Her wicked eyes brimmed with angry tears as she put the final nail into the door, sealing it shut. The entrance of her home. Or at least what she called home for the last blissful two years. She was tired of running. Tired of creating another version of herself. Or at least a version of herself she wouldn't be able to touch for two hundred years or so. She usually had fifteen to twenty before people started staring at her too long. Holding their children a little tighter as she walked by. Something happened this time, She thought. Something had been happening in every new town for the past decade. Making the locals wary of her quicker each time. Asking their inquisitive questions as if she couldn't tell their motive. Her money would no longer be accepted at stores, they'd all say with an unwelcome stare. Quick whispers would quiet as she entered an area filled with townspeople. She tossed the hammer into one of the two bags she allowed herself to carry from place to place. Of course, both were charmed to hide how much they could take. It landed at the bottom a second later; remembering what else was in the bag, she was thankful she didn't hear a tinkle of shattered glass. She had been so careful in choosing this place, these people, this cottage. She loved it so much. The quiet and simple life of a town nowhere near a city. With no mandated state leaders but a simple, friendly town mayor. A town that had been built and was thriving through the work of other people fleeing whatever they felt chased them. All in hopes of a peaceful fresh start. Strangers were not new or unwelcome here. She had made herself useful by being a midwife, pharmacist, local healer, or whatever you call it these days. The age of the witch was over, and people understood medicine. They understood science. Did they know a woman with intelligence was not in league with the devil? T hat battle will never be won. She thought to herself. Especially when those who pointed the finger so often were fragile men. And those types of men , she thought, were always around. No matter how many decades passed or how much knowledge was understood. She quickly wiped the tears away, knowing she would be saying goodbye to the sunny garden she had just started seeing come into its own this summer. Goodbye to the peaceful mornings waking up to the birds chirping outside her window in the overgrown and knobby oak. Smiling to herself and remembering that it always smelled slightly of vanilla on rainy days. Goodbye to the cozy nights by her fire reading and sipping the local vintner's newest uncorked spicy red he knew she liked. And goodbye to Lizzie. Her one friend in this tiny town, even amongst the whispers. A teacher whom she'd spent many a shared breath with on those quiet nights. Where they could steal and freeze time, it seemed with each other. Touching and stroking her in a way Lizzie's husband would never imagine. With a slight chuckle, she thought teaching women in her travels was a wicked treat. Married or not, she relished opening their minds and bodies to their own pleasure and what they could feel when they weren't having an underwhelming pudgy cock put upon them. She looked at her hands and hoped Lizzie wouldn't be too hurt by her friend's sudden disappearance. They both knew it wasn't love, just a distraction from the day-to-day. They'd shared that secret adventure while her husband was drinking with the other men and coming home without even noticing if she was there. She'd hoped the message of boarding up the house versus just leaving it or burning it down made it seem like she would be coming back. Fewer questions. Or at least until later. And she would be long gone by the time those inquisitive tongues began to wag. Kneeling to pick up her bags, she smelled a familiar scent. Cinnamon? She thought, quickly seeing a single face flash through her mind. Before she could even turn around to say the spell upon her lips to freeze the moment, she had her back against the door and a hand around her throat. "Hello, Mick." Whispered a deep voice up against her ear as he licked the heated column of her neck. "Fuck" Mick managed to mutter from her clenched teeth. Her hands her trapped by his hips, and she could tell he was sniffing her. "Time's up, darling." He ground his hips deeper into hers. "I gave you those last fifteen years as a gift since I had to deal with pesky royals and their political squabbles." His breath became more labored and ragged, both knowing what would come. And damn her if she wasn't a little bit wet thinking of it herself. "Your freedom for a hundred years and after that you spend one year with me. That was the deal you made with me to have all this delicious untapped power and eternal youth." He said, pulling back and looking at her face. "Though," He said, grinding up against her, "It was fun watching your confusion as each town became less of a haven in such a short time." Running his free hand up her torso and skimming her breast, he was happily surprised when he felt the hard nub as he moved his hand up to her mouth. "I was almost jealous of your latest conquest." Staring into her eyes, looking for anything besides anger in them. "It almost looked like you cared for her." Chucking and pulling back to gaze at her face. "But we both know you feel nothing here, do you?" Tapping on her chest where her heart lay beating slower than most humans. Just like his. Watching her reaction, he swore she was more radiant whenever he came for her. Her ivory skin and rosy cheeks made to feign innocence with the forever flush of youth and dusting of freckles over her cheekbones. She was breathing hard through that daintily upturned nose. The sweetness was faked by that wide heart-shaped mouth that always looked as if she was ready to be kissed. But one look at those eyes. Those almond-shaped hazel eyes flashed with surprise and anger, and was that a touch of lust in them? He prayed so. Those eyes, which changed color between dark brown and hazel depending on her mood, were perfectly positioned under beautifully arched dark eyebrows that matched her thick wavy mane of hair that flirted with the tips of her breasts. She was as tall as most men, taller than many. And even at his height of six foot two, they were almost eye level in her boots. Her curves were unmatched. Which became truer every time he desired a bedmate when he didn't have her for that blessed year every century. He was always looking for her in other women. He never really put that together until now. The face and body were all hers. He didn't have to do anything to accentuate her beauty when he gave her the gift. But gods, the gift had just made her even more cripplingly breathtaking. Snapping out of it, he looked at her rage-filled face. She was such a bratty thing, he mused. He was always having to retrieve her. She never was the good girl and came to him. Holding back a groan, he thought she was always worth it. "Now, did you learn your lesson from last time and will come willingly?" He said a hairsbreadth away from her sneering mouth. "Or will I spend another night chasing you through the forest like a typical cat and mouse cliche?" Using the tip of his tongue to outline her lips, he sensed them softening just slightly and grinned. "Mmm, a bit of a disappointment, though. You know I do love the chase." He said, biting her bottom lip. "Especially when I get such a delicious reward." Growling the final word into her mouth as he started to thrust up against her. She had planned for this. Well, kind of. She knew he would come eventually. And knew it would be soon. All the signs were there. It's not that she hated him. In fact, she respected him. But she'd never tell him that. She simply preferred herself and lovers of her own choosing. Though the coupling was, she had to keep from rolling her eyes back at the sensual memory of their last row, seriously good. A year of it, though? If he had ever bent on changing the contract they made and her constant begging to modify it, she'd have been so much further in her work. And she might even like spending that time with him, but he relished the fight she gave each time. Mentally smirking, so did she. Every year she spent with him was time away from a new breakthrough in her search. Disrupting decades of work that she had to start again each time she returned to the human world. She knew the answers she sought were here and not in the godlike realm he'd created. The glimmering estate in the sky he'd built as a reprieve from the 'exhausting and mundane world of humans,' she could hear him say. After five hundred years, she'd assumed the apparent brief extension he'd referred to was due to a lack of long-term interest. Which men so rarely had. But