'm so thankful for everyone here tonight, especially Kdot." (our cat). "I love you all so much and I can't believe that this is our new normal." My dad went next. "I love y'all so much and I can't believe how much we've all grown and changed in the past two years. This life has not been easy but we've managed. I wanna thank all of you for showing me the love and compassion that I have not always been able to return to you, and thank you for being there for me. I love y'all." Then my mom. "I love my babies so much. I can't even believe that you're all so grown up! Time flies when you're stuck at home right!" my mom was barely able to make it through her speech she was sobbing. We all hugged her and she continued. "Sometimes life works in mysterious ways, and I know, without a single shadow of a doubt, that I couldn't live without all of you in it." We all started crying, even my dad who had barely managed to hold it in since my older sister started talking. We all started shoveling food into our mouths and talking at the same time after my Auntie Janet's family had finally shared their thanks and we could all dig in. Sometimes things don't always go as they should, but we can always take comfort in the thought we have someone to go to in a time of crisis. It can take a miracle. Or it can take one person. The topic of Christmas then came up. My father and mother are agnostic, and my sisters and I are atheists, so we don't celebrate Christmas as religiously as our extended family does. For example, we don't practice going to church on Christmas day, but our extended family does that. Mostly because they don't live in the North-Eastern part of the United States, though. "We'll figure it out." my dad said. "Just like we figured this out. Sometimes it takes a whole family thinking together about something to come together and form a single opinion on it. We could zoom, we could visit each other. But for now, let's just enjoy the little time we have right now, separate but together.


In the beginning, God created His army, consisting of seven Cosmic Archangels, who served as generals; Archangels, who served as lieutenants; and countless angels. God told the Cosmic Archangels to watch over the rest while He created what they would protect, during this time, one Archangel decided to revolt. The revolution started small and quiet, but quickly grew when the Cosmic Archangels heard of it, and began to take sides. When the revolution numbered one third of Heaven, they took action. In the battle for Heaven, five of the seven Cosmic Archangels fell along with numerous Archangels, and an untold number of Angels. The last two Cosmic Archangels, Drakon and Amon, siblings, brother and sister, fighting on opposite sides, were tasked with killing the other. When they were face to face with their opponent, they made a secret pact, they could return claiming to have killed the other. The Archangel who revolted, now called Lucifer, was banished from Heaven to Hell with the remainder of his soldiers. Millenia later, the truth about the pact surfaced, in a furious rage, Lucifer traveled to Heaven, and confronted God. Lucifer told God that he would plunge the Earth into darkness, and tourcher it for six hundred sixty-six trillion years, and near the end, and that in the last week of years, and the end of this would bring about the end of Earth. God, knowing about the pact, and having decided to wait for the truth to reveal itself, was angry, laid a curse on the Cosmic Archangel Drakon, splitting his spirit into whisps. The Cosmic Archangel Drakon had one last request, to be allowed to come back before Earth’s end and fight Lucifer, so that he could prevent Earth’s destruction. God granted it. The whisps were scattered throughout the Earth. On their own, the whisps were too weak to be able to have any power, but by collecting, they could become strong enough to be born as a human. All the whispers collected, became humans, and came together, they were known as ‘Guardians’ because of their collective strength and heavenly abilities. The Guardians worked together to find a way to become whole again, God saw this and said to them “Even Though you are cursed, you have found a way to come together, this is not allowed anymore. You will no longer be able to recognize yourself.” and He scattered all but one, who asked “Why? I only want to protect Earth.” and God responded, “You are not needed to yet, when you are, you will be allowed to come back together completely.” The Guardians slowly showed up across different cultures, beliefs, and religions, but like all things, they faded into legend. The Guardians were no longer needed to protect Earth, and they stopped being born. Long after the Guardians stopped being born, the sky turned red and Lucifer returned to Earth, and when all hope seemed lost, the sky turned blue, and holy and unholy trinities were gone. Now reumers of another surfaced, but with the return of Lucifer having already passed and the destruction of Earth seeming to no longer be a threat, the purpose of another Guardian was unclear.


