"There's my little Bee!" My grandmother rushes over to me, her face as wrinkled as aged paper. She smiles and pulls me into a warm embrace. Her hair smells of strong perfume, and I have to hold back the urge to cough. She leans back, holding me out in front of her and looking at me like I'm an abstract painting put out on display. "Haven't you grown into such a beautiful young woman." I always thought that was a funny statement. The 'haven't you' makes it sound like it's supposed to be a question, but how am I supposed to answer that? And I know it's a compliment, but I'm not a young woman! If I was a woman, I'd be off to college, doing more important things than visiting my old grandmother off in the countryside. I know it's blunt, but bluntness usually speaks the truth. But instead of offending her, I reply, "Thank you. How have you been?" "Oh, you know, the usual. It's been lonely without Philip, but at least I have Pumpkin," she sighs and glances at the small calico cat sitting at her feet. I nod, not wanting to speak further of Grandpa. That wound is still fresh, and I'm not in the mood for tears. “Well!” Grandma says, clapping her hands together so suddenly that Pumpkin jumps in fright. “We’d best get inside, shouldn’t we?” I follow her as she walks back into the cottage, clutching onto my backpack and duffel bag. She moves around quickly for an old lady. I guess her daily walks pay off. The interior of the house is just as cozy as the exterior, with brick walls and a fireplace in the sitting area. Half a dozen picture frames sit on the mantle, with images of my family and a couple of pictures that I don’t recognize. I’m happy to be back at Grandma’s house, but it feels empty. Grandma goes to the kitchen as I set down my bags on one of the sofas. Walking over to the mantle, I pick up a dusty black and white portrait of a young man. He’s smiling, and in the background I see what looks like the beach. The picture is obviously old, and I check the back of the frame for a date. Philip, 1967. I look back at the picture again, and realize how much he looks like his older self. And then, after I finally comprehend who he is and the fact that he’s not here anymore, a sudden feeling of sorrow washes over me. It’s as if rocks were dropped from my throat and landed heavily in my stomach, and a cold blanket of darkness covered me from head to toe. I was not unfamiliar with this feeling. “Bee?” My grandmother’s voice brings me back to reality, and I quickly set the portrait back on the mantle. “Are you alright? You’ve been staring at the picture for a long time," Grandma frowns at me, her face scrunched up more than it normally is. “Oh, of course!” I say quickly, nodding fervently as if that would make her believe me more. Still glancing at me worriedly from time to time, Grandma continues making dinner, and the comforting smells of tomato sauce and meatballs waft through the air. Deciding I should finally visit my room, I grab my bags and head down the hall. I open the alder wood door and enter the bedroom I usually occupy during my stays. The room is small and musty, with a twin size bed set off to the side, random decorations on the walls, and a little window facing towards the mountains. The window is probably my favorite part about the room. I walk over to the window, resting my elbows on the sill. The view of the alpine mountains is stunning, and it always leaves me in awe no matter how many times I see them. Grandma calls for dinner, and I hurry off to the dining room where a large pot of spaghetti sits comfortably in the middle. I take a seat eagerly, and my grandmother sits across, heaping a large portion of pasta onto my plate. After several helpings, I slowly become aware that I am extremely tired. I clean up my plate, thank Grandma for the meal, and tell her I'm going to bed. She looks disappointed, as if she expected to spend time with me. But I shake it off and head to bed. ..... Light is never trustworthy. Sure, it gives you the ability to see what's in front of you so you don't go stumbling blindly in the dark. Sure, without light we wouldn't have color, and therefore our world would be a murky and colorless place. But with light, you have shadows. And bad things like to hide in places where no light touches. If we didn't have light, we wouldn’t have to worry about grief. I have never understood it. Well, I haven’t really understood how to handle it. The best I can do is stuff it into a drawer and pretend it was never there. End of story. But in the end, I'll find it pop up in some random place, not where I ended up putting it at all. That’s what’s so scary about it. You can’t control it. I can’t sleep. My body is so incredibly exhausted, but my brain feels like it was injected with ten energy drinks. I keep replaying a memory in my head, and I can’t seem to think of anything else. It's when I was about eight years old. I was just coming back from school on the bus, and I really wanted to get off of that bus. I hated school buses. They were always so loud and crowded, and sometimes you ended up sitting next to a stranger. Sometimes that stranger was extremely talkative, and they just couldn’t stop bothering you about whatever thing they had on their mind. Others, who were sometimes worse, would just pretend like you weren’t even there. But, after that long day of school, I wanted nothing more than to come back home. And I was surprised when I found Grandpa, waiting at the bus stop, grinning ear to ear. Grandpa was the kind of person that made you happy just by being around him. He was always smiling, always in a good mood, and always warm and welcoming. He loved spoiling me, especially because I’m an only child. And when I found him, waiting at the bus stop with open arms, it completely made my day. I don’t know why I remember that specific memory. It’s nothing that is very noteworthy. But this memory seemed to be the trailer of a long movie, for I suddenly became overwhelmed with all the memories that flowed through my mind. Grandpa and I on the swings at the park. Us singing karaoke together. Grandpa reading a bedtime story to me before tucking me into bed. All those memories were so simple. But it must’ve been something if it made shiny tears stream down my face. It must’ve been meaningful if it caused me to suddenly feel that same feeling I felt when I saw his portrait. “Why,” I sob. That’s all that is running through my head at this moment. Why . Why did he have to go? I look around the room, the room so full of sweet remembrances and moments. Suddenly realizing it’s becoming hard to breathe, and the walls are starting to feel like they’re caving in, I pull myself out of bed and start towards the door. Walking faster now, I head down the hall, not knowing exactly where I’m going. My tears are making it harder to see, and my heart feels like a hundred pounds. Not fully in control, I hurry to the front door of the house, fumbling for the doorknob before swinging it open. Now running, I leave the house, descend the cobblestone steps, and into the dandelion-covered meadow. My heart pounds in my chest, as if a small man with a hammer is trying to escape from my body. I need to leave. I finally run out of breath and fall to my knees in the middle of the meadow. Looking up at the dark and cloudy sky, I cry, “Why? Why did you have to leave me?” I am shouting now, probably waking up every living thing that can hear me. There must be a time when my grandmother comes, for later I have a small memory of her wrapping her arms around me and whispering, “It’s gonna be okay. You’re gonna be okay.” Although light is never trustworthy, you need it. Light gives you the ability to see what's in front of you so you don't go stumbling blindly in the dark. Because of light you have color, and beauty, and uniqueness. Sure, with light, you have shadows. And grief hides in those shadows. But, without light, you wouldn’t be able to see those you love in front of you.


Saturday, April 6th 2024 “I came here to hide myself away. I have a new outlook on life... if that's what I can call this little world I have created for myself. I moved to Luna Pier Michigan fifteen years ago. With hopes to just ... exist... without pressure to perform, or to exceed anyone’s expectations. To learn how to forgive myself, if there is such a thing, and to rediscover my innocence, if any remains. I hope to find mercy, both to give and receive. My life in New York City was fun and exciting at first, tantalizing even. I was full of lust and power, and became addicted to the high of them both. At first, I tried to stay. I hoped to blend in as one of the thousands of nameless faces that overpopulated the streets. Like cockroaches.... they are in New York.... Dirty, feasting on garbage, spreading disease, packing themselves into a tight dank space they call the city, running from the light... Honestly, I was no different. Worse maybe. But I digress. The larger the city, the harder it is for me to refrain from my addictions and the madness they ignite. It's much easier for someone to vanish among thousands without many worrying over them compared to only fourteen hundred. Temptation literally stands at every intersection in NYC. So here I sit, in this tiny town, occupying this barstool, watching, listening, and waiting. I allow myself this pleasure. One evening a month to lavishly wine and dine, to lust, and be lusted after.. This much I can control, but anything more and I would relapse. Back in NYC, Joe used to say I was on the prowl.... Fucking Joe. Tonight however, I’m edgy. I have never seen so many individuals packed into this establishment, let alone the town. If the fire chief gets wind.. Oh wait... never mind, there he is now. Chief Micheal Weaver, in the flesh.” “I can't believe people are still coming in despite the bridge being out. Gardners’ irritated with all the calls about where to park and detours. I can appreciate the town getting some extra funds coming in, but my guys and I ‘ill be the ones cleaning up the accidents on the roads when these yahoo’s head back home. Jesus! It’s just the moon going over the sun. All these people comin’ in for a two minute performance and then they’ll be out just as quick.” Chief Mike finished his beer and leaned back in his chair. One of his lackey’s leaned in. “Your wife doesn't seem to complain about two minute performances!” The table erupts in laughter. Two tables over a young couple chat. “Oh babe, wouldn’t it be romantic if you proposed during the eclipse...” Her man rolls his eyes. “Look just because you know I have the ring doesn't mean you can dictate how and when I ask.” She smiles and places her hand on his. “I'm just saying...” “Disgusting. Sigh... The eclipse will be magnificent. I plan to watch it, if only from the safety of my home via NASA broadcast. I recall the 2017 eclipse and how it affected both myself and the others... odd... 1994 also comes to mind, before I... The way my mother, much like Chief over there, cared more about getting her shopping done than a rare celestial occurrence. People just piss me off. It’s becoming too much being here, and I’m nauseous.” I watched Anecia from under a trucker hat in the far corner. At first, she appeared calm, and lost in her thoughts scribbling away in some book, occasionally scanning the room. I guessed she had come here with the intent to leave with someone. Sipping at my beer, I watched her play with one of the patrons. I knew he’d immediately struck out when he had a fruity drink placed in front of her, and began talking about himself. “Hey.” he said, with a wink and a nod. I’m Jack. I thought you looked like a chick with fine tastes so I got you top shelf tequila. I’m a lawyer.” She rolled her eyes and pretended to care about his sad attempt at impressing her, but then, Boom! Shot down, he hung his head in shame and walked quickly out with piss stained pants. It was a fun little game she played. She checked out the bartender, a hot little rocker chick who appeared to come with extra spice. She didn't take any shit from the guys who hit on her, and moved behind the bar with ease. I wondered how she stayed calm while tending to this huge crowd, compared to her coworker who was dropping shot glasses and sloshing beer all over the counter while trying to keep up with demand. Anecia stood up and threw back the last of her drink, and slapped the bar. “Stacy, get my tab, I’m getting the fuck out of here.” Obeying, Stacy cashed her out and slid the receipt forward to Anecia, purposeful cleavage on display. “See you next week then gorgeous?