apparently, a man gifted by the gods to become something other, and with nothing but time on his hands, would come. He could have picked anyone, any woman. She knew he had given this gift to others over the centuries. But none of their deals were even close to the one he asked her for. She'd found that out when searching and speaking to his other magical wards, and they confirmed none had seen him since they were changed. But he always came for her. So ravenous as if he waited for that release to be with her singularly. "Hello, Nicholas." She managed to loosen her hand and spread her legs; luckily, it made him think it was in excitement. "I was hoping you'd forgotten little old me. And found a new plaything." She said and began gathering power into her loosened hand, but not so much that he could scent it. Enough though, to get the juice needed to push out the wind that would knock him down and hold him so she could grab her things and run. "Oh, sweet, stubborn Mick. Why settle for a plaything that needs so much education when I have a rage-filled goddess at my beck and call." She could feel the hand around her throat loosening. His eyes showed her that he thought he'd won her submission. She stifled down a scoff; let him think so for now. "Don't you get tired of coming after me each time? Why not find someone you don't need to bargain with. One you don't need a deal against to have your dick played with every hundred years." She was almost ready to attack, just a little longer. She had to keep her arm still with the power growing to keep from shaking, so he didn't notice. He laughed deep in his throat, his thrusting hips getting too excited for her liking. Though damn her double if she didn't want a taste of it. "What can I say? I've never chosen the easy way." He said, grinning in triumph. Just as he was about to go in for the kiss she knew would transport them to his realm, on a growl, she released all the built-up power to his throbbing crotch. An evil grin slid over her face as he flew 20 feet into the air and landed on a pile of fallen leaves with a hard thump. Ok, so she had put the pile of leaves there as she gathered her power. She didn't want to kill him, just get away from him. Wasting no time, she threw the bags over her shoulder and bolted in the opposite direction from his limp form. She had memorized this path. It led her through the dark center of the woods and out the other side to a clearing in minutes. In the clearing was a horse stable conveniently placed by her newest neighbor for her quick thieving. She may or may not have moved his markers one night for an event like this. Blinking and gasping for breath, Nicholas heard her footsteps soften, putting distance between them. He knew the little scat was up to something the second before he felt immense pain only a man could understand. Her eyes had gone almost black; good to know her power still came from pleasure. Her eyes changed the same way when she was screaming his name as he was deep inside of her. Power from passion was always more potent. As he was reminded while he blinked and gasped for breath. After making sure she hadn't actually blown off his manhood, he stood. He shook the leaves and dirt from his tall, broad frame, his jaw-length messy brown hair dampening in the morning mist. The smile faded on his wide-set mouth, and outrage shot across his deep bottle-glass green eyes as he heard hoofbeats in the distance. Setting his square jaw in frustration, he couldn't help but shake his head and look up to the heavens. Even to his own surprise, he laughed. "Gods I've missed you." He said under his breath. And began the chase.


Aaron took the stairs two at a time up to his apartment. The leftover rain on his coat slowly dripped onto the carpeted hallways as he walked on, casually and relaxed. He breathed in deeply and smiled. Nothing like the smell of rain. It had to be one of his all-time favorite smells, along with mint leaves and sticky raspberry yogurt. Was sticky a smell? Aaron entertained that thought long enough to admit that it was, well, a stupid thought. He was beginning to think that he was recently having one too many of those. Taking out his keys, he quietly unlocked the door, grasping the smooth metal handle carefully as he did. Trying to sneak in on Bruce was always impossible, but he always tried anyways. He opened his door to find his roommate waiting for him. Aaron smiled, white teeth contrasting with his dark complexion. “You know, one of these times I’m gonna do it.” Bruce, wearing his typical bored expression, simply shook his head and sat back down on the couch to resume his game. Aaron also shook his head, still grinning, as he walked into his room. Dropping his backpack with college books with a muffled thump, he plopped down on his soft bed. He could already feel the energy draining from his body. It had something to do with the bed, he figured. In another minute he would be too tired to get up for anything. “Amanda came over,” Bruce called from the other room. “She was looking for you.” Aaron shot straight up, suddenly full of energy again. Amanda with the great legs. Amanda the woman from 3B. Amanda, the reason he had almost taken up dancing. Amanda with the great legs. The legs were worth mentioning twice. “What did she say?” he asked, trying to sound uninterested. He failed miserably. “If you are so excited, why don’t you ask her yourself?” the blond haired Caucasian answered, his attention never leaving the game. “What makes you think I’m excited?” Bruce looked up at him for a moment. “Maybe the fact that you practically teleported from your bed to the couch when I mentioned her name.” Damn. Aaron leaned back onto the couch and let out a sigh. “Is it that obvious?” “Only to people with eyes.” Aaron rolled his eyes. “So what did she want?” He asked once more, his curiosity beating out his pride. “Something about wanting ‘to see the world’.” “... And?” Bruce looked at his friend once more. “You don’t actually think I was paying attention to her words, do you Aaron?” "You're an ass." "I know." “Did you at least get your eyes off of her body long enough to know where she is right now?” Bruce thought for a moment. “I believe she was heading back to her room. That would be the first place I would check for her.” Aaron was almost out the door by the time his friend finished talking. Taking the hallway down to the elevator, he pushed the arrow a few too many times. It was only after he was inside did he realize how he was acting. “Man, get a hold of yourself,” he mumbled, his palm on his forehead, as he tried to regain some composure. “She just wants to talk, maybe she saw your game last week. Or needs help with the writing assignment.” He paused for a moment. “Yeah, she doesn’t need your help.” When the elevator doors opened, Aaron was once again calm and controlled, with the exception of his extremely wide eyes. The sunglasses could fix that. He knocked on the door, then rested back on his heels, trying to look as comfortable as possible. Two seconds later, it opened. She was wearing volleyball shorts. At this moment, Aaron was very thankful he was wearing the sunglasses. Her long, blond hair ran just to the middle of her back, and was complimented by her beautiful blue eyes. Her whole figure was, well, amazing; not a toothpick, but athletic, curvy. Even her nose was attractive, and her lips looked great, smiling and forming words... Shit, she was saying something. “... said that you were out.” she finished, still smiling at him in that cute way, her eyes twinkling. She had one hand resting on her hip as she leaned against the door frame, looking like a model. Aaron stopped himself before going into another embarrassing lapse of attention. “Yeah, I just got back from class. So what’s up?” he asked. He was getting better at this. “Actually, I was just wondering what Mr. Hassle gave in our class yesterday. I missed it ‘cause of a dentist appointment.” Aaron looked at her for a moment, then leaned onto his heels once more. “Yeah, I’ll bring it over after dinner if you want.” Stay calm, stay calm. “Thanks,” Amanda said, her smile returning even brighter. “I appreciate it.” “Yeah, no problem. Oh, and what was that you mentioned about seeing the world, or something?” Amanda stared at him for a moment, confusion written on her face. “I’m not sure what you’re talking about,” she answered slowly, still smiling. He was gonna kill Bruce. “You know what, don’t worry about it. I’ll see you after supper,” Aaron called as he turned toward the elevator once more. Finally, a study date with Amanda, sort of. This day just got about a million times better. Now all he had to do was find a way to hid Bruce’s body, and the day would be perfect. Roommates.