The needle of the fuel gauge exhaustively twitched above the empty line. Those things always lie, right? Adam wondered. He shuddered from the panic that pulsed through him as he realized the gauge was probably fairly accurate, but he brushed the notion off and kept his attention focused on the road. It had been hours since he’d seen a gas station, so he assumed there must be one not much further ahead. I knew I should have gone back to that one I passed , he bitterly thought, cursing his lack of foresight. There was even another exit you could have taken a mile later. Idiot. To be fair, he had been rather distracted at the time. Minutes before, he had received a text from his fiancée, Lynn, saying that she wanted to “think things over” and “needed some space.” Because he’d been driving, the message had been relayed via his phone’s AI, and the robotic imitation of a sultry woman’s voice failed to match the tone of Lynn’s words. To make matters worse, Lynn’s phone had a nasty habit of “butt-dialing” the first number listed in its contacts, which just so happened to be Adam, and it resent the message for five consecutive minutes. All the while, the AI read each out loud with its robotic voice that seemed increasingly mocking, as Adam struggled between driving and turning off his phone. By the time he realized he’d driven past the station, he was too emotionally exhausted to interact with another human, and the thought of dealing with the station attendant genuinely repulsed him. Yeah, but I looked at the gauge , he guiltily admitted now, I knew I was pushing it. Depression’s no excuse, I should have known better. He shook his head and refocused on the road, realizing he’d once again let himself get distracted. He could beat himself up later; right now he needed to concentrate on reaching his destination. Too much depended on him getting this job, and he only had a few hours to get there. “Be here at 8:00 AM Monday, and the job is yours,” he’d been told by his new boss. She’d sounded professionally sincere, yet there was an undeniable hint of joy in her voice, as if she was genuinely happy for him. This only helped to confirm his belief he’d landed his “dream job.” He hated the colloquialism, and vowed to never belittle his writing with such a sophomoric term, but he had to admit that he could think of no better way to describe the position. Years of hard work- and perhaps a year or six of apathy and laziness- were finally about to pay off, and he knew he was lucky he’d managed to accomplish everything he set out to do in life. Minus getting married , he unpleasantly reminded himself, feeling a surge of heartache swell through his body. He racked his brain for what could have caused Lynn’s change of heart, desperately searching for a moment that might have foreshadowed her sudden betrayal. Oh, come on , he scolded himself, it’s not a ‘betrayal,’ don’t go that far. I’m sure she had her... reasons. But what were those reasons? Was it something he’d done, some unremembered action that crossed the line? Or was the cause on her end, and her severance of the relationship was an act of guilt and/or insanity? Or maybe- A shudder rippled through the car as the lights flickered, then slowly dimmed as the vehicle finally lost all fuel. “Great,” he muttered, sullenly swearing under his breath while pulling over just before the car died. “Exactly what I wanted to happen. Fantastic.” He sat in the silence of the deceased sedan, unsure if he was angry, sad, scared, or perhaps just imbued with the confusing mix of hunger and the need to defecate. Ultimately, he settled with anger, and suddenly yelled at the car’s console with all the volume and animalistic hostility he could muster, then gave the steering wheel a swift jab, which set off the horn. It was a feeble and pathetic sound, flatulent and fading, and despite the seriousness of the matter, Adam couldn’t help but give an exasperated, bemused chuckle. “Don’t worry, buddy,” he told the car as he opened the driver’s door, “I’ll tell everybody your last words were better than that.” A gust of cold wind greeted him as he exited, and he wondered if he should remain inside and wait until someone else came along. But it was impossible to foresee how long that could take, and he figured he could walk while he waited. It’s the same road, either way , he reasoned, and if it became too cold, then he’d just jog back to the car and wait there. I gotta try, at least. I’ll lose my mind if I just sit here and think about Lynn. He groaned as he realized he’d now be thinking about her anyway while he walked, but he decided that the inevitable internal monologue over his spousal shortcomings could wait until he’d chosen a direction to walk. Probably just go the way I was already going, right? he reckoned, squinting as he peered at the horizon ahead. Almost as if to reaffirm his choice, a small but distinct shape of a wooden post was visible off in the distance. “An emergency phone!” he excitedly