“ Anecia scribbled her name, and smirked at Stacy, “If you’re lucky.... Or maybe you’ll be luckier if you don't see me.” She tucked her journal under her arm, and weaved between the crowd to the exit. I took one last bite of my burger, which in all honesty, was disgusting, despite having ordered it rare, threw a fifty on the table, and followed her out. I trailed her until she reached the door of a tiny house. I scoffed under my breath, “Seriously? This place? What a shit hole!” In seconds, her hands gripped my throat. I had no time to defend myself. “Ahh sseee you h hhavent losst your ssense of inn..tu..it.ion.” “No intuition needed. I can smell your rot.” She squeezed tighter and everything went black. I came too, disorientated at first, and then surprised she let me live. A small brass lamp provided the only light in the room, and a vintage alarm clock displayed three O’clock in red digits. The shades were drawn and with thick velvet curtains were clothes pinned together over them. My clue that it must be P.M. I was on a small sofa,my hands bound, and gagged with a cloth that tasted of my own vomit. The scent of mothballs wafted from the gold velour fabric of the cushions, a deterrent to mice. I know I am a grown man, but I hate mice. I distracted myself from the thought of them by logically devising a plan as to how I would behave when she came back for me, but I severely underestimated her timing. The door to the room nearly came off its hinges as she burst into the room. “What the fuck are you doing here? Did you actually think you could go undetected? How many came with you, and who?” Her fists were balled and the vein in her neck throbbed. I didn't even fully blink and she was standing over me wielding a knife. “I should gut and hang you from the rafters like the swine you are!” Muffled sounds vibrated in my throat and it burned from bile. Speaking with my eyes, I knew she could hear me, “You let me live for a reason. If you kill me now, you will go on with this pathetic life. You need something. You want it, you crave it. Go ahead, cut my throat. But you know it won't be a satisfying kill.” “You mother fucker!” I underestimated her yet again. She plunged the blade into my shoulder. Ripping and pulling at what flesh remained. I thought I had finally pushed her over the edge and that my suffering would end. At least I would die by the hand of the Queen instead of slowly starving to death. “I commanded you to stay! All of you! I forbade any of you to follow me! I willfully abandoned all of you disgusting unworthy assholes for a reason. Yet here you are disobeying me and begging for more abuse. What could have possibly driven you to come all this way? She pulled the blade from my chest, and with a twist of the wrist, held the knife at my throat. Blood oozed down my arm and into the cushions. I wanted to howl, to cry like a bitch, but I knew better. Anecia loved to play with her victims like a cat does a mouse... Goddamit. .. mice... No! If I was to die restrained, then I planned to restrain my agony just the same, and face this bitch with dignity. She raised her weapon and bore down. To my surprise, she slashed the wire that bound my hands, and removed the gag from my mouth. “Explain yourself!” she demanded. Stammering, I brought myself to my feet, took the shirt from my back and staunched my wounds. “Well! Speak Dog! Before I repeal my mercy!” “You’re.. Mercy?” She raised the knife again. “Ok! Ok! I surrender. But when have I not done so with you Anecia?” I came to tell you that our time is now.” She stood nose to nose with me, baring her teeth, “What the hell does that mean? “It means that our time is now. I’ve done some research. With a little fast planning and precise action at the moment of tomorrow’s eclipse we can still prevail. The legends and lore are true.” She didn't flinch. “Fucking liar. How dare you? You take me for an imbecile?” I, too, remained unflinching. I knew there was a 50/50 shot of the plan working. I didn't have much proof other than some archives from hundreds of years ago, but I had to take my chances and It started there. Facing down the most evil woman I knew. Not only by further antagonizing her ego, but to call her bluff. If she didn't kill me with the assault, then I was right about her all along, and she never was our true messiah. I... We would have a chance at survival. I told her flat, “No. Not an imbecile. Just naive, ill equipped, and vengeful.” I didn't breathe. Neither did she. One blink was all I got. But it was enough. I had her attention. Taking a breath of relief, I said, “ Ok then. First, a history lesson. Then, A little story, finally our plan.” After I showed her the archives and their authenticity, a plan was put into place. The solar eclipse of 2024 was not going to be the only extraordinary event on April 8. April, 8th, 2024 It's 1:11 p.m. I find it both invigorating, and dreadful that in two hours' time, at the totality of the eclipse, the citizens of this tiny town will not know what came over them. They will have never seen it coming. This time however, and despite what Joe believes, I am not naive, and I am well equipped. Until now, I thought that I would live forever in the shadows. If the legend is true, then both myself and the others like me will once again roam free under the sun. The archives say that when the eclipse is in its totality, and darkness falls, it is in that mi-nute window that the curse can be lifted, and once the light returns so will our souls. It's a dangerous leap of faith I take, for I hear the call of my demon within, aroused by the promise of massacre. I harness control, but I confess my worry that when at the height of the screams, and the sweet taste of blood upon my lips, that I will not succumb to my weakness. Joe’s information has offered me this fucked up sense of hope. A truth that until just yesterday, I believed was impossible and that of fantasy. Is it possible that the cover of the eclipse holds the cure? April 10nth, 2024 I Should record the events of that day . We had my men (and three women) stationed in various buildings with the lights off. Almost everyone was gathered outside, so it made it easy. They stayed hidden, until at precisely 3:13 I gave my signal. The moment the moon shadowed the sun, and darkness fell, it allowed my hive to burst from their roosts to feast. The thousands gathered were too busy gaping up at the wide wonder to sense, let alone see, the danger my hundreds would bring. We had four minutes, but it was enough. My hive took down more than half. They pounced on their prey. Breaking necks, sucking, growling, and tearing away flesh, and feasting like a pride of lions would gorge themselves upon helpless zebras. Dear Goddess, It was a thing of beauty, and yes, I partook. I searched out Jack, the jackass from the bar the other night. I purred in his ear. What magic! Oh.. my it just makes me want to kiss you.. To be close.. Can I be close... He was so hard. So stupid. And then I fucking ate him. He tasted like shit. It was then that I felt my demons hunger. She, no .. I’ll be honest. I.. wanted more. The scent of fear permeated the air. People were screaming and attempting to hide. Others gawked at the sky, or worse yet their phones, oblivious to the totality of peril around them. Some were being compelled to submit to sexual desires right there in the streets. A complete loss of sanity in its most beautiful form. Panic. It was at the height of my arousal that I first felt the pain in my chest. It felt as though my ribs were breaking one at a time. I grabbed my chest and tried to cry out, delusional from the high, but no words escaped. Only blood, and blackness were being ejected from my mouth in a violent attempt to rid my body of poison. I am grateful for that moment. Without it, I would not have laid eyes on the grotesque display of the monsters all around me. The ones that I had created. I would not have witnessed the small boy clinging to his mothers side, crying and convulsing at all that he was seeing. I fell to my back, and laid on the sidewalk. I thought for certain I would die at that moment. But I was wrong. Instead, I wept. I wept at the devastation, and the carnage around me. I wept at the fear that both that boy and his mother felt. I wept for the dead, and the dying. I wept for those that I turned. I wept for myself, for the guilt and shame that I felt, and for the lack of love that I desired and needed my entire life. I wept for the redemption that I dreamed of, and I wept for the fear that I would not see it. I was hysterical. Just then, with tears falling freely like they had not since I was a child, I turned my head to see a pair of eclipse glasses laying in the dust. Remembering my cause, I put them on and looked to the sky. Totality was over. Third contact had begun. My... the hive... they hissed, and began to retreat back into the shadows. Those that lingered too long seemed to glow from within until they simply dissipated . Few stayed in the open, and those that did also appeared to have been sick and crying like myself. With balled fists, we closed our eyes, and held our hand over our hearts, waiting for the Earth to rid us from itself. But nothing happened. We stood up, and we walked away. April 11nth, 2024. I took another day to reflect. The archives were true. I’m LIVING, walking proof. Joe is gone. I knew from the start that he had no intention of helping me to rid myself of the disease, but rather to crown himself the new King. There were maybe ten? of us that were cured, and I do not know where they are now, nor do I have any intention of finding them. I only plan to learn to live again, and to choose the good. I know the day will come that I will face the reckoning with Joe and the others, and it will be a battle to the death. I’ve no definitive answer as to how the magic really works. The only thing that I can speculate, or dream, is this: Like the sun, I was once bright and hopeful, cheerful and warm, but the darkness moved over me. Like the moon, I lived in the night. Darkness was all around me, within me ,and it had become home. But the darkness within me was no comparison in magnitude as the moon is to the sun.... The dark to the light, like the evil next to the good. And the shadow moved over me, and slowly I saw the light grow. I feel those that retreated had no light within, and they chose to remain the monsters they are, and those that lay there and endured the pain alongside me were never doomed to remain monsters. Like the moon and the sun, the heart and the soul can also eclipse.