TW: substance abuse, gore “Don’t you see them?” Esmeralda asked, as she twirled an unlit cigarette between her thumb and index finger. She and her friend Lucy lounged on an outdated, wraparound couch in her grandma’s 1970s designed home. Despite the age of the décor and furniture, everything was in pristine condition, a time capsule of that era. It was foggy outside, but Esmeralda could still see the two teens jogging as clear as day, just across the street, where they always jogged in place and in unison. They wore thigh-high jogging shorts, long, fuchsia-colored sweatshirts, bright pink leg warmers, and purple ear warmers. Both teens had ponytails that flopped up and down in unison with their robotic movements. “No, I don’t see them right now. But I’ve seen them before,” Lucy replied, licking the chocolate drops off her straw and dipping it back into her chocolate milk. She picked up the joint she had rolled earlier from the ashtray on the coffee table and contemplated it. “Dude, they’re right there ,” Esmeralda said, imploring Lucy to look outside, pointing her dainty finger towards the large picture window. The teens appeared to Esmeralda again, jogging, and jogging, and jogging. Staring at her blankly with dead grins on their faces, their braces melted off their gray-yellow teeth. “Okay, sure, dude. They are there,” Lucy said. “Are we gonna smoke this blunt, or what?” “Yes, we’re gonna smoke it, but, first, I need you to acknowledge those two freaky joggers outside my grandma’s big-ass window,” Esmeralda whined, tossing a neon green lighter over to Lucy. Lucy caught it quickly, lit up the blunt, and inhaled deeply, letting out an enormous plume of smoke. “That’s where it’s at,” Lucy said, smiling with deep satisfaction, ignoring Esmeralda’s pleas to acknowledge the two, odd, teenage joggers across the street. “Let me have that,” Esmeralda said forcefully. “Wait,” Lucy said, holding out her hand. She took another hit and inhaled deeply again. “Fine. I’ll come to you.” Esmeralda moved over to the long part of the couch upon which Lucy sat. Lucy blew smoke in her face. Esmeralda giggled softly, momentarily forgetting about the two gauzy, gray joggers outside her grandma’s house. Lucy handed her the blunt. She took it. Esmeralda threw her blue stockinged feet onto the large, wooden coffee table, drew her knobby knees together, perched her elbows on them, and proceeded to take a long drag from the joint. While she exhaled, she leaned back into the deep, lime, green cushions. “Have you forgotten about those teen joggers now?” Lucy inquired, twisting a soft, red ringlet of Esmeralda’s hair between her fingertips, while looking at her lovingly. “Not really,” Esmeralda said, feeling the effects of the marijuana. Her eyes suddenly grew bigger. “Wait. Fuck! They’re still out there!” “Christ--not them again. Ez, look, you’ve gotten worse ever since . . .” “ Shhhhhhhhhh . . . S hhhhhh . . .” Esmeralda got up slowly, placing her index finger to Lucy’s lips. Lucy pushed her finger away, frowning with her mouth open. Esmeralda kept saying, “ Shhhhhh . . . Shhhhhh . . . I know they can hear us in here. They’re still out there - I can see them too and they can see us.” She pointed again towards the outdoors. “I’m telling you, dude , I’m not seeing them right now, and I am high as fuck,” Lucy said, sucking on her straw, relishing the sweetness of her chocolate milk. “They don’t always appear to us at the same times.” She took another hit from the blunt and placed it back in the ashtray. “Don’t you want some more, Ez?” “Goddamnit, that’s so annoying!” Esmeralda bellowed, rolling her eyes. “Why don’t you see them when I see them? I don’t get it.” She ignored Lucy’s question and grabbed the joint from the ashtray. The joggers continued to move up and down in the same place, but now they were doused in buckets of blood. Esmeralda gulped. She took another hit and tossed it aside. The joint hit the side of the coffee table and landed on the lime, green, shag carpet. “What the fuck, Ez? You’re gonna burn your Gee-Gee’s carpet, and she’s gonna blame me for it!” Lucy yelped. Esmeralda scooped up the joint quickly, rubbed out the small black stain, and carefully placed the joint in the ashtray after taking yet another huge hit. “You’re right, Luce. I don’t want Gee-Gee to chew you out like the last time. I’m sorry,” she replied, trying her best to regain her composure after seeing the joggers covered in blood. “But seriously, why the fuck don’t you see them too? Like I said, I don’t get it.” Esmeralda grabbed the joint again and inhaled more deeply than before. After she placed the blunt back in the ashtray, she got up and went into the kitchen to grab a huge bag of chips, ignoring the two freaky, blood-drenched joggers across the street. “I dunno. Why don’t you ask them?” Lucy suggested, pointing outdoors into the dispersing fog of the night air. She picked up the joint to take another hit. “No fucking way will I talk to them! They freak me out,” Esmeralda hollered from the kitchen, munching on chips. “They’re covered in blood right now!” Truth be told, Lucy was lying when she claimed she’d seen the two mysterious, jogging-in-one-place teens. She thought Esmeralda was whacked out of her mind and hadn’t been acting like herself ever since her abusive father had died six months earlier. It had gotten especially worse since she’d moved in with her grandmother three months ago, and she’d begun describing frequent visits from this invisible jogging duo. The sounds of wheels squeaking on the driveway could be heard. Lucy suddenly saw lights flash across the old tv set in the corner of the room. “Oh my God! Put it out! Put it out!” Esmeralda squealed, waving her arms around wildly as she ran into the living room. “Shit! Is it your grandma? Is she back already?” Lucy moaned. “I thought you said she wasn’t coming back for another couple of hours.” “Yes, it’s Gee-Gee. She’s already fucking back!” Esmeralda exclaimed, as she grabbed the joint out of Lucy’s fingers, and smashed it into the ashtray. Esmeralda looked out the picture window again; she was struck by terror. “Ez - it’s just Gee-Gee. She isn’t gonna be that mad at you,” Lucy said. “It’s them again!” Esmeralda whispered. The joggers had reappeared and did what they always did - they jogged in unison. But this time they weren’t in their usual spot, across the street from her grandmother’s picture window in the living room. Instead, they were right in front of it, on the grass. Their long, giraffe-like legs bounced up and down in unison, as did their ponytails. Even worse, the amount of blood dripping down their bodies was more