shouted to his dead car as he noticed the distinct rectangular shape attached to the wooden post. “Oh yes, I’m saved!” If his car had any capability left to show emotion, it chose not to do so as Adam left it behind and walked towards the phone. He was nearly skipping with excitement, grateful and relieved that he wouldn’t have to endure what could have been a potentially lengthy and grueling trek. Some people are just lucky , he smugly thought, and continued towards his target with a mighty pep in his step. Distracted with the comfort of arrogance, he managed to avoid any thoughts of Lynn. It wasn’t until he was almost fifty yards away from the emergency phone that two things became instantly clear: 1) someone was sitting by the phone, and 2) it wasn’t a phone. BUS STOP was boldly and distinctly displayed on the rectangular sign Adam had mistaken for a phone box, and sat upon the small platform provided as a “chair” was a disheveled and unkempt old man. His beard, while not very long, was scraggly and stained with yellow amongst its grey and white hairs, a yellow mimicked by the broken and jagged teeth that crookedly formed an impish if not charming smile between red, veiny cheeks. He wore a suit of brown tweed, faded and torn in several places, with a cream-colored tie that matched a handkerchief peeking from the front pocket. A sky blue insignia of a water droplet was stitched onto the tie with what Adam assumed to be a very amateur hand, and he suspected the handkerchief bore a similar logo. He debated whether or not he should just head back to the car, as he still wasn’t in the mood to socialize, but that question was quickly rendered moot when the old man noticed him and enthusiastically waved him over. “Great,” he muttered again, faking a smile as he waved back at the old man, and continued walking towards him. Maybe I’ll get lucky, and this guy’ll buy my soul for a couple gallon of gas , he half-heartedly wished, though given the alternative meant waiting with this elderly stranger for an unspecified amount of time, he didn’t put the idea of agreeing to such an offer out of his mind just yet. For all I know, this dude could literally bore me to death , he considered, thinking of all the excruciating conversations with his grandfather he’d been forced to endure during his youth, or maybe he’s a serial killer, and he‘ll kill me to death! He pushed aside such an absurd idea and kept walking. As he neared the old man, Adam gave him another friendly wave and said, “Hey there! How you doing?” “Oh, just fine, thanks,” the old man kindly responded, his voice shockingly pleasant despite being very gravelly. “Rather nice day to be outside, don’t ya’ think?” Adam nodded in agreement, albeit a little reluctantly given his reasons for being outside, and when he was finally close enough, he extended a friendly hand towards the stranger. “Nice to meet you, name’s Adam,” he told the old man as they shook hands. “Sharon,” the old man informed him. “Ah,” Adam replied, a little taken aback for a moment. He’d always thought of Sharon as a woman’s name, but then he realized that was perhaps an antiquated viewpoint. Hey, I got no right to judge this guy , he reprimanded himself, suddenly feeling guilty for the serial killer thought, too. This guy- or whatever!- is a person, so just treat them like one and be as pleasant as they deserve. Fearing he might have taken too long to properly respond, he suddenly blurted out, “Nice, dude.” “Uh huh,” Sharon hesitantly agreed, looking rather puzzled. “Um... do you mind if I join you?” Adam unconfidently asked, anxiously hoping to skip over the sudden awkwardness of the situation. “Oh, of course not!” Sharon exclaimed, unabashedly delighted by the prospect of having company. “No, not at all. I, uh, I can get up if ya’d like to sit down for a-” “No, no, you don’t have to do that,” Adam quickly and politely dissuaded him, “that’s perfectly ok. I’m totally fine standing, honestly. If I want to sit, I’ll just sit on the ground.” “You’re sure?” “Absolutely, hundred percent.” “Alright,” Sharon shrugged, confused but clearly not bothered by the refusal. “Whatever you like.” Several moments of cringe-inducing silence went by as Adam stood next to the old man, unsure if he should speak first or wait for the geriatric stranger to say something. The longer he considered the quandary he was in instead of speaking, the longer he was forced to endure the nearly unbearable silence, and he was on the verge of blurting out whatever random thought came to mind, when Sharon suddenly chimed in with, “What brings ya’ here, Adam?” “Oh man, well, my car broke down, and I had to walk quite a ways-” “No, no, no,” Sharon interrupted, solemnly shaking his head, “that ain’t what I mean, man. Why ya’ here, why ya’ on this road?” “Oh! Gotcha, I thought you meant- I guess, um, hmm.” Adam thought about the question for a moment, caught off guard by Sharon’s bluntness, then cleared his throat. “Well, I got a pretty important interview for a position writing for this magazine, and it’s basically my dream job, so I’m headed to their headquarters to meet up with their editor, and get interviewed and integrated into the system and all that.” He gulped, realizing he’d suddenly begun speaking much too fast. “And of course- wouldn’t you know it?