A young girl has spent her whole life by the sea. It's her escape, her safety. The briny scent of the saltwater on her skin reminds her there *is* a place of serenity, away from her turbulent home life. At home, there is no peace, no goodness anymore. The violent outbursts from her parents only ever ended with her running out of the house and towards the shoreline some few miles out. They never bothered to follow her. Neither of the two whiskey-soaked drunkards cared enough to ensure she wasn't swept away by the midnight currents. Sometimes she prayed the currents would do exactly that. The warm embrace of the water always took her into its arms when she needed release. She would dip her head below the water's surface and swim downward, deep towards the coral closest to the surface. There, through burning eyes, she would watch the tranquil sea life, wishing she could stay there forever. The sea does not take lightly to wishes made by the reefs. As the girl swims upward on one fateful, early dawn, she finds herself unable to break through the surface of the water. *Don't panic,* she tells herself, floating backwards for a moment. *It's just a passing wave.* She reaches a hand towards the surface and seems to break it at first, but soon she realizes she has not actually parted from the water. Though her hand rises above the surface level, the velvety, cool liquid encases each of her digits. She hastily retracts her hand back to herself, eyes widening in bewilderment. "Child," a voice hums from seemingly nowhere and everywhere at once. The girl swerves her head around, twisting her body in the water to search for the source. "Do not be afraid," the low, silken voice croons to her again, "You are safe here now." The maternal voice reverberates through her chest, sending warmth through her cold body. "Take in a breath, young one," the voice gently urges. The girl furrows her brows. She knows she cannot breathe water, that's a promise of death to a delicate human as herself. "You are now as much of the ocean as the sea life flowing around you. Breathe it in, it is now your life as well," the voice echoes, refilling the warmth in the girl's body. With wavering confidence, she finally complies, inhaling the saltwater and letting it fill her lungs. The unfamiliar discomfort dispels quickly, along with the usual burning in her eyes. The girl looks around with a new clarity, and her mouth falls slack in awe at what she sees. The colors are brighter now, and the glint of the rising sun reflects like mirrors off of thousands of flittering scales. The vividness of it all is almost dizzying, and the girl wonders briefly if she has died and crossed into the afterlife. "This is *yours* now, little one. I will keep you safe here for as long as you wish to stay. Should you ever want to go, the many shorelines will wait for your footsteps in the sand," the voice says cautiously, "My waters are always open for your return, and we will welcome you with love for eternity." The girl struggles to wrap her head around how she's crying underwater, but happy sobs do still manage to break free from her small frame. They say home is where your heart is, and her heart certainly belongs to the sea. *She is home.


She didn’t particularly hate the rain but she isn’t fond of them either. The girl, with her hair tied into a bun, looks outside the glass window as she sips her afternoon coffee. The sky, which was bright and blue just this morning was now painted gray. People are scurrying about trying to reach their cars, reach the subway or just the nearest cover they can find before the expected drops of water fell. She sighed. The last time she was out raining was when she had to visit her father in the hospital 4 years ago. She was walking in a torrential downpour. Her hood prevented the drops from touching her red hair but barely provided any protection from the rest of her thin frame. She rushed to the nearby bus stop for cover. She looked up. It seems the rain won’t be done for quite a while. She took out her phone from her damp pocket and wiped the screen--no messages. It was a few minutes ago that she received a call from her mother to bring her extra clothes because she might stay a few more days there. She didn’t argue nor asked question. But decided a few minutes later to ask, “How is dad doing?” She checked her phone again for no one knows how many times already--no messages. The hospital was busy as always. But today, something was a bit off, more people that usual seemed to walk--no, more like careful running--with her along the usually silent corridor she had been walking for the last 8 days. She felt uneasy and began to quicken her steps. She noticed that the door to her dad’s room was open, her mom outside drenched in sweat and tears while her brother was comforting her. She didn’t need to take a single step to know what’s happening. Her gray eyes widened, her chest felt heavy and her stomach felt uneasy. She felt like she was about the see what she had for breakfast again. Her knees felt weak, her body became unsteady as if a single blow from the cold winds outside will knock her to the ground. But somehow, she managed to take a step--no, not forward, backward. And another. She shifted her body away from the commotion and ran. She ran as fast as she could not minding bumping in a few people who seem quite confused than angry as she whizzed through them. Almost completely out of breath she reached outside. She was struggling to get air, her body bent forward with her hands tightly grasping both of thighs trying to catch her breath. She looked up, the rain had stop. Good, she thought. You see, she didn’t particularly hate the rain but she isn’t fond of them either. She took another sip of her coffee. It had gone a little bit cold. She wondered how long she had been sitting here. She looked out again. The rain was already pouring. The glass window became a track in which the droplets race, their paths though not always straight has a predetermined destination--the gray pavement that longed for the drops from the sky. She fixes her gaze on a young couple across the street. They were nestled under a solitary umbrella as they walked past the now empty streets. The girl was holding the boy’s right arm tightly while he tried to slow down his pace to let the girl catch up. He was smiling, so was she. They stopped in front of a food stall. The girl ordered what seems to be a ham and cheese panini sandwich while the boy got a chicken basil wrap. As she looked at the couple, she gave a small smile. The beauty of love--she thought. She was 16 when she first fell in love. She was a junior, he was a senior. The boy was tall, medium built, brown curly hair and the deepest set of blue eyes she has ever seen. He gave her a charm bracelet with his and her initials on it. She said it was cheesy and cliché but her smile says otherwise. She remembered when they drove to the mountains. She and him alone. They sat on the hood of his red Shelby Cobra, watching as the sun kiss the mountains. The sky was painted a beautiful orange and the distant mountains purple. She was liking every moment of it. She leaned her head on his shoulders. It was a perfect fit, she thought. A cold breeze began to pass and he could feel her shiver ever so slightly. The boy stood up and took out a blanket from the back of his car and wrapped it gently on her. He positioned himself behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist, her back against his chest, her body nestled perfectly unto his. A perfectly fitting puzzle piece. It was at dinner when the girl yelled at the boy. The night before she found a note on the boy’s jacket, written in beautiful cursive from a girl whose name wasn’t familiar. “I had a fun night. Let’s do it again soon XOXO”. She was yelling. He was quiet. She was hitting his chest with all the power she has, the boy remained unfazed, his head bowed down. The people inside, seemingly oblivious to what was going outside their comfortable box continued to talk and laugh and banter and eat. She was angry. He was collected. No one knew what was happening, except for the moon who hid itself behind the clouds as if not wanting to see the events that are about to unfold. The world turned dark. No one knew what was happening, except for the two people standing outside in the moonless sky. She left. He stayed. The moon was full when she was standing in front of him, in the middle of the night, in an empty lot on a park near where she lived. She looked around trying to remember the scenery she knew she was familiar with but tonight, for her, it was different. The swings were unmoving. The slides untouched. She looked forward, to the boy trying to remember the feeling she knew she was familiar with but tonight, for her, it was different. His face stern and calculated. His eyes darker and almost lifeless. His smile, no longer present. They didn’t talk for the last 8 days. No single message, no missed calls, no letters or words. They stared at each other unsure of what to say, where to begin. She could’ve asked why but she was afraid to know. He could’ve answered why, but he didn’t know. She grasped the bracelet he had given her 4 years ago. She grasped it so hard that the inside of her hand grew red. Her breathing was shallow, her heart pumping fast. She held on the thing that hurt her the most. She knew she had to let go. She took the boy’s hand and placed the bracelet into his unsuspecting hand. It hurts--he thought. He closed his fist and placed the bracelet into his jacket. The girl was now standing alone in the middle of the empty lot. The moon illuminating her like a spotlight. She didn’t know how long she was standing there. She looked up. She could not see the moon but instead a parade of gray heavy clouds. She felt the first drop on her cheeks. This is fine--she thought. A little rain won’t hurt. A little rain might wash away all of this, like water against the windshield making things clearer. You see, she didn’t particularly hate the rain but she isn’t fond of them either. The coffee cup was now empty. She slowly placed the cup on top of the coaster and began to fix her things. She noticed an old couple was sitting next to her table. The man, maybe around mid 70’s was eating something vaguely delicious and the woman, with her fork in hand sticks it into his meal. The man was faked an angry look and the woman laughed. The girl who was watching several inches away couldn’t help it but smile. She looked at the window and saw that the rain has settled a little bit. The girl stood up, took her coat that was nestled neatly on the seat beside her and gracefully wrapped herself with it. The rain was still pouring. She stood outside of the coffee shop she frequents. She likes it here, the smell of roasted beans and freshly bake pastries. The walls had been witnessed many conversations, many memories, many silent thoughts. She clutched her umbrella tightly around the J-shaped handle with her hand and the other making its way to the long black strap the held the folded piece of cloth together. Half thinking, she stopped herself from opening it. Instead he lowered her hand and began to move forward. Her steps making little splashes and ripples as she threads the gray concrete towards the street. She felt the little droplets of rain fall on her face. They were cold but reassuring. The soft caress in her cheeks made her feel comfortable. Those little droplets reminded her of the touch of her first love, her first heartbreaks, her first struggles, her first triumphs. She looked up at the gray sky, smiling. You see, she isn’t particularly fond of the rain but she sure well knows now that she doesn’t hate it.