profuse. “Goddamnit! I can see them again, Lucy! They usually disappear when my Gee-Gee is around. They look totally disgusting, too!” “Yeah, about those girls ,” Lucy said. “They’re right fucking there!” Esmeralda said, crying. “And they’re bleeding. It’s horrible.” “Ez . . . we need to talk,” Lucy said firmly. The two girls could hear Gee-Gee unlocking the door that led from the carport to the dining room that was affixed to the kitchen. The jogging girls turned their heads in unison to look towards the door where Gee-Gee entered. “Girls, girls, are you still home?” Esmeralda’s grandma asked. “I bought Kentucky Fried Chicken tonight for all of us to eat.” The girls could hear her rustling around in the dining room and then in the kitchen. About ten minutes later, she entered the living room from the kitchen. “Hi there, Gee-Gee,” Lucy said, waving nonchalantly, sucking on the last remnants of her chocolate milk. Gee-Gee moved closer to the coffee table and discovered the joint in the ashtray; she could also smell the pungent odor of pot. Gee-Gee first looked at Esmeralda and then at Lucy. She crossed her arms across the many gold-braided belts wrapped around her waist and 1970s, brown, bell-bottom pants. The bands of gold bracelets she wore on both of her arms jingled, too, as she looked at the two of them sternly. She flipped her dyed red hair back and asked, “Have you two been smoking that Mary Jane again?” “Gee-Gee, we don’t call it that anymore,” Esmeralda explained. She looked back at the bloody joggers. They both waved at her simultaneously. “Well, I don’t care what it’s called, Ez. I’ve asked you many times before. I don’t want you smelling up the house. If you’re gonna smoke weed, you need to take it outside on the porch out back. You know that already,” she said smiling while gently grabbing a small bit of Esmeralda’s cheek. “I know, Gee-Gee. I’m sorry. I am just irritated and really scared by those two joggers again,” Esmeralda replied. “Oh, honey. Let’s go have dinner. I know those joggers keep bothering you. They bothered me, too, when your mama first died. God, rest her soul,” Gee-Gee said, crossing herself, and then leaning down to kiss Esmeralda on the forehead. “Don’t you worry one little bit about them. They’re harmless. They’ll go away as soon things start looking up,” Gee-Gee said assuredly. “Thanks, Gee-Gee,” Esmeralda said. “But they keep getting closer to me and they’re disgusting to look at.” Esmeralda got up, trying her best to ignore the joggers who were now jogging in place together in the living room. Blood seeped from bullet holes in their heads into the carpet. Lucy stood up as well. Blood pooled around her feet. Gee-Gee gave Esmeralda a big hug. “I know, honey. I know. We’ll do something about it later tonight,” she said. “Now let’s all go into the dining room and have some dinner.” “Okay, Gee-Gee,” Esmeralda said. “I love you so much.” “Oh! I love you too, Ez,” Gee-Gee replied, giving Esmeralda another kiss on her forehead. “We’ll get through this journey, and those ghost joggers will go poof! I promise.” “Well, anyway, I’m super hungry, Gee,” Lucy chimed in, bewildered by this odd conversation. “And Kentucky Fried Chick-Chick sounds like the perfect choice since I’m feeling high as a fried Frito.” The three of them laughed. “I’m sure it does, you goofy girl,” Gee-Gee replied, rolling her eyes playfully. The three of them walked into the large dining room. Gee-Gee had already set the table with soda pop for the girls, a glass of Franzia for herself, and the bucket of Kentucky Fried Chicken in the middle of the table. The joggers continued to jog in the middle of the living room. The bones to both of their right legs were now fractured, exposed, and bent backwards. Esmeralda looked at them in horror just as she bit into a drumstick. “Gee-Gee! The joggers keep looking worse! It’s like they are disintegrating before my eyes!” Both of their right eyeballs popped out of their skulls right out as Esmeralda put down her chicken. She gagged. “That’s what you want, honey. You’re passing them onto someone else. Just let them do their thing,” Gee-Gee said softly. “I can see them now, too.” Unlike Lucy, she wasn’t lying. She could see the two girls as well. “Try and ignore them and finish your dinner." Gee dipped her spork into the red and white cup of mashed potatoes and gravy. Lucy’s bewilderment had suddenly changed to curiosity. Ever since she was a little girl and had known Gee-Gee since that time, she respected and loved her. Gee-Gee had practically raised Lucy, since Lucy’s mom was a drunk and her dad had disappeared when she was a month old. Thus, Gee-Gee could do no wrong in the eyes of Lucy. Lucy’s eyes widened as Gee-Gee spoke of these dead girls. “Why can’t I see them, Gee-Gee?” Lucy asked earnestly while munching on a fried wing of chicken. “Well, honey, I think it’s because you aren’t experiencing a type of deep grief like Ez and I are. And perhaps you will never have to see them - some people don’t.” “ Ohhhhhhhhhhh , I see. I think I get it now,” Lucy said with keen interest. She put her chicken thigh down and took a sip from her grape soda pop. “That makes total sense.” “You see, I saw those ghost joggers for well over two years when Ez’s mama died. Ez probably saw them as well, but she was just a baby back then, so she’s probably forgotten when they appeared to her. Her daddy was always drunk in his grief, so I can’t say for sure if he ever saw them - if he did, he probably just thought it was a hallucination from a night of heavy drinking. God, rest his soul.” Gee-Gee crossed herself again, adding, “As for those two ghoulish joggers . . . At first, when they appeared, they were fully intact. They’d come around every morning, smiling at me, outside the picture window. It lasted for months. I thought they were girls of one of our neighbors who had just moved in . . . but then their appearance became more gruesome over time, so I realized I was contending with a form of death that had to do with my own grief. The more I let go of Ez’s mama, the more grotesque they became and the closer they got to me.” “Gee-Gee, what happened to you, and to them, when you truly let go?” Esmeralda asked with desperation. “Oh, honey. I’m afraid to tell you. Because those two ghost joggers,” she said, looking at their broken bodies and now severed heads. “They took me to the absolute pits of hell. I’m afraid to tell you what it was like. I’m just hoping it will be easier for you when the time comes.” Gee-Gee crossed herself once again. “Oh, Gee-Gee, I’m so scared.” “I know, Ez. I know. I’m scared for you.” Nightfall was upon them and so were the girls.