- my car just has to run out of gas. My fault, though, I knew I should’ve filled up earlier when I had the chance.” “Mmm, ‘bsolutely should have,” Sharon muttered, shaking his head. “Yeah, yeah, I know. I was a bit distracted, though, so I guess I can't be completely blamed.” “Hmph. That ain’t how life works.” Adam looked at the old man with the skepticism befitting of a younger man speaking to his elders. “What do you mean?” he snorted. “Guilt ain’t something ya’ can divvy out in different portions; ya’ either completely guilty of the action, or ya’ completely innocent of it. One or the other. Ya’ said it yaself, ya’ knew ya’ should have filled the tank, and then ya’ didn’t do it. The car would eventually run outta gas, ya’ knew that, too. And ya’ let it anyway. Sounds like ya’ know exactly who to blame.” Adam stared at Sharon, studying the unknown man with a look of petulant curiosity, yet the intensity of the wisdom in the tired blue eyes that stared back bore into him and humbled him. Unable to find a retort, he settled for staring at the ground at his feet. Silence rang out once more, but several moments later a curious concern overcame him, and he asked the old man, “What time does the bus come?” Sharon pondered the question with the utmost sincerity. “Hmm,” he finally uttered, several seconds later, still seemingly in deep thought, “I’m not really sure. Could be a while yet still. It’s coming, though. It’s coming.” “Oh,” Adam sighed, his shoulders sinking at the prospect of waiting a long time. “Well, how long have you been waiting?” he asked undecidedly, nervous to hear the old man’s answer. Again, Sharon considered the query with full seriousness, before finally saying, “S’been a while. A long while. Not really sure of that either, to tell ya’. All I know is... it’s been a while.” Adam wasn’t sure why, but there was something in Sharon’s tone that sent a chill down his spine. He studied the old man again, and looked at all the minor details he hadn’t noticed earlier. The right shoulder of Sharon’s suit had the crusted remains of bird feces. His fingernails were long, pointed and cracked, and also complemented the yellow of his teeth and beard. And a small patch of moss was growing on the toe of each of his worn boots. Adam shivered as another chill slid down his spine, suddenly quite unnerved by Sharon and the bus stop. Everything in his being told him that although he wasn’t in any immediate danger, this bus stop just wasn’t the place for him to be. “I think,” Adam started as he slowly stood, not entirely sure how his sentence would end. Sharon slowly turned to him with indifferent anticipation. Adam gulped, and finished with, “I think I’m gonna keep walking. Try to get to a town or something, I don’t know. Hitch a ride if I can, I guess. Just... I think it’s just better if I keep going, you know?” “Ya’ sure?” Sharon asked with apparent empathy. “That bus, it’ll be here. It might be a while, but it’ll be here. It’s coming.” “Yeah,” Adam agreed reassuringly, “it absolutely is. It’s just- I don’t know, I feel like walking, I guess. I like walking, you know? Good time to think, feel nature. All that jazz.” “Alright,” Sharon shrugged, eerily echoing his earlier behavior. “Whatever you like.” Without another word to Adam, Sharon stared ahead at the road, his expression one of a sentinel statue, and Adam continued his trek down the road. He looked back only once, hoping he might get a friendly wave from the old man, but he was unsurprised to see Sharon stoically maintaining his vigil. Hope that bus comes soon, buddy , he thought as he turned around and resumed walking. As he walked, Adam thought of everything that had led to that moment. The times in his life when he’d been guilty, or when he’d been innocent. Lynn, and the endless list of possibilities hiding in that topic. And although he’d decided to dedicate the walk to contemplation rather than solving anything, he did manage to reach one solution: Lynn asked for space, so give her space. In fact , he chided himself, don’t even think of it as ‘giving’ her her space; it’s already her’s. Just don’t invade it, dude. If she takes you back, awesome. If not... I just hope she’s happy. Only moments later, he heard the unmistakable sound of an approaching car, thankfully heading in the same direction as him. He extended his thumb and hopefully attempted to flag the driver down. Yes! he happily thought as the car slowed down and pulled over to the side of the road. Finally a lucky break. He eagerly jogged to the car and opened the front passenger seat with a grateful sigh. “Thank you so much,” he breathily told the driver as he entered, who only nodded in