I paced the halls of my two bedroom ranch home, nervous energy wearing a distinct path in the carpet with my shuffling feet. The day before I received an ominous letter in the mail. *I know what you are. I’ll arrive tomorrow to meet you*, it said in scrawling, beautiful cursive. The swooping ends of the letters convinced me that it was written old school style, with a quill and ink. My thoughts buzzed as to what that letter could mean. Was it something about my heritage? From what I knew, my family was your common hodge-podge of different backgrounds that was common to find in the United States. Was it about my occupation? I wasn’t sure that being an engineer was anything to write home about. The time inched by throughout the day as I awaited the promised visit from the mysterious stranger. As the clock ticked past noon, then the late evening hours, my apprehension grew. *Maybe this was all just some prank,* I thought throughout dinner, which was a simple array of frozen foods, as my mind was too distracted by anxiety festering with each passing hour. I glanced at the clock clicking quietly in the hallway. It was nearly midnight at this point. I sighed, cursing myself for getting so worked up about a mysterious letter. Weariness settled into my bones as I turned towards my bedroom door. The weight of the day finally slammed into me as the clock wound closer to midnight. As I shuffled past my office door, I halted. A knock resounded from my front door, a singular, swift rapt that echoed down the hall behind me. My eyes widened as I slowly turned back down the hall. I stared incredulously at my front door as I approached. Its solid wooden form blocked the sight of my front porch from view, save for the small peephole drilled at eye height. I leaned against the door, pressing one of my eyes to the hole to inspect my visitor before allowing them entrance. A small statured man with gray hair and an impressive beard rocked on his heels, whistling a tune to himself with his hands jammed in the pockets of his jeans. He wore a thick, gray wool coat and a fluffy argyle scarf to fend off the evening chill. My curiosity overtook me as I slipped the bolt out of the lock and slowly inched open the front door. “Hello?” I said apprehensively as the light from my home spilled onto the porch, illuminating the warm smile spread across the old man’s face. “Triston!” the old man exclaimed, his voice deep and oddly soothing. “I’m so glad I finally got a hold of you. You got my letter, I presume?” “The ominous note left in my mailbox?” I asked, surprise splashed across my face as I realized the old man knew my name. “Yes, I apologize for that,” he said sheepishly. “I was in a bit of a rush and was running very low on ink, so I scrawled the quickest message I could.” He slipped his hands out of his pockets and held them close to his mouth, blowing hot breath that billowed above him in icy twirls to warm them against the chill. I realized the man wasn’t an immediate danger and stepped aside to offer him entrance to the warm embrace of a heated home. He accepted gratefully, taking a step onto my welcome mat and kicking his shoes off to the side beside my own. “Did you want something to drink?” I offered as I headed to the kitchen. The exhaustion I felt just minutes ago had fled completely with the bewildering development. I knew I’d need at least one cup of coffee to get me through the night if I wasn’t going to sleep. “Tea would be wonderful if you have it,” he said as he shucked his coat and scarf, then gently hung them on the coat rack around the corner from the entryway. “I do, but it’s herbal, is that alright?” I said from the open concept kitchen as I slid the coffee grounds before my coffee maker and generously heaped a couple of scoops into a fresh basket liner. “Perfect,” he said cheerily as he plopped down on my worn cloth sofa. I nodded as I switched on the coffee pot, then moved to fill up the electric kettle. After starting the heating cycle, I joined the old man in the living room by sinking into the singular arm chair in the room. It was a plush monster that was easily my favorite seat in the house. “I need to know, what did you mean by ‘I know what you are’ in your note?” I asked, my hands clasped in my lap as I anxiously posed the question. “Well, you’re a magic wielder of course,” he said, the odd combination of words flowing so easily from his lips as if they meant nothing. “What, like a wizard?” I asked in disbelief. “I guess you could say that,” he explained. “Wizards in fairy tales aren’t really the same as what we are though. Didn’t your mother ever explain this to you?” “No, never,” I said, my apprehension growing. “How do you know my mother?” “You don’t recognize your own grandfather?” he cried, his tone a mixture of pained disbelief and grief. “Wait...grandfather,” I breathed, the room reeling around me as I registered who the man before me was. “But I...Mom said you died a long time ago, when I was just a kid.” “That might have been my fault,” said the old man before me as his eyes dropped to the floor in shame. “When you were about to enter mortal school...er...public school, I pleaded with your mother to send you to a school for magical beings instead. To be with your own kind, you know? It ended up becoming a wedge between us we couldn’t overcome.” Shock left my jaw unhinged as the story clicked in my mind. I vaguely remembered my grandfather from my preschool years, but after kindergarten, my mother told me he’d passed away. I realized now how strange it was that we didn’t have a funeral, and that she stripped our home of any trace of him. I couldn’t find the words to respond to my grandfather’s confession. The world as I’d known it was abruptly ripped out from under my feet. “So then...what are you doing here?” I asked breathlessly, my mind still not fully recovered from the slew of revelations. “I’m here to offer you some training, and a job,” he said as he raised his eyes and fixed his gaze on mine with determination.


They lock their doors at sunset and keep their windows shut. When people come from over the ancient, crumbling stone wall built to keep things out, they can never tell if they're human or not. It pays to be careful. Some of the older people like to tell stories about how little Tommy went outside of the wall one day and was swallowed by the gaping crescent moon, or taken by the trees, or lured away by tinkling laughter and glimmering lights. Though no one is really sure if it's true or not, there's no way to prove it, and it's better safe than sorry. Most of the people who drive through don't stay for long. The village is small and the people are unwelcoming and besides, there's nothing much to do. When you moved, you didn't particularly want to stay either. The village children wouldn't go exploring with you through the woods, which were full of vines that trailed to the ground and slipped towards you when you weren't looking and brambles covered with thorns and berries with juice that looked like blood. Some of the brave ones would go out with you to the meadow and play, but none of them were willing to cross the stream that trickled through it. When you grew up, you moved out almost immediately and got a job in some far off city. You don't really remember, which is strange but not that strange. Everything outside of the wall is a bit fuzzy once you've been within it. You never really planned on coming back - you don't even know exactly how to get back. When your mother bundled you into the car with a bag of clothes and a dated map and drove for hours aimlessly until you found it, you never expected to stay. You certainly didn't expect the empty house to be just big enough for two people and cheap enough for your mother to buy. You think back on that day. When exactly did you get to that little town? You must have been at least eleven, but you have a distinct memory of coloring in dinosaurs in a coloring book, and you stopped buying those books when you were eight. Was the sun setting when you got there? You can vaguely remember a bloody red sky and strange birds soaring through the air, their cries alien, but you also remember moonlight playing on your mother's glasses and painting her hair a silvery grey. For some reason, the conflicting stories, the fog that encompasses that part of your mind, fills you with dread. You didn't want to come back. You weren't planning on coming back. You tap your fingers anxiously on the steering wheel, along to the rhythm of the music that the radio is playing. You don't recognize the station it's on, or the song. This worries you. You don't know why. You don't remember how long you've driven. The stars are out, and the sky is clear. You tell yourself this, repeating it in your head to make sure it doesn't slip away. You whisper it under your breath as you drive. Why did you leave, anyway? Was it really to go off to college, to get a job? Why can't you remember what your job is? Somewhere in front of you, you can make out the outline of a wall and the silhouettes of houses, illuminated by the midday sun - no. Illuminated by star light. The road stretches in front of you, and the houses grow closer. Now, you can make out the swath of trees behind them, a dark shadow hovering over the town. You park your car by the wall and get out. You remember being here, years ago, but that can't be right. Nobody was allowed beyond the wall. The soil is soft under your feet, and without really thinking, you kick your shoes off. This is familiar. You take a couple steps towards the stream that flows through the one gap in the wall. The water is ice cold when you dip your feet in, and you remember trying to catch the fish that dart around your legs, splashing yourself, except that never happened. That can't have happened. You should go back into the town. You can't remember why exactly you came here, but you know there was a reason, a pressing, urgent reason. A breath of wind kisses your face and you pull your jacket more closely around yourself. There are voices under the wind, and you remember listening to them, singing along with them. You didn't leave the village. You were thrown out. You blink away the thought - the idea is ridiculous, and yet being here, your feet quickly numbing from the water and the moon sickle shaped and too bright, is bringing things back. You remember clambering over the wall, the stone rough and cutting into your hands, landing with a thud on the other side. You remember clambering to your feet, brushing yourself off. The sun was bright in your eyes, and the shadows stretched towards it, basking in its light. You remember catching a fish in your cupped hands, rainbows forming in its glittering scales as it writhed and twisted in your hands, until it finally slipped through your fingers. You ventured into the forest, then. Honey light slipped through the branches, dripping from each wide, vibrant leaf. Bees buzzed, frogs chirped, birds flew past you, colorful feathers fanned out as they danced. You plucked berries from the thickets that coiled around tree trunks and over smaller bushes, and their thorns wrapped themselves around your hands and arms, digging into your skin. You could hear their malicious laughter and the wind chiding them until they let go. Blood ran down your fingers, mixing with the berry juice. You ran away as the leaves grew wider and thicker, blocking out the light. You blink. You can feel something tugging at you, and your wrist throbs, as if someone tied a rope too tightly around it and is dragging you after them. You stand. You should go into the town now, though something tells you they won't welcome you back. Once the forest has tasted your blood, people fear you, push you away. You no longer belong. You wonder why you were called back, why you came, and the answer springs immediately into your mind: to come back home. The trees pull at you, and for a moment you try to pull back, but the sound of the creek's bubbling laughter is soothing, the pattern the fireflies make as they flit over the meadow mesmerizing, and the tug irresistible. You take a few steps into the woods. Branches bend down to caress your face, to welcome you back, and crickets chirp a melody dedicated to you. When the brambles wrap around you, it doesn't hurt - they keep their claws in this time. You're serene, calm, and your heart pounds out a steady beat. You shut your eyes, lashes tickling your cheeks, as the brambles swallow you whole. From somewhere, you can hear bells.