In A Cloud of Solids “A man once spoke of a story pertaining to the Wizard against the machine. He would sit up in his castle, making paintings that he supposedly, considers to be prophecies. Graphic images of a small pixel, a dot, remaining unmovable in a prodigious city as the humans around it began to get ripped apart by a storm so random that the apples that they were eating didn’t leave the air. I seen the pictures myself, I seen the deep reds of the blood, the dark grays of the night, and the speck of white that if you really don’t focus on, seems more like a shimmer of light.” Syrian said, peering over an oak round table, at Jeremy. Jeremy, astonished by the tellings of Syrian, smiled widely, spewing his excitement through his legs, and gleefully kicking and wobbling in his seat. “Jeremy, when are you turning ten might I ask” Syrian says. “I will be turning ten on the next week. My mother’s gonna take me to see the horses with pop” Jeremy replies. “How would you like to go to the gallery with me after, to see the wonderful drawings that all the new artists are making.” “AH THAT SOUNDS WONDERFUL. Can we see some of the paintings that the man you spoke of made?” “Perhaps. I’ll have to check with him, he likes to remain anonymous” Syrian says as the sound of loud creaks graze sharply past their ears. A man enters the pub, draped in the blackest black. One with no reflection, one that if you lost focus in your eyes for even a second, would come off as a shadow to the broad daylight of the outside. His apparel is similar to a grim reaper. Hood on, with no visible face, cloak thick and long enough to mask his legs, making him seem ghoulish. He only catches the gaze of Syrian and Jeremy, hovering over to their table. Chills tickle and ensnare Jeremy’s neck, making him whimper and cry, so he hugs Syrian tightly, and ducks himself in Syrian’s arms. The mystery creature does nothing upon reaching Syrian’s table, only gazing through his own abyss at the hard wood of the table. Syrian, in a casual manner, with his eyes avoiding the creature’s gaze, reaches to scratch his chin, giving it an itch with his hooked index finger. “what are you scared of Jeremy?” Syrian said, and as if it were a dream, the ghoul simply vanished into thin air. Jeremy was trembling in Syrian’s arms, with the erratic waves of tears splashing from his eyes. “Why are you not scared of that man Syrian?” “You believe in god, right Jeremy?” “Yes” “Then why would God allow something to happen to you in the warmth of his presence. We were always safe you see, the sun never moved, it’s warmth was only interrupted.” Jeremy dried his eyes with the cloth of his shirt, sniffling. “I’m feeling much less cold now Syrian.” “Good. Now let’s wait for your mother. Uncle Syrian has some things to do tonight.” Eventually, noon fell, and Jeremy’s mother came for him and took him home. Syrian left and went home. It takes him hours to get home because he lives out of the city, and it’s always raining in his area. Dark and gloomy. Syrian lives in the remnants of a castle with his relative, Cuzz. Cuzz is an artist, He sells paintings and tells tales under the guise of a Bard so that he may earn enough money to get his castle rebuilt. Cuzz used to be a very famous artist, with the ability to predict the future with his paintings. One day, a mob came, blaming him for showing them the truth and believing him to be a sorcerer, they destroyed his castle. Leaving him in ruins with only his art. The castle makes for poor shelter, with the only things standing are the broken high walls and the door, but no roof; easy for rain to flood them in. During the night, Syrian watched Cuzz paint under the tarp of their tent, with Cuzz’s thick white beard and one oversized eye making him seem like an old senile man in a trance. “are you creating more art that you can tell tales of old man.” Syrian asks. “I am creating a very special piece, one that must be seen by everybody big and large, rich and poor. Perfect.” Syrian stares at the canvas, puzzled at its simplicity, for it’s just an apple in a blank space. “How is an apple special, I mean, that’s all there is to it. An apple with no background isn’t it.” Cuzz lifts his paintbrush off the canvas, pausing for a moment. “Tell me. Do you feel when it gets breezy, or when it gets cold or hot Syrian. Has that changed?” “No, it hasn’t. I am very skilled at unfeeling. It must be this damn weather we live in. I wish I could brush this rain off.” Syrian says. “yet you still do not like the rain, it makes you feel cold, an unshakeable feeling. Think of the apple that way. It takes up all of the picture because it is the focus. It is a simple object that somehow finds a way to absorb the empty space around it and feed its own importance. But there is still a border, the canvas is not never ending. It still cannot be the greatest thing in any room it enters.” “Are you saying that the rain is limited? Or that my weakness is the weather, you speak in riddles sometimes. Now that I think about it. If it’s always raining. How do you get your paintings into the city?” “He, you’re just imagining things. Go to sleep Syrian.” Cuzz says. Syrian drifts off to sleep and Cuzz continues to paint the apple, flicking his brush about in swift motions like a shadow imperfectly mimicking his original form, never once wasting an ounce of paint. That is, until he gets to the borders of the apple. He strokes perfectly with just enough paint, yet a drop still splashed on his shoe, a red drop. He tried to wipe the smudge off but it only spread around and expanded, frustrating him deeply and making him panic. In sudden fear and anger, He destroyed the apple painting, tearing it to pieces and lied down trembling. Mumbling to himself about Jeremy. The next morning, Syrian awoke with his usual optimal energy, but he noticed something rather interesting today. The rain had finally stopped, there was no more dripping water on his tarp. He cheerfully jogged into the town to meet with Jeremy, who was with his mother outside of the pub talking to a strange man with Ginger hair and a green beard. The man gave Jeremy an apple and, upon noticing Syrian, scurried away quickly. Jeremy seemed excited to see Syrian, wrapping him tightly in his arms, and they happily walked into the pub with Jeremy on Syrian’s shoulders. “So How was your sleep Jeremy. Fun?” Syrian said “Why yes Uncle Syrian, I had a wonderful dream about a puddle that I got to splash in with you and Grandpa Cuzz.” “Ha Jeremy, you know I don’t really like water all that much, thank god the raining finally stopped around my house.” “Oh but this puddle was special, it always showed the reflection of a big globed ball with green and blues on it no matter how much I stepped in it. It was magical” “Is that right Jeremy, interesting dream.” Syrian stared at the apple Jeremy was given, as he hasn’t taken a bite out of it yet. His eyes were almost entranced by its golden red, it’s swooning colors. “Hey Jeremy, can I have that apple?” Syrian asked. “Sure Uncle, a strange man gave it to me today, but I don’t really like apples.” Jeremy said, reaching his hand out with the apple. Syrian caresses the apple in the palm of his hands, like it’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen, and he takes a huge bite out of its base, soaking up its juices with his tongue and licking his lips for the escaping liquids. He then notices something outside of the pub window, the man with the green beard and ginger hair is staring at a puddle in the middle of the road and simply shedding tears and roaring his loudest, yet he is ignored by everyone on the street. He seems angry at the water for not showing him what he wants but instead showing him a reflection of a creature with no face. He then drifts his angry gaze from the puddle to Syrian. “Uncle Syrian” Jeremy says, puzzled by Syrian’s frozen face. “Uncle Syrian is there something you see out there?” Syrian then starts to shudder, as he suddenly feels extremely chilly even with the sun outside. He looks back at the apple, which lost its golden shine, and now seems a rotten green, and takes another bite, bigger and using his teeth to crunch its stem. Everyone then, in the glory of God and his warmth, blinked at the same time, and opened their eyes to the see the wrath of the Devil and his hell. A storm ripped through the town so suddenly that Syrian’s apple never hit the table. It destroyed every building and grew the more it ate anything it touched. Cuzz, waking up suddenly with a violent gasp. Looked at his shoe, and seeing that the smudge was no longer there, sobbed heavily. The storm ate everything it wanted and grew until it could not no more. Once the dust settled, everything was gone, everything except a crying little boy and a fading shadow in a cloud of Solids. Particles swiveled in the nothingness, Jeremy trembling on the ground; refusing to look up for fear that everything he’s ever loved is gone. A man in a mysterious tan cloak drags his feet through the ruins, beaming his shadow over Jeremy’s coiled being. “You’re alive...My goodness” he said. Jeremy, shivering, peers up at the man, recognizing his voice. “Grandpa?” “Yes Jeremy, I apologize. This is unfortunately what comes from a battle between the wizard and the machine.”