response without looking at Adam, and resumed driving the moment Adam had closed his door. “Wasn’t sure anyone was ever going to come,” he nervously finished, a little uncomfortable by the driver’s continuous staring at the road. “Someone always comes along, eventually,” the driver flatly stated, still without looking at Adam. “Uh, yeah, I guess,” Adam responded, still bewildered. After a few moments, he asked, “Do you know if the bus came for that old man yet?” “Bus?” the driver asked, the confusion on his face quite clear despite still not looking at him. For a moment, Adam considered clarifying he was speaking about Sharon. It was possible that this man could provide some sort of insight into the odd interaction, or would at the very least find the whole affair to be a rather amusing anecdote. But something inside Adam- some innate instinct or perhaps even a loosened pebble of an ascended wisdom- told him not to say anything about the matter, either to the driver or anyone else. That conversation had been for him and Sharon, and maybe even just for him alone. It was his to ponder, to digest and deconstruct, and his task to discover whatever elusive meaning or message that may or may not have been laid in the words said. Had he been in the car with him, he was sure Sharon would’ve agreed. “Never mind,” Adam said to the driver, casually waving away his earlier question. “Doesn’t matter.” The driver shrugged and didn’t respond. As he continued to drive, the two of them stared ahead in complete silence, never once looking at each other, all the while thinking about what awaited them at the end of road.


It was a beautiful night. Outside was not too cold nor too hot, but it was one of those nights where you could sleep with your fan off if you wanted to. The night was going well for Lisa as she was using her laptop to browse the internet and read some emails. It was at that moment her phone rang and to her surprise, it was someone she used to talk to, but only recently reconnected with. ‘Hello’, she answered. ‘Goodnight Lisa, Mario here’. She knew it was him because she still had his number saved to her phone. Lisa responded with ‘yes I know, how are you?’ ‘I’m good thank you and you? ‘I’m good too thanks.’ What was asked next was somewhat of the surprise because he asked her out for ice cream on the Friday night. It was Wednesday night, so Lisa had two days before her date with Mario. She was playing it cool, but she told him she would have to check her calendar. You see she already knew she was free on Friday night, but she did not want to accept so quickly. After supposedly checking her calendar, she told him she was free and accepted his invitation. They were both excited because he seemed happy that she was free. They exchanged pleasantries and hung up. That was not the end of the conversation however, because texts followed. He first asked if Lisa had any food allergies and he also told her to bring two jokes for the evening. It was at that moment Lisa was a little nervous, but in a good way. She was mostly trying to figure out what he had planned. In addition, she did not know where she was going because it was a surprise, even though she tried to trick him into asking him what the attire was for the evening, to get an idea of where they may be going. Mario told her what was acceptable, but she still did not know where she was going, so she just gave up and waited until the Friday night came. There was no doubt as Friday drew near, Lisa got excited, but she was trying not to have high expectations because of the brief history she had with him. When she met Mario, she thought they hit it off good, however, he suddenly told her he was unavailable, so she was ‘threading lightly’ in this situation. It was shocking to her that now he was calling and wanting to go out, but what did she have to lose? In the meantime, Lisa looked for the two jokes and even asked a friend if they could think of any jokes. Eventually she found jokes and she decided to take four jokes instead of two, if the first two were not as funny. The Friday evening came, and Lisa was ready for her date. Again, she was excited, just not overly excited as she wanted to see how it would go first. Mario picked her up and so their date began. Mario to her is very caring. He usually asks her how her day was and what she did and things like that. When she got in the car, she said good evening and he said it back and like she suspected, he asked her how she was and how her day was. In return, Lisa asked him the same thing and he told her he was good, and his day was good as well. An anxious Lisa then questioned where they were going, to which he responded, ‘down the hill’. You see, to get to Lisa, you must drive up a hill or walk if you are taking the bus. After failing at trying to know where they were going, as well as being told to just sit back and enjoy the drive, Lisa waited and did just as she was told, but it was a good drive. They arrived at their