Anna smiled at Euan and Euan smiled back. An inexplicable wave of emotions rushed through her, like a dangerous torrent crashing through a riverbed. At first, she thought she imagined his smile but the wink he gave her after cast away any doubts. Trying to compose herself, Anna cleared her throat and shyly turned away from his crystal blue gaze but knew deep down that there was no fooling him. They sat across one another in a circle with three other friends who were happily chatting away, oblivious to the flirting going on under their noses. The afternoon was beautiful and warm in stark contrast to the day before where it had rained throughout. Emerging from the confines of the previous day, The Meadows was packed with crowds basking in the last days of the clear and glorious sunshine while they still could. The vast park was filled with people playing golf on one side and tennis on the other with a few amateur funambulists between the trees. Not too far away, Anna noticed a homeless man lying on the neatly trimmed grass, his hands behind his head and eyes closed as he bathed in the summer sun. Smiling to herself, Anna’s playful imagination began working its magic by trying to concoct a story- his story. It was a childhood habit of hers to come up with ludicrous and often far-fetched life stories of strangers she deemed interesting. This habit had carried on into her adult years and showed no signs of stopping. The fedora he had on, coupled with his imperial moustache made him look like a detective in the likes of Poirot. She imagined he was undercover right now, pretending to be asleep whilst secretly spying on someone a few feet away. He was probably a loner who socialized only out of necessity, not need and his abode was probably cluttered with books and other oddities. Also, his puffer jacket screamed eccentricity while his-. He scratched the side of his nose and as if a spell had been broken, Anna came back to reality. Undeterred, she averted her gaze to a boisterous group of college students who had a posh air about them. Anna couldn't tell if it was the clothes they wore or their accents that made her think this way. There was an uptightness to their behaviour which she found abhorrent but also quite comical. One of them was shirtless, clearly flaunting his toned body to whoever would pay attention. He caught Anna looking at him and gave her a sly smile. In response, Anna cocked an eyebrow and turned away deciding not to come up with a story for them. Her eyes went back to Euan, who had joined in on the conversation with the rest of the group. They were finalising their plans for tonight to view Collie’s comet which had been the talk of the news over the last few days. Cited as the ‘event of the century’, it would be the closest a comet had come to Earth in a hundred years and visible to the naked eye. The hype surrounding it was unbelievable. Gatherings and events were being held all over the city because of it. Even schools and offices were closing earlier than usual. "Anna?" "Huh?" Anna looked up to see her best friend and the rest of the group facing her. "Are you alright there, darling?" Charlotte asked with a slight frown. "What do you mean?" Anna asked. "I’ve asked you three times already if you’ll be joining us, babe!” Anna felt herself turn a deep shade of red and looked down. The group burst into light laughter while Euan looked on, amused. She quickly collected herself after her initial embarrassment faded. Surely she could go with them to the beach to view the comet. She hadn’t been out for a while due to her hectic work schedule and could use some downtime. Plus, Euan would be there. “I guess I could. Or wait-.” She stopped short and her heart sank as she recalled the promise she made to Jo the previous day. Jo was an elderly woman Anna befriended over a year ago. They met while volunteering for a charity and struck up a friendship which continued well after Jo’s knee operation had left her inert. Jo was no ordinary elderly lady: born in Ethiopia and brought up all over the world, she still had the spunk of a teenager and could swear like a sailor when angered. Her life story was fascinating as well- from backpacking alone in Egypt in the 1960s as a young woman to meeting the likes of Freddie Mercury as a roadie, she was truly one of a kind. Jo’s husband had passed away two years ago and her sons were down south with their own families. Unable to discover and explore the world as easily as she once could, Anna had become her main source of friendship. Anna felt guilt overcome her like a crashing tsunami. She thought of how disappointed Jo would be if she cancelled their plans to have dinner and view the comet together. On the spot, she decided there would be a compromise. She would have dinner with Jo and join her friends at the beach just in time for the comet. Surely Jo would understand her decision. "I'll probably join you guys but I need to check in with someone first," Anna responded after a while. "Ohh, who are we talking about here?" Sibo asked, jokingly. His big frame jiggled with every word he said. He had to be the first one to learn the latest gossip. "Just a friend," Anna replied succinctly. She checked her watch to see it was already past six in the evening. If she planned on hanging out with her friends, she couldn't afford to be late for dinner with Jo. "Right guys, I have to run. I'll keep you posted-," "I'll walk you to the traffic lights," Euan announced and got up just as she did. The group looked at one another in bemused silence, then broke into hysterics. It wasn’t that hard to tell what was going on. Anna blushed but Euan remained composed, a wide smile spread on his chiselled face. His blue eyes sparkled as his eyes rested on Anna and with a slight head tilt, beckoned her to follow him. She did so obediently, with a small goodbye to the rest of their friends as they teased them from behind. They walked in silence for a few meters, trying their best to avoid stepping on the people enjoying their summer afternoon. A dachshund rushed past with a ball in his mouth and did a small circle around them before racing back to its owner. This jovial sight was enough to break the ice. "The red dress suits your brown eyes, you know," Euan remarked, as they reached the outskirts of the park. "You look quite lovely today, actually. I thought I should let you know that." Their flirting had been going on for a while now, but nothing had happened so far. She assumed Euan was just as shy as she was but that thought changed in a second. Before she knew it, Anna's back was against a big oak tree, inches away from Euan’s tall frame. He bent over and kissed her gently. He was a good kisser, probably one of the best she’d ever locked lips with. He smelled of citrus and vanilla, one of her favourite combinations. He’s perfect. A few more seconds passed before Euan broke away. They looked into each other’s eyes, smiling. Euan was about to reach in for another kiss when he felt something light and wet touch him. He pulled back and looked around, and couldn’t believe what he saw. “Is it snowing ?” he asked puzzled. Anna opened her mouth in shock. In their moment of bliss, they hadn’t noticed the sun hiding and the clouds darkening above them. The snowfall was gradually becoming heavier, forming a white carpet on the earth. A chilly wind blew against them and immediately, Euan protectively wrapped his arms around Anna. “Are you okay?” he asked. “Yes, thank you. I can’t believe it’s snowing in the middle of August!” “Neither can I.” He looked down at her, a dashing smile still on his face. "Please come tonight?" he whispered. Anna nodded. She wouldn’t miss tonight for the world. * Jo had been more than understanding about Anna’s change of plans. In fact, she scolded her for still coming to dinner when she should have been on her way to the beach. “Anna! I’m grateful for all the time you spend with me but my dear, never do that again! You’re young. Live your life to the fullest!” With Jo’s blessing, Anna headed down to the beach and joined the others just in time to see the comet. The beach was just as packed as the park had been. The weather turned chilly and people were dressed in a combination of summer and winter clothing, still in shock from the sudden weather change. The snow was still falling and small bonfires were ubiquitous. Anna was silently grateful to Jo for the winter jacket she’d gotten as she left. It fit her petite figure perfectly. “Took you long enough babe!” Charlotte said happily as she saw Anna making her way down the snow-covered sand to join them at the shoreline. “You made it just in time for the start!” Anna smiled but her mind was elsewhere. Where was Euan? Just then, she felt an arm around her shoulder and looked up to see him beside her. “You made it,” he said. “I did,” was the response. They were just about to kiss when a sudden squeal of astonishment made them look up to the sky. The comet had arrived right on time and was making its way boldly through the starry night sky leaving a trail of glitter in its path. Anna watched it wide-eyed and marvelled at its astonishing beauty. It felt surreal looking at it and even more so sharing it with someone special. All around, people gazed in wonder at the sky. The ‘wows’ formed a chorus everywhere. But then, something happened. The comet made a sharp turn from its original route and was coming closer and closer towards them. At first, the astonished voices grew louder but soon turned into shrieks of horror as people realised what was happening. Anna was too shocked to move until she felt Euan pull her away. “Anna! Let’s go!” he shouted. It can’t be , Anna thought. “Anna! Come on!” It really can’t be real: Euan, the comet, the snow. It just can’t be real. All of this has to be a dream.