“Are you coming out tonight?” Alex's voice rang through FaceTime as she rummaged through her closet looking for an outfit. Alex burst out laughing at her best friend’s horrified face. Even though Mila was an extrovert, the pandemic drastically increased her social anxiety and now she was terrified to go anywhere. Australia had finally opened, and they were finally able to go out to a party. Last year of high school was meant to be full of activities and fun before they headed off to university and Alex promised herself during the pandemic that as soon as everything opened, she was going to take Mila out everywhere and help her readjust to post-pandemic life. There was no way she was going to let Mila miss out on final year experiences of high school! They only had a couple more months until they graduated, and Mila left for the University of Oxford while Alex stayed in Melbourne. “Listen” Mila dragged out her words, huddling even closer to plushie. “Nope, I don’t want to hear it! LA LA LA LA LA! I can’t hear you! You’re coming with me no matter what so get your cute butt up and go shower Mils.” Alex was having none of it. She pulled her stern face and her best friend relented. Secretly Mila was happy that Alex was making her go to Chris’ party, but her social anxiety was through the roof! She felt sick and a constant dread filled her stomach to the brim. “Come on Mils, one step at a time. All you need to do is take a shower right now. If you’re not feeling like going to the party it’s fine, but it’ll make you feel better if you have a shower! So come on, get into the shower and wash your hair please! Bird’s nest hair is so not in trend right now Millie.” Alex snickered to herself at the flippant glare she received from her best friend. Mila’s heart seemed to calm down at the fact that Al wouldn’t force her to go if she didn’t want to. And surely even if she didn’t go it would be nice to have a shower, the sticky heat was doing nothing to help her nausea. She finally got herself out of her bed and washed herself clean (including the bird’s nest on her head). “Millie why is your door locked omg. Hurry up, slowpoke.” Alex’s overly excited voice penetrated through the wooden door. As soon as Mila opened the door, she got tackled into her bed. “Alex as much as you love me, I don’t think you want to see me naked so please let me go.” Mila laughed out clutching her towel tightly against her body trying not to reveal any skin to her best friend. “Oh whoops. Oh, heh heh are you trying to seduce me, Millie, because I can tell you right now it’s working.” Alex’s shrieks and laughs only increased in volume as she got shoved to the floor getting hit with all the pillows on the bed. Taking in her friend’s tomato red face, Alex pulls herself together and goes the closet a cute outfit for her friend. “Are you feeling in the mood for a dress? Or maybe a cute skirt and top?” “Alex, I’m not sure I’m ready to go out yet.” Mila’s small voice cuts through the dreamland Alex was in. Sighing she sits down facing her on the messy bed. “Hey, I know it’s scary being out for the first time, but we promised each other that we would try and live it up this year. Who knows what the pandemic will disrupt again so we might as well seize the opportunities we have now? Plus, it’s no one new at Chris’ party, so wouldn’t it be nice to see old friends again? I know you’re scared but what if we take it one step at a time. Like let’s get dressed now because you can’t stay in a towel and if we end up wearing some cute outfit ready for a party, well I’m not gonna complain” Mila contemplated for a moment; she was scared but Alex was right. This was her last summer of high school and last summer before she went to the UK for university. And one step at a time sounded good. Alex handed her a black leather mini skirt and a satin white cowl top. This was fine. Mila was okay, she was just getting dressed. Nothing else. Alex handed her a minimalist gold chain; a matching bracelet and a couple gold rings for her to slip on. Mindlessly she started to blow-dry and style her hair while Alex chose her shoes. This is going great; I’m just dressing up to feel good for myself. Nothing else. There’s no pressure. Even though a slight feeling of dread started to fill her body once again, but Mila stuck through it. She looked her reflection in the eye with a determined glint in her eyes and grabbed her makeup. “Mils if you don’t feel comfortable going, we don’t have to. We could just order pizza and watch the new Gossip Girl.” Alex had been studying the girl for the last few minutes and hearing her lightly laboured breath made Alex feel guilty. “No, it’s okay, I want to do this. You’re right I don’t want to miss out on anything, especially since I’ll be leaving Australia soon and I’ll need my social skills for university.” Smiling at her amazing best friend’s response, she hands Mila some black platform lace-ups. They finish dressing up and grab a couple bottles of alcohol before driving over to the most anticipated motive of their high school. Getting a couple gulps of alcohol into Mila really seems to loosen up the tension and they grin widely when Chris greets them at the door. “Welcome beautiful ladies! Mila, it’s so lovely to see you again gorgeous.” Chris flirts with them over the thundering music and pulls them to the dance floor squirming with people. The bass vibrates through Mila’s heart and a familiar happy feeling rushes through her. She grabs Chris and pulls them together laughing at the joy she feels to finally be out again with friends. Winking to Alex over her shoulder Mila loses herself to the music, dancing with Chris, a slice of pizza, and a bottle of vodka.


Oliver's soul must be broken -- he's sure of it. No matter what he does, he laments, or what life may give him, he can't seem to be happy. He is laying in his bedroom, awake, and still in school uniform. He didn't turn on the light when he got home, so the only forms of illumination in his room now are the thin bars of light cast through the small gaps in his window blinds. Oliver groans loudly and thinks about the extensive amounts of homework he has to do that night. Oh, It's also his turn to cook dinner, and he has to remember to do the grocery shopping tomorrow, and he'll have to clean all the dishes that have piled up, and the list goes on. It was the same last night, and the night before; just an endless line of things he needs to do. The whole thing overwhelms him -- he's tried taking breaks to ease the pressure; listening to music or drawing (hell, he's even tried stargazing), but they've never worked. He always gets filled with guilt over not doing what he's supposed to do, or filled with dread over what he still has left to do, and he ends up not enjoying it. On a more fundamental level, he worries that these hobbies he used to enjoy may not bring him joy, at all, anymore. He's worried he'll never be happy. Oliver wills himself to get up and begins to pull his notebooks out of his bag. Fast-forward fifteen days. Oliver sits at the desk in his room and writes the last word of his last assessment of the semester. He drops his pen onto the paper with a clack, and leans back into his chair, breathing a sigh of satisfaction. It's over, he thinks. He has nothing left to do -- nothing to be anxious about. There are still a couple days left of school, and still more housework, sure, but nothing too difficult. Nothing to stress about. Oliver stands up and peaks through his blinds. It's late, and the sun has already set. He rushes out of his house into the fresh air of his backyard, and he looks up. Above him sprawl the colourful stars of the night sky, iridescent upon the firmament. The band of the Milky Way arches above him, and Oliver can't help but smile. He lays down on the grass of a small knoll in the yard, hands on his belly, and gazes up at the sky for a while. He finds that he is at last somewhere where he is happy. But then a twinge of doubt hits Oliver, and he loses his smile. In two weeks, it will be back to school and back to that endless line of things to do, and he will be as miserable as before. That cycle of work and break will repeat forever. He knows it. Even if he found himself free of it, he would grow bored and unsatisfied still. Oliver is hit with a faint, melancholic sadness that even if there are between times where he can be happy, they will only ever be temporary. Temporary and transient. Oliver muses back to when he believed his "soul must be broken", and laughs at his past, melodramatic self. Oliver feels sad still, but he smiles again. Even if just for now, he smiles.