destination, which happened to be at the beach. Lisa does love the beach and it turns out so does Mario. It is not only the beach they love, but the love for the sunsets and realizing the different colors the sunsets surprise them with, they love. There are as well, the different colors of the water that surprise them. It is safe to say that Lisa was discovering a few things about Mario that she liked so far and is looking for in a guy. Mario had the entire date planned. In Lisa’s mind she was just thinking she was going for ice cream and maybe just talk and get to know each other, but Mario had a board game, an obstacle game and of course the ice cream and to end it he had pieces of his real Christmas tree branches, along with pieces of newspaper in a can to burn to end the night. First to start off the evening was Lisa’s first joke. It was funny and Mario thought that it was also. He took out the first activity for the evening and that was the game of snakes and ladders. Lisa could not remember the last time she played that game. It really brought back childhood memories. She believed that almost every household in Barbados had a game of snakes and ladders, monopoly, dominoes, playing cards and the checkers board game. Those games were almost the staple games growing up in Barbados as a young child. Nonetheless, it was good to say the least that he brought that game and even better, because Lisa won. After the game, they ate the ice cream he brought. Unfortunately, he brought an ice cream that Lisa was somewhat allergic to, so they had to exchange. His flavor ice cream would not have been Lisa’s first choice either, but it was the safer option, I mean, who can go wrong with rum and raison? The other flavor was coconut. That type of ice cream makes Lisa feel sick and only when it is plain coconut ice cream, because Lisa ate coconut ice cream before, but it had bits of shredded coconut in it and it did her nothing. However, Mario was understanding, even though he probably thought to himself that he asked her about food allergies, and she told him she had none. He did not mind exchanging and Lisa was kind enough to still offer him some of her ice cream. Lisa realized something about Mario. She realized he was a planner and that he sticks to the time he allotted for. It was a little surprising to her, mainly because of the way he showed it, but it was also something she came to understand that it was just him. Everyone wants to be accepted for who they are and so Lisa was doing just that; learning about him and accepting this was who he was. Lisa considers herself as a planner too, however, she is still a little spontaneous, somewhat of a balance she likes. After all that was her zodiac sign-a Libra. Time came for the next item on the list which was the obstacle game. They left the bench and started to walk on the sand while Mario explained what Lisa had to do. There were two sticks and Lisa had to try to balance them while walking on the sand. She was to see how many steps she could take by balancing the sticks. She did a couple tries before she finally got it done. In the end, Lisa outdid herself because she got 100 steps and was able to balance the sticks. You could imagine how proud she was of herself. Mario too, was proud of her and said he was impressed. He then explained the moral of the game was to be persistent and be patient. That was impressive to Lisa how he thought about that game and just how much effort he put into the date. He thought of every detail, including having a sweater for her if she got cold. Indeed, she did, and she was able to use his sweater. To end the night, they found a spot on the beach to burn the pieces of his real Christmas tree. There they talked about different things and they even ended up singing. Let’s just say Lisa was so comfortable that she was willing to embarrass herself by singing. That was how Mario made her feel; comfortable and this was the first date since he came back into her life. From that date, Lisa was amazed by him and the same for Mario. He was so amazed that he planned for another date the Sunday. If Lisa could rate the date, she would give it a 10/10 because it was thoughtful and more importantly fun and it was after that night, she got excited because she felt like this was the beginning of something new and she was ready and hopeful. By Jalasheia Harewood


The clatter the accident caused was a magnificent noise, the shattering of the window reverberating throughout the neighborhood. Every child playing stickball in the street groaned, except for Hal. Hal’s mouth hung open in stupefied horror, watching the last few pieces of shattered glass hold onto the window frame that sat in the Becksworth mansion. The home would only be called a mansion by children, three stories tall and bristling with peaked roofs and dormers. But standing behind its wrought iron fence and neglected brown lawn of scrub and weeds, mansion was the best word the children could use around adults and know that it also meant haunted. Using this coded language the children had established rules around the house. The first and most important was that anyone willing to sneak into it at midnight would automatically be a hero and would go down in legend. No one had done this. The second rule, was the person who kicked, hit, or otherwise waled any variety of ball into the scrub-infested yard was the one who had to retrieve it. Bat in hand, Hal watched with growing dread as he realized he was the first to have the dubious honor of crashing through one of the mansion’s windows. It was not the first time that a ball in the children’s play had broken any window in the neighborhood, though. So a silence descended on the group as they hoped that, despite the mansion’s seemingly abandoned exterior, that the customary adult would emerge from the home. The angry yelling or plaintive requests for honesty would surely be preferable to the unassuageable silence that emanated from the mansion. No one emerged from the Becksworth home. That sealed Hal’s fate. Normally, the other children would have jeered as the offending bat-wielder approached the victim home, but now only a cloud of silence descended on the group. This was replaced by a sharp intake of collective breath as Hal strode to the house’s fence. Laying hands on the gate and opening it to enter the yard would have been enough to gain the respect of his peers, but Hal breathed deep and strode down the walk to the front door. A knock on it produced nothing - no muffled voices or telltale footsteps came from within. This only made Hal more afraid. The rumor was that the Becksworth family had died in a car crash and now their spirits haunted the mansion. While adults told the children that it was silly to think the home was haunted, no one ever denied that death had occurred. And in all of the hours of their street games, no one saw anyone enter or leave the residence. Which left Hal with the one option of the window. The ball had taken out a window on the first floor and Hal approached it as if it might grow teeth. Careful of the broken glass, he stood on the tips of his toes to look inside. In the center of the room’s wooden floor sat the ball, in between a fireplace, couch, coffee table and grandfather clock. A breeze through the window caused the ball to roll a bit, but nothing else stirred. Hal let out a tentative, “Hello?” before reaching up to stand on the sill so he could step through the window. Despite the summer heat, he found himself cold. The yellow rays of the sun that filled the house didn’t touch his skin. Once his foot hit the floor, he was freed from hesitation, moving to snatch the ball and escape. Only the voices stopped him, drifting from another room, familiar like an old television show. As with all youths, Hal was attuned to the possibilities of the future, and the voices spoke to that, until he uttered another hesitant, “Hello?” and followed the trail of the spectral voices. Peeking around the door of the adjacent room, Hal first thought he had found an old man watching his shows. A tall-backed leather chair sat in the room with a blanketed figure in it, across from it a glowing image. The details his brain quickly gathered, though, told Hal there was more going on. The blanket lay across legs that left skeletal impressions in it, the light from the glowing picture didn’t emanate from a box of any kind, but leapt back and forth between two metal rods, positioned in a V like some old antenna. Uncertain and afraid to say anything, Hal’s eyes focused on the moving pictures being rendered in the air, and saw a family going about the business of being a family. Sometimes they were happy, sometimes angry, sometimes stricken, but a family nonetheless, the father often wearing a pair of dock shoes that resembled those on the legs sticking out from the chair’s blanket. Hal felt his eyes widen as he watched, the children in the floating images rapidly cycling through different ages, the parents newly weds and then grandparents, all hinging on a moment when a car trip was decided against. As Hal watched, though, these faded moments, were replaced with scenes of Hal - he saw himself growing up, doing well in school, doing poorly, his father living to see him graduate, of dying in a cancer ward. There was college, a war, prison, one special girl or many women. All of these dazzled out between the antenna, swirling before him like a kaleidoscope. Only when Hal dropped the ball he had strived so valiantly to retrieve did the figure in the chair stir. It might have said something, but Hal would never be sure. He ran, he ran faster than he ever had around a baseball’s diamond or through the streets of his town. He ran from the shimmering possibilities that hovered in the Becksworth house. He wasn’t certain who sat in that chair, but after a second of seeing what he beheld, Hal knew what held him there. And Hal wanted none of it. One future would be enough for him.