"Life just feels so much different without you, Somedays I just feel empty and hollow on the inside. It’s been rough getting adjusted to everything, Even though a piece of me feels like it died, But a small piece of me is Still Alive on the Inside. Somedays are good, While others I remember so vividly, It gets hard to not think of that one moment, But it is forever etched into my mind, That moment haunts me, Even looking at your pictures reminds me of that day, That day my hope and faith were crushed, So much so that I must redefine those words. Many days have been filled with light, And many have been filled with the dark, A piece of me feels like it died, But a small piece of me is Still Alive on the Inside. I try to focus on the good memories, And that helps a little, But many days when I close my eyes to sleep, I remember, ...I remember that one day. It has been rough but the lessons you taught me, and my brothers, have helped in my life. You were so loving, kind, dependable and so much more, Just one moment you were here, the next you were not. That day even though painful, Did teach me something. It taught me to number my days, Our time is so important. Just like a vapor that appears for a little while, Then vanishes away, So will we. That day was a curveball for us all. I felt so helpless, hopeless, and powerless. To feel so powerless is a terrible feeling, It adds to the pain more, But I know I must keep going and not give up, Many days I wonder what the meaning of all this is, All this pain.... pain I guess pain is important depending on how you perceive it. Even through pain we are birthed, Even as I draw breathe, I have a purpose. Even though I am mentally, and spiritually battered and bruised, There is a small piece of me Still Alive on the Inside. I have so many thoughts racing in my mind Why do I keep having flashback to the time I wish I could forget, but it’s forever etched into my mind Guess this type of stuff takes time to heal? It plays back everyday, Like a prisoner in my own mind. Somedays I just feel like crying, But I know I must keep on surviving. Many times, I just feel like giving up, But some small piece of me chooses to fight But I feel tired and stressed Why do I fail when I try my best? Some days I feel like a failure and that I’ve failed you. I just miss the old times. I try to search and find them in my mind. You were so loving and kind, But lately my mind has been a warzone, Am I Ok? Everyone always asks how I am doing, but I just them I'm fine. But honestly I’m not, Even my faith took a hit, Even my confidence. Why try? Why try? Honestly Why? It just feels like nothing matters, Like everything we do is bad or it’s not good enough. I’m still trying and struggling with my faith. Do I even have faith if I’m questioning it? Why do I feel this way? I am always asked What is God doing in your life? I just give the standard answers like he is doing everything good for me. I know I must trust Him fully, At the moment with all honestly, I can say a little piece of me doesn’t fully. At a critical time, I prayed, yet no answer. Or at least in the sense I would have thought, At that critical time, the prayers the family prayed were serious. I thought if you pray and asked in good faith it would happen. But utter silence That day Hurt my faith and confidence. I am struggling with bitterness towards God And it’s not a good place to be. I am struggling to accept why he would allow this situation to happen. I mean it was quiet that day, I prayed and nothing. To hear the doctors tell me you were gone. That was the worst day of my life so far. Just three days from your birthday, Then you were gone. That day, I hate it with all of me. It started out normal, and I talked with you. Shortly after you were not here. It just left me thinking, Why we even make plans if we can just leave at any moment? Maybe I am just frustrated because I don’t know the reason why God decided to take you, but I have to accept it. Maybe it will be clear one day, I don’t know. But that day I tried to suppress my feelings, but no longer. I have to trust the Lord with all of my heart, with my life. Honestly, it is tough at the moment. I believe in Jesus as the Son of God and trust he died and rose again on the 3 rd day. I know he is the author and finisher of my faith. To sum up how I feel is that God is writing about me, but I’m trying to take the pen and write myself. It’s not a good way to think like that at all. God knows all, and I know nothing. How do I gain full confidence in God? And Trust? I just felt hurt by him honestly. But I know he has plans for us to prosper and not harm us. I have to get up and truly dust myself off. Humans were made to be dependent on God, We’re not made independent in that sense. Before we were born, we were destined to die It is just our fate. With our very first breathe we begin to die. But there is hope beyond the grave which is something we all face. That Hope is Christ Jesus. I will continue to search the scriptures and pray For I am battered, beaten, broken. I am a broken man right now With no plans for the future. Life truly must mean something. It is hard to even think about the future. I can’t let my life be all for nothing. As time continues to move forward, I will continue to read the word and study. I will no longer put confidence in myself, but my confidence will be in the Lord Almighty. I understand my strength and others will fail me. But God never will, because he is in control. Now I feel a lot better about getting that off my mind. I can start to truly heal and rebuild myself Thank you, Lord, for always listening Amen''


I’m going to ask you a question. I’ve asked it before. “Are you happy?” No, you scoff at me, with that look in your eye, that tone in your voice. The one calling me an idiot without saying those words. How could I ask such a stupid question? OF COURSE you’re not happy. Haven’t I been listening? Work stresses you out. You hate the way you look. You hate your body. No one likes you. You hate it when I ask questions with obvious answers. When you get hurt and I ask, “are you okay?” No, you snap at me, with that look in your eye, that tone in your voice. OF COURSE you’re not okay. I’d sigh. I know you aren’t okay. I’m NOT an idiot. I’m just trying to show concern, to show you that I care. So, I’ve tried to work on that. Instead of “are you happy,” I ask, “what do you need? What will cheer you up? What can I do?” I don’t know. Nothing. Nothing. So, another wrong choice of words on my part. That’s why, last night, when you were telling me everything that is wrong, everything stressing you out, I didn’t say anything. I don’t know what to say anymore. But that was wrong too. And that counted as a “fight” to you. To me it was just a blip. If something registers to you as a fight, and to me as just more of the same, where does that leave us? I’m getting off topic. Back to my question. Are you happy? No. Obviously not. What will make you happy? What do you need? What can I do? I don’t know. Nothing. Nothing. And so I sign. How to break this cycle? How about this: Does it bother you? That you don’t know. That there’s nothing you need. That there’s nothing I can do. Because it bothers me. Another question. Do you want to be happy? So I used to ask stupid, obvious questions. Working on that. Then I tried to offer helpful suggestions. Work is stressing you out. Have you tried cutting yourself some slack? Have you tried using different techniques? Have you thought about talking to someone? Maybe a therapist can help (because I can’t). No (idiot), that wouldn’t work. No (idiot), I don’t need to see a shrink. In fact, you’re offended that I even suggest that. What, do I think you’re crazy? Okay. You hate the way you look. You hate your body. Your back is in constant pain. I tell you that I like the way you look. I try to be more physical, giving you words and touch of affirmation. And I tell you that you don’t need to be resigned to living a life of chronic pain. It’s not normal. Maybe we should go see a doctor? Maybe we should go to a chiropractor. You tell me you don’t believe me. You tell me you don’t want to be touched. You start to cry hysterically as you tell me you don’t need to go to a doctor, that they won’t do anything. Okay. So then, really think about that question. “Are you happy?” No. Obviously not. Then a follow up: is that a problem? Is that something you want to fix? Do you want to be constantly stressed out, constantly on edge, constantly in pain? And here’s the real kicker. Here’s the big question. The one I really want to ask: Why don’t you ever ask me if I’m happy? Are you afraid of the answer? I think you know it already. And for how much you don’t know how to be happy, I know that this is true too: You don’t know how to be alone. And I know it would break you to have to be.


Amidst a bustling crowd of commuters on their way to work, Yuki Nakajima catches a glimpse of her own reflection in Yotsuya Station's large glass doors. Wearing a tailored black blazer she aims to exude an air of professionalism with a hint of style. Her hair, meticulously arranged in a low bun, is complemented by whimsical Jiji earrings - black lacquer cats, each suspended within a silver birdcage, swaying in unison like twin metronomes marking the beats of her day. Yuki boards the Metro Marunouchi Line, a shining example of Tokyo's exemplary public transportation system. As she finds a seat for the brief journey to Shinjuku Station, her mind reflects on her recent luck. Just three months ago she was a college student, and now she gets to work on the 43rd floor of the Shinjuku Sumitomo Building every day! As the train speeds through the tunnels, Yuki takes a moment to mentally prepare for the day ahead. She pulls out her phone and focuses on getting a head start on her work schedule, reviews the comments made to her latest company post, and sends a few messages. When she steps out of the subway and into the Shinjuku Sumitomo Building the faint aroma of freshly brewed coffee wafts through the grand lobby, reminding Yuki of the caffeine already coursing through her veins and contributing to her jittery nerves. The marble floors gleam under the natural light pouring in from the atrium above, casting a warm glow on the bustling employees making their way to their respective offices. As she weaves through the hectic lobby towards the office elevator, she notices the doors are about to close. She picks up her pace, hoping to catch the ride. To her relief, a young man inside notices her and holds the doors open. Yuki steps inside, only to find the elevator completely vacant, save for that young man. The unusual emptiness at this hour makes her feel a bit uneasy. Her okaa-san's voice echoes in mind, warning about the impropriety of being alone with a man. She looks up at him, and they make eye contact. She blushes, offers a nervous grin, and shakes her head, as if to say she's changed her mind. She quickly hops back out, her nerves getting the better of her. In her haste, the cellphone slips from her hand. Yuki stares down at it, mortified, as it clatters to the floor. *** Then the very air seems to thicken without warning, the molecules themselves reluctant to part ways. The cellphone, in the midst of its upward trajectory, slows to a crawl, its motion almost imperceptible against the backdrop of the viscous atmosphere. As the phone inches ever closer to its destination, the world around it falls eerily silent. The bustling employees, the distant cars, the very heartbeat of the city - all are swallowed by a profound stillness. As if the universe itself has hit the pause button. The once-teeming lobby of the Shinjuku Sumitomo Building is now a tableau of suspended animation. Suits in mid-stride, voices mid-sentence, the world holds its breath. Even the scent of coffee dissipates. A mile away, the Metro Marunouchi Line's cars, full of motionless passengers, continue their journey along the tracks, their momentum frozen in time. Of course Yuki Nakajima is not conscious of any of this surrounding stillness. Instead, she stands frozen, her mouth held agape, a statue staring down at her phone as it rests suspended above the floor. Nearby, the elevator doors remain open. Waiting. *** After an immeasurable amount of time that can only be described as cosmically peculiar, a figure materializes amongst the frozen populace of the Shinjuku Sumitomo Building lobby. It's as if he emerges from the very fabric of reality itself, a digital entity materializing in a world of analog beings. The figure stands of average height and build, his age an enigma that only the most advanced of facial recognition algorithms could decipher. The skin is smooth, unblemished, and as pale as the moon on a clear night. He's clad in a tailored white uniform made of a material that seems to defy the laws of physics, its synthetic fibers shimmering with a faint, otherworldly glow. On his chest, a name badge proudly proclaims his identity: "ÅNG3L 24", or "Two Four" as he's most commonly called. Holographic control panels hover above each of his hands, appearing and disappearing with the ebb and flow of his attention. The right, larger panel is adorned with a myriad of colored graphs that flicker and dance in a ballet of data. The left hand hosts a smaller panel, waiting for its turn to be of service. Circling above his head, a barely visible hoop/ring floats, its ethereal blue-white light occasionally pulsing in sync with his motions. Two Four has paused the simulation to complete his rounds, which includes world-altering visits to a Chinese biotech scientist, a remote technical support specialist in India, an actor on his Hollywood film set, a Manhattan housewife/entrepreneur, and a two-star general at the US Pentagon. Now, he's wrapping up his final task with Japanese marketing assistant Yuki Nakajima. As his gaze alights upon his target, Two Four moves with steps as light and ethereal as a dream, navigating the very fabric of reality itself. He lifts the right hand panel for a better view, the graphs flashing by in a dizzying display of data. With a deft touch, he manipulates the controls, making adjustments to the intricate calculations. The graphs shift and colors change, reflecting a finely detailed image of a neural network akin to a tree, its branches and limbs growing and wilting as various scenarios are explored. The changes echo through the complex web of Yuki's neural pathways, a dance of data and decision-making in the digital ether. Finally, an automated voice, seemingly emanating from the ring above the bald head of Two Four, announces, "Alternate Pathway Clear. One million eight hundred thousand electron levels disrupted. Four hundred thirty two thousand neurotransmitters transposed. Eighty four thousand alternate dendrites and fifteen thousand axons reconstructed." Two Four then lifts the smaller panel, presses a few controls, and vanishes as abruptly as he had appeared. *** In the heart of the vast, cavernous expanse of the "ÅNG3L Simulation Industries" office warehouse, Two Four, known by his full designation 39,427,167,924, reclines in his chair with his Neural Ring now suspended securely out of the way. He is surrounded by a symphony of blinking lights and the soft hum of machinery. His terminal, one among thousands, is the sole governor of that vast simulation that contains Yuki, the Shinjuku Sumitomo Building, the Earth, and all of its surrounding stars and galaxies. A universe in a box, a cosmos on a circuit board, all of one creation within the confines of a single desk. The monitors before him dance with a myriad of data, a kaleidoscope of information that only a trained ÅNG3L Tech could decipher. At the center of it all, his simulation’s Cosmic Pause Lever stands, a simple switch encased in a clear poly box, a relic of a simpler time when such controls were not yet automated. A fingerprint panel acts as a final safeguard against any unintended manipulations. To his right, Three Eight, designation 35,687,327,738, sits at her own terminal, her simulation humming along smoothly, the monitors awash with activity. At another terminal to his left, Two Nine, designation 32,824,174,729, is immersed in his own tasks. With a sigh, Two Four reaches forward and places his thumb on the fingerprint panel. The box pops open, exposing the Cosmic Pause Lever, a switch that can freeze the very fabric of reality within his simulation. He is about to flip it back to "On" when Three Eight's voice cuts through the hum of the machinery. "Wait, what are you doing?" Three Eight calls out, pointing to one of Two Four's screens. "Your electron levels are out of balance. That's very sloppy, no wonder your simulation is always a mess!" Two Four drops his arm and turns to face Three Eight. "Look, my Sim is... simple... literally. They are not even at 12% mechanical intelligence yet! There is no way they're going to detect manipulation at this stage. Even the humans won’t find out.” "Well, you should at least optimize your radionuclide spread," Three Eight retorts. "Surely, even your sim is far enough along for homo sapiens to be monitoring that basic data?" "Yeah, fine. I'll go back in." Two Four begins to manipulate some switches and, with a practiced motion, he carefully places the clear cover back over the Cosmic Pause Lever as a precautionary measure. One of the screens starts to calculate, flipping through various scenarios, before finally settling on an image of an orange tabby cat leisurely reclining on a sofa. He turns towards Three Eight and asks, "Is that good enough for you?" while pointing at the central screen displaying balanced graphs and the message "Predicted Integrity = 98.3%" Three Eight nods in response and then redirects her attention back to her own simulation. Two Four looks around, temporarily sneaks a metal flask out from his desk, and takes a swig. He drops the Neural Ring back down over his head, and dives back into the intricate web of his simulation. *** The white-uniformed avatar materializes in the most peculiar of places--in the middle of someone's living room. The silence is palpable, a testament to the simulation's paused state. With a face as smooth as the surface of a newly minted coin, Two Four surveys his surroundings. His eyes, pools of liquid intelligence, alight upon the resting form of the orange tabby cat, blissfully unaware of the cosmic shenanigans unfolding around it. With the grace of a digital ballet dancer, Two Four glides over to the feline, his right hand hovering above its head. The holographic control panel once again twinkles with colored graphs as its controls are manipulated, the automated voice from the glowing ring begins its report, "Alternate Pathway Clear. One million three hundred thousand electron levels disrupted..." "Shut up!" Two Four bellows, silencing the voice in mid-sentence. The sudden outburst seems to startle even the digital ether around him. Then a mischievous glint flickers in Two Four's eyes as he contemplates, for the first time in his career, doing something that isn’t so... calculated. He ventures into the nearby laundry room and peers through the door of the dryer, spotting a collection of clothes, frozen in time like a modern-day Pompeii. A metallic glove appears on one hand and Two Four uses it to open the dryer door, rummaging through the clothes with the curiosity of a child in a toy store. Eventually, he retrieves a single sock, pink with a red heart pattern--a true mystery of the universe is about to be unveiled. Then Two Four heads outside, where the sun hangs motionless in the sky. He finds and lifts the garbage can lid, a gateway to a realm of forgotten things. With a sense of rebellion, he buries the sock deep within, a tiny act of defiance against the orderly nature of the simulation. Finally he engages the small panel above his hand and vanishes, leaving the dryer to spin unmoving in the paused simulation. In the wake of the stillness, time itself remains hesitant, unsure of its next move. The very fabric of reality quivers, as if trying to remember how to resume its dance. The frozen tabby cat stares into the void, its eyes filled with the unasked questions of the universe. Today its mind and temperament have been irrevocably transformed, an inevitable sacrifice in the grand scheme of maintaining the universe's equilibrium. Then, somewhere in another dimension, a Cosmic Pause Lever is flipped. Like a rubber band snapping back into shape, the world lurches forward once more. The air, recently thick and unyielding, rushes to fill the void left by the long pause. The dryer suddenly springs to life, its drum spinning with a renewed vigor. A single pink sock dances within, searching for its partner with its numerous tiny hearts. *** The phone bounces a few times before coming to rest. Yuki stares at it. An eternity seems to have passed as she grapples with a whirlwind of emotions and thoughts, none of which find a voice. Suddenly, a surge of disappointment in herself and her childish reactions propels her forward. She bends down, snatching the phone from the marble floor with a tight grip. Yuki marches back into the elevator, spins around to face the button panel and presses the number 43. The elevator doors glide shut, sealing her and the young man inside as the car begins its ascent. Unsure of what to do next, she continues to stare at the button panel, sensing the young man moving slightly behind her. Suddenly, a voice nearby says, "Excuse me, miss. I think you dropped this." She turns to see an open hand displaying one of her earrings - Jiji trapped within his birdcage, iconic round cat eyes seemingly searching for an escape. Yuki reflexively reaches out to take the earring, their hands lightly touching. His skin feels warm against her cool touch. The man's sleeves are rolled up, revealing strong forearms and a sleek wristwatch. She looks up, taking in his clean-shaven face with high cheekbones and a strong jawline. Black-rimmed glasses frame his deep brown eyes, adding an air of sophistication. She realizes she's seen him before, on some of these elevator trips to the offices, no less. "Nice earrings. I think my 10-year-old cousin has a pair just like them." He says with a sarcastic tone and a slight, mischievous smirk. “I think they are from a cartoon, yes?” Yuki turns away, her face heating up from embarrassment and a touch of anger at being made fun of. "An anime. Kiki's Delivery Service.” He leans back against the far elevator wall, eyes fixed on his phone as fingers fly over the screen in search of something. "I'm Hiroki Sato. A software engineer at InnovaTech Solutions, on the 47th floor. Working here for a couple of years now." Yuki carefully reinserts her earring. "Yuki Nakajima," she introduces herself. "I've been here for only a couple of months. Marketing assistant at PacificWave Solutions." Despite her professional demeanor, she's a bit flustered by Hiroki's earlier remark about her attire and isn't quite sure how to navigate their interaction. As the elevator ascends, Hiroki continues to scroll through his phone. "Yeah, I've noticed you a few times," he says. "In the lobby, for sure. Maybe in the cafeteria too?" "Yeah, maybe," Yuki replied, her voice barely above a whisper. Then, Hiroki takes a few cautious steps away from the wall as the elevator approaches Yuki’s floor. "Hey, before you get out, can I show you something?" he asks. "Okay, I guess," Yuki turns to face him with a mix of curiosity and apprehension in her eyes. Hiroki holds up his phone, showing her an image from his Facebook page: a photo of a DVD collection featuring various Studio Ghibli films. "My Neighbor Totoro," "Spirited Away," "Ponyo," "Howl's Moving Castle," and "Kiki's Delivery Service" are among the titles displayed. "This is my collection. I like Jiji, but my favorite is Spirited Away. I have that one on a gold Blu-ray collector's edition." Hiroki says. Yuki looks up at him and smiles. "Oh?" she says. "Yeah. I have some of the figures too. Some are collectables. Got them when... I was a kid... but I still have them." They stare into each other's eyes. The doors open with a quiet ding of elevator bell chimes. Yuki says, "This is my floor." With a hint of reluctance, she turns and steps out of the elevator. "Hey, Yuki." Hiroki calls out, causing her to pause and look back. "I really do like your earrings," he says with a smile. The doors close between them, leaving his words hanging in the air. After a moment of staring at the shut doors, Yuki turns and gently touches her right earlobe. She makes her way down the hallway towards her workday, her pace now slightly livelier. The twin Jiji metronomes seem to swing with a slightly faster tempo than they had before the elevator ride. *** "The soul is touched by an invisible hand and guided towards its purpose." - Rumi


Whenever possible I walked the nearly two miles to my local library. I was nine years old, and this was during a time when one could walk alone to the local library without fear of being accosted or worse, abused. I found the library to be cool, quiet, and calming. All of these qualities were extremely attractive since my house did not have air conditioning and I only went to the library in the hot, humid Michigan summers while on vacation from school. Also, my house was either full of my mother’s buddies, or she was finding some odd something or other to scold me for (therefore not quiet). And lastly, along with the earlier mentioned conditions in place, our house was far from calming. Thus, the library was the perfect place to get away from it all, including my younger brother who had no interest in the library. Plus, unlike the movies, it was free and within walking distance. Walking was calming and it was great exercise. It gave me time to think, I could listen to my own footsteps and let my imagination run wild. I could hear birds, and dogs, and people, traffic, and the leaves rustling in the breeze. All things one does not notice when in the company of others. These sounds help my imagination take flight. I see in full size, full color pictures. I hear in song. My soul is recording data for future use. It is like having a media vault inside my head. As I get closer to the library my footsteps quicken. I am excited to get inside to be with all my book friends, and to discover new book friends. But I am also excited to connect with my angel librarian. I have reached and entered the library, and am welcomed in calm, cool, hushed tones that are an integral part of the atmosphere. The librarian and I have become fast friends. She is tall and slim and holds herself in such an elegant posture. She is the color of melted dark chocolate. Her hair is a short neat afro that frames her head like a perfect halo. And though she is ethereal and magnificent, when she looks down at me, she is not looking down on me. The open warm glance highlighted with a warm smile actually makes me feel taller and much more important than I ever feel anywhere else. The librarian does not just look at me, she sees me. I am the only person in her world at this moment. Her name is Miss Veronica. Even if when I get to the library, I do not check out any books, the walk is worth it just to have Miss Veronica notice me. The energy that she gives me is rejuvenating and allows me to endure any of the madness that is awaiting me in other parts of my world. She has made coming to the library magical and necessary. Miss Veronica then proceeds to accept the books from me that I have brought back, and then suggest to me books that she thinks I would enjoy reading. Somehow or another, she never suggests books that I have already read. How does she know!? This is before computers were used to track books and patrons at the library. This is when books were organized by the Dewey decimal system and found by using the card catalog. It was like she was my own library guardian angel. She cared about me. Reading had always been my escape from my physical surroundings whenever I needed a getaway. Much to my mother’s chagrin, her attempts to shatter my peace were thwarted by my ability to immerse myself in a book and be whisked away. Miss Veronica has helped to feed, nurture, and grow a skill that will serve me well for the rest of my life. She has aided me to not only wield the gift of easily entering other realities through imagination, but also to create my own worlds through visualization and writing. I will give a nod to my mom and my aunt. I have a huge vocabulary and it is because I spent a lot of my earlier summers sitting on my mom’s lap on my aunt’s front porch while they played Scrabble. They were serious when it came to their Scrabble games. I picked up much. Which most definitely made reading and writing extremely easy for me. After I have stayed at the library for at least an hour, I leave. Leaving Miss Veronica is almost as lovely as greeting her when I arrive. She gives me for my walk home, words of positivity, encouragement, and wisdom. She also gives me hope as she says, “I look forward to your next visit.” This was not just a scripted statement. This was a heartfelt expression of departure from one friend to another. Thanks to Miss Veronica I start my journey home uplifted and joyful, kind of like leaving a spa. My feet never touched the ground, I floated home. My imagination is burgeoning. Nothing negative can reach or impact me. I am invincible. As I grew older, I went to the library less and less. It was not that my love for reading was waning, it was because I had more activities to keep me occupied. I started gardening for instance. Also, I began to do errands and chores for people in the neighborhood to put a little money in my pocket. When I turned fourteen, I got a job. I still read whenever I could get my hands on a book. It was just that these new activities kept me out of the house and from under my mother’s feet as much as the library had. I started working as a teacher’s aide for summer classes at my neighborhood elementary school. The teacher of the third grade reading class which I was assigned to did not really engage the kids and was not able to hold their attention effectively enough to improve their reading. Most of these kids lived in my neighborhood and knew me. I did not want them to waste their summer being in a class that was not teaching them anything. I started writing stories for them using the list of vocabulary words that they had been given. This was a hit. The kids learned new words and their meanings. Their vocabulary increased and some of them even came to enjoy reading. I felt like I had honored Miss Veronica, my angel librarian. She had poured into me, and I had subsequently poured into others. I had gone from being a receptacle to being a fountain. She had given me a gift that I could share. Miss Veronica did not fit into the mold of the usual librarian in that she actually cared more about one getting a good experience out of visiting the library beyond having to be quiet and follow other strict, set-in-stone rules. She was not harsh or aloof. I do not know about her relationship with anyone else, but she was my angel librarian.


***Edit: Feel free to consider the main character as a man or a woman.*** 🏳🌈 *Haunt me, then.* The words echoed around my mind over and over as I sat motionless in my living room. I hadn’t considered the weight of my request to her: to not leave me, ever, even in death. I pleaded for her not to let go, to stay with me, but the cancer was too much for her body. It moved so quickly through her, every effort to save her only moments too late. Moments. The moment we were alone and I looked at her, the effects of the medication clouding her vision, and she shook her head at me pitifully. I sprinted through the stages of grief right there next to her bed. I held her closer than I imagined humanly possible. She took her last breath in my arms. I watched the doctors close her eyes and pronounce her dead. Saw her casket lowered into the earth. I even stood and watched as they covered it with dirt. Covered *her*. I *know* she’s gone - dead. Dead and gone. So tell me why I still *see her*. I really hadn’t thought it through when I begged for her to linger, to wait for me close by until I could get to her again, to *haunt* me. In those words, I had meant it more in humor. But God, she did. She haunts every waking moment of my life, now. I wake up in the mornings and roll over to kiss her awake like I would before, only she isn’t there now. But her perfume is. The scent of her skin is still embedded into the threads of the sheets. If I stare long enough where she once had lain, I can almost see the shallow imprint of her body still engraved into the mattress. But she isn’t there this morning. So I force myself to get out of bed, and make my way to the kitchen. When I pass the threshold, I so briefly can see the vision of her in her robe, swaying in the morning sun and pouring a cup of coffee. For a moment I’m warm again, I can feel her in the room with me. I can look into her smiling eyes as she hands me a cup of coffee, her hands lingering over mine as I bring the cup to my face and take a sip. When I lower the cup again, she’s gone, along with the sunlight and the warmth. I don’t remember making the coffee, but it’s still in my hands. So, I fight back tears, and make my way to my desk to try and catch up on mountains of paperwork I’ve neglected. I sit the coffee down and bury my nose into the work, trying to focus on anything but the pain. And then, a pair of hands - *her hands* - slide up my back and onto my shoulders, gently massaging the knots I’ve made by hunching over a file. I relax into the unexpected touch, and sigh. *Don’t overwork yourself,* a voice chimes from somewhere between the open air and my mind. “I’m not,” I reply without thinking, and spin around in my chair only to find empty air. My gut sinks at the realization and I cry out. I don’t know if it’s for the loss of her or my sanity now. So I turn back to my work and stare blankly at the pages for a while, minutes ticking into hours. I lose track of time constantly now. The day turns into night without warning. I only realize the shift in time when the setting sun casts an orange streak right onto my computer screen, making it difficult to work. *Baby, you need to eat something,* her voice rings out again. Distinctly and noiselessly all at once. My stomach growls at the reminder and I stand from my chair and stumble to the kitchen, not even sure what I will find. I open the fridge and gaze into it before my eyes land on a container with a sticky note on it. I peel away the note and read it. *Eat up, Love you!* I could swear it’s in her writing. Impossibly so, but the way the letters looped were so much like hers. I rationalize it to being my mother’s handwriting somehow, and put the container in the microwave to warm it. As I bring the food to the living room to eat it, finding no reason to sit alone at the dining table, I see her again. Curled up on the sofa, her hair pinned above her head in a bun, and watching a movie. I don’t remember turning on the TV. She looked at me, bright eyed, and pats the spot next to her. I don’t hear the sound of her hand hitting the couch. *Come, sit, let’s watch a movie.* The fog in my brain almost hurts. I *see* her and this confusing mix of love and pain starts drilling a hole into my chest. I end up on the couch next to her, or the figment of her, and she leans against me. The weight of her head on my shoulder is *undeniable*. For a moment, I begin to let myself really believe that this is reality. I tip my head to lean it against hers, and instead find myself falling into nothing, nearly spilling my food. My heart races and I slam my container down onto the table and stand up. I stomp towards our - *my* room, now, and slam the door behind me. I crawl into bed and sob, wrapping my arms around myself in a futile attempt to soothe the pain. Slender arms wrap around me and over my own, and the hiccupping cries come to a halt when she croons at me. *I’m here, baby*. I sob, “No, you aren’t.” And she’s gone again, leaving me to cry myself to sleep once more. I wake up, groggy, and roll over to emptiness again.


Waking from sleep is usually an intensely relieving experience for me. Having just barely escaped the crushing paralysis and vague, waif like figures surrounding my bed, coming into consciousness feels like eluding a slow, painful death at the hands of these beings. They always move into the room slowly, the fear mounting in my chest as they get closer. Are they aliens or ghosts? I have never known their purpose but they come for me nightly. By the time they are above me I can’t move my body, unable to escape due to the paralysis that has totally set in. The way out is always the same. Focus on my big toe- the mere movement of a toe could be enough to shatter their possession over me and bring me out of this spell. In an instant, I’m awake, sucking in air and reveling in the notion that once again I have just escaped annihilation. I get up to grab a drink of water, relieved to have made it out of the darkness. But, something is off. I can’t focus on the room. I am unable to move at a normal speed. I feel like I am in slow-motion. The thirst increases as my ability to move vanishes. Again I feel the sickening notion that I am not alone. My heart starts pounding and I cannot feel my limbs. I know what is happening to me but I am incapable of stopping it. Something is different this time. I am completely lucid, aware that I am experiencing sleep paralysis again. It is a dream within a dream. I have been here before. Regardless, the bodies are returning and the nightmare feels just as real as ever. I must put a stop to them. I naturally know that I must fight back. Accepting their presence in my life and merely escaping will not stop their persistence. I begin to create energy in my body, working against the fear by feeling anger instead. I can feel heat radiating through my body and out of my chest. Although I am physically powerless, I feel like I could burst into a million pieces and slice through the haunting figures around me. Perhaps this is truly the only way out. As the energy and heat increase throughout my body my mouth involuntarily opens and a beam of light shoots out. The light simultaneously flows through me and out my fingers and toes. My body is burning. It lifts off of the bed and hovers, golden light surrounding it. The beings cower in the corners of the room and I know the moment has come to transcend my body and enter back into reality. With one last push of energy from within, my skin and insides explode out, shooting like daggers into every last vestige of space within the room. The blackened forms lining the space melt into puddles and seep through the floorboards as my infinite golden light illuminates the darkness. At last, I am free.