Of All the Places I have been very aware that I was adopted since I was ten. The meanest boy on the school bus loved to torture me just because I was the bus driver's daughter. The following day, after being assigned to the front seat across from mine, Andrew boarded with a huge grudge and the boasting of his nastier mother. As the door closed, his mother screamed, "You know what you must do." When the bus pulled from the stop, he shouted, "She's not your mother. You're adopted. Your real mother didn't want you." My mother tried to defuse the laughter by saying, "Don't pay attention to them; you're so special and loved that you have two sets of parents." The laughter may have died down, but the words still rattled around in my head and heart for years because children don't forget the things that will cut you the deepest. I didn't let my mother know that I wanted to find out about my birth family until I was a teenager. I always wanted another sister; after Gloria died, Mom wouldn't take the chance of losing me, or maybe she thought there would be too many questions. One year, she asked what I wanted for my birthday, and I requested my birth certificate, file, and adoption folder. When I said that, the look on her face was hurt. Slowly, a tear dripped from one eye and rolled down her cheek, and she turned to go into the house. Later that night, after I was in bed, I heard my father telling Mom, "We knew the day would come when she would want to know why and if she could meet her. That doesn't mean she is unhappy; she is just curious. We must be ready for whatever questions she has for both sides." Mom stated she didn't want to see me hurt. I was the one who had not thought about it until I was smacked in the face with the idea of having more parents out there somewhere. Years passed, and then I was alone after she put me out for getting pregnant. It was when I wished for either mom to be there, but it wasn't until my second pregnancy that I was challenged with the questions. My big sister from the program surprised me for my birthday. I thought we were going out to lunch until we hit the highway; I just sat back and enjoyed the ride and the conversation. Tilly B. was the only person in my immediate circle who didn't scold, judge, or offer her opinion about what I should do about my situation. She only said that she thought I could use a day to escape; she was right. We ended up in Doswell, Virginia, at Kings Dominion for the day. Knowing how expensive food was inside the park, we first went to the McDonald's across the street. We arrived just as the change from breakfast to lunch happened around 10:45. We were the only customers in the store trying to decide what to order when the cashier said, "I'll be with you in a minute." We responded without looking at her, saying, "Take your time; we don't even know what we want yet." When she turned around, everyone's mouths dropped open; it was as if I was looking at my twin, doppelganger, or in a mirror. To be face-to-face with someone who looked like me was eerie but exciting. Was she my long-lost sister? Was she adopted also? Did mom keep her? I didn't ask any of those questions. Her name was Pam, according to her name tag. My sister found out that she was sixteen and moved to Richmond with her family a year earlier when the military transferred their father. That encounter left me wondering for the first time if I had sisters or brothers somewhere. Did they know about me? Did they want to meet me? I called my mom the next day and told her about Pam, and that allowed us to talk about the conversation we should have had eight years back. She admitted that she feared I would want to meet my birth parents and want to go back to them. Again, afraid of the answers, I dismissed the thoughts. My mother passed away in 1995, and at the funeral home, some distant cousin reminded me that I wasn't family, that I was adopted. Before my accident in 1998, I had just heard about DNA testing, but I didn't want anyone to think I looked them up because I needed their help. So, again, I dismissed any notion of searching for family. 2016, my caregiver and my family members got tired of repeating this phrase: "We don't know, she was adopted." When I finally woke up from a month-long coma, they gave me the Ancestry DNA test kit for Christmas. Fifty-something and still afraid of the answers, the kit sat on my dresser until the end of January. On her way home one Friday evening, Miss Peaches handed the test to my oldest son and said, "Make sure you two get this done today." A month later, the results were available, and thirty-four days later, I received a message and the gift I had wanted all my life. I think you're my sister because of the number of matching alleles. We met within two weeks, and I found out that I have a little sister, eight years younger. She answered every question that I had wondered about over the years. I learned that I had so many things in common with our mother. I was also told that she wanted to keep me, but we had no help from the sperm donor, and my great-grandmother wasn't going to have another mouth to feed. I met our mother's best friend and my sister's godmother, who told me that my mother regretted having to put me up for adoption. Unfortunately, our mother passed away in 1982, the same year my first son was born.


It was a cold, wet and dreary morning. One of those begrudgingly spiteful days that come only so often. I could have lambasted about how it began, which rightfully should have served as a prescient warning for how the rest of the day would follow, however my mind at the time was fixated on getting across town to an appointment. I mustn’t be late to this appointment! Thames Avenue was roaring with life despite the weather. The sidewalk clattered with the footsteps of the morning crowd as they splashed through well-established puddles. Umbrellas were bobbing up and down as the crowd shuffled along, eager to find themselves at their destination. Traffic was heavy and the drivers all seemed to be frustrated. Their commute was not going so well. As I passed by Eckman’s, a street side gastropub on the corner of Thames Avenue and Fisher Street, a man inside a delivery truck began to scream profanity laced obscenities behind me. Seemingly lost to madness over his current predicament, his fists began to pound the steering wheel before he threw them into the air, palms wide open with a look of angered disbelief on his face. His muted scream could still be heard as I stood next to an outside bar. The traffic was at a standstill at this point, and it was clear by his reaction that he had somewhere to be. Pausing for a moment, I checked the clock located inside Eckman’s and it read 10:09am. This was a disaster! I was most certainly going to be late. The rain must be slowing me down, or the crowd, but I had ten more blocks to go. I mustn’t be late to this appointment! I began to pick up my pace and hurried down the sidewalk. At this point, the rain was steady but light enough to put the umbrella away. As I pushed through the crowd with my umbrella under my arm, the beleaguered commuters snarled. The sounds of horns honking behind me could be heard. Not one, not two, but many can be heard over and over in quick repetition. The people stuck in the traffic must be losing their minds in frustration! As I approached Magnolia Street, the rain suddenly began to pour. Continuing my way through the crowds I haphazardly attempt to open my umbrella. Clumsily, I dropped the umbrella and attempted to grab it in the air. My failure was a complete embarrassment as I fumbled about and kicked the umbrella farther from me. The rain drops felt heavy as they battered my clothes, soaking them to a near dripping state. Rushing to get cover, my feet pounded the puddles and concrete. I took refuge under a small cover near a jeweler’s store front. Car horns were continuing to blare one after the other, the frustration was growing and moving further up the line. I could barely see through the rain as I searched for the umbrella. I spotted it and began to frantically run toward it, hoping to pick it up and open it before I got too wet. As I neared the umbrella I tripped, falling to one knee and both hands. I begin inspecting my hand for some scraping. The car horns continued to get louder, angrier. More insistent, it seemed, for attention. I needed to hurry. What an awful day it has been however I mustn’t be late to this appointment! I grabbed the umbrella and began to stand up to shake off yet another embarrassing moment. I looked quickly around and saw an old man with a furry mustache chuckling at me, offering assistance. Flustered, I turned away. In a frantic moment I extended the umbrella, hearing the familiar ‘fwoop’ sound as it opened, and once again free of the falling rain. "I'm perfectly able to get through today with a smile on my face," I thought. The horns were now blaring in a deafening chorus! I turned to look into traffic. Suddenly I was thrown forward off of my feet with great force. As quickly as I had been thrust forward, I had just as quickly came to a complete stop. Everything had gone black. \*\*\* \*\*\* \*\*\* Pain began resonating in every inch of my skull. Then my shoulder. Then my ribs and my hip. My world was suddenly dark and agonizing. I could hear crying. Was it me? Was I crying? I was told that I had been unconscious for several minutes. When I finally came to, the sounds of screams and crying could be heard. The chorus of horns seemed to have stopped. It was raining. Splish. Splash. Pitter-Patter. Splish. Splash. Pitter-Patter. My eyes opened. The first thing I could see was my hand covered in blood. Washing away in the heavy rain, the blood disappeared down my hand. I tried to stand, and that was a mistake. I lost my balance, fell to my knees and instinctively both hands to catch myself. A sudden jolt surged up my arm and through my shoulder and into my neck. I was beside myself pain, falling again- face first into a puddle. The rear end of a box truck covered my view. I turned my head to see that I was lying next to a red car. Face dripping with street water. My arm shaking with adrenaline as I try to raise it. A warm hand grabbed onto mine firmly. “Stay still”, the voice said. "Help is on the way!” A dizzying sensation took ahold of me before blacking out again. \*\*\* \*\*\* \*\*\* When I awoke a second time, bright lights were shining into my eyes and several voices began to fade in. Still, I could not make sense of where I was or what was being said. I tried lifting my head enough to look down however I was strapped down so tight that I couldn’t move. A pair of shadowy figures loomed over me. Panic began to immediately set in. I screamed aloud and writhed to free myself. “Ma’am, you need to stay calm and be still. You were involved in an accident.” \*\*\* \*\*\* \*\*\* A nagging beeping sound and unintelligible radio chatter could be heard while lying there feeling confused. The doors clacked open and swung wide. They pulled me out of the vehicle and rushed me into the hospital. Continuing to fade in and out of reality, only the faint recollection of lights passing and muffled voices remained. A brief feeling of falling startled me back to life. The hospital staff had lifted me over and onto a different bed and began to work me over. Several minutes go by and the commotion seemed to settle. Phones rang at the nurse’s desk and an announcement came over the intercom. Suddenly the room began to grow loud again as more people are brought into the emergency room. I couldn’t make out what the staff was saying. They seemed to be in a panic. Doctors and nurses were flying around another bed still rushing into the room. To my other side, people could be heard with elevated voice levels. Trying to focus on that conversation, I could hear a woman shout, “Clear!” followed by a loud thumping noise. “Again!” the voice shouted, followed by another thumping noise. Suddenly, the voices seemed to calm, but remained in a steady discussion. I focused even more on their voices, hoping to hear what was going on. It was then that I was overcome with anger. “This was the driver of the delivery truck involved in the accident.” It was then that I was able to see enough to recognize the man. This was the livid man stuck in traffic, waving his arms about like an animal. “I heard from the EMT that he cut through traffic, drove down the wrong side of the road to turn down Magnolia Street and caused the accident. What an ass.” “I bet he never saw the heart attack coming.” My concentration broke as the incoming patient was carted next to my bed in the next stall. The curtain was drawn back and I could see hospital staff hovering over another patient, working to stabilize him. It was an older man, his face blackened with dirt, bruised and bleeding. He had a mustache; it had a salt and pepper color. Furiously the staff continued to work the man. It was then I realized that it was the man who laughed and grinned as I fell when reaching for my umbrella. “This man is in bad shape. He took most of the impact. The witnesses say he attempted to push the woman out of the way before being struck by the driver. We need to get him prepped for the O.R., I believe he has internal injuries.” His heart monitor began to loudly sing just a lonely, single note. The staff began to dance around one another in their attempt to save his life. The heart monitor continued to blare a dreadful and lonely, single note. The doctor can be heard screaming as he tried to resuscitate the man. *“Clear!”* The loud thumping noise breaking any chance of a silent moment. They began to begin chest compressions, manually pumping his heart, working to keep him alive another day. This continued for several minutes. The staff’s energy levels began to lose steam. “How could this happen?” I thought to myself. This man may have ended his life at an attempt to save mine. Yet I was so selfish, too focused on rushing along. A tear began to form in my eyes as I lay there, hearing a lonely, single note, continuing for what felt like a lifetime. It was his lifetime, I suppose, which I suddenly found myself emotionally fixated on. The end of his journey. Trying to keep me from harm. I began to quietly weep for him as I wondered if his family knew yet, or if he had someone to care for him at all. I knew nothing of him but his action that likely saved my life. Suddenly the lonely, single note ended; replaced by unsteady beeping.


Can we talk? Hey, thanks for stopping by. Didn’t want to say this in front of others. You know how people will take things the wrong way, right? And I do appreciate if you wouldn’t blab it about. No, it won’t take long, but have a seat, anyway. Coffee? No? Yeah, right. Get to it. Well, how do I start? Just jump in, right? No, no. You did nothing wrong. I have certain powers. No, hear me out. I didn’t believe it either. But I can’t ignore it any longer. At first, I thought it was just, you know, plain luck, coincidence, you know. I’d pray for a green light and got it. And when I’d pray for a red light, so I could look in the glove compartment - does anyone keep gloves in there - for a tissue, for instance, I got that too. And wishing someone would call me, or the dentist office would cancel my appointment. All that stuff happened. I have coupons for everything I buy. Crazy right? Really? You have coupons for every single item you buy? No, I don’t go coupon hunting, they just appear on my member card. That’s not coincidence anymore. I don’t know what to call it, but ... And then really strange stuff started to happen. The weather, for instance. I’d look out the window at the rain and say that I needed it to stop in 20 minutes because I planned to go to the store. Sure enough, it stopped on time and when I’d get home, I’d say, okay, you may resume if you wish, and it would. Sure, good timing, serendipity, I get it. And I laughed it off the first time. I was flabbergasted when it happened again. But by the third time, I was more than a bit spooked, I tell you. I think I diverted a tornado the other night. (sigh), I know, I know it’s crazy. But I did. Sent it to a rural area. It only took two cows and a barn, instead of a whole street. No, don’t be silly. I can’t stop hurricanes, or earthquakes. Yes, I’ve tried. Or floods. I mean, all that water has to go somewhere. No, I can’t stop lightning. Do you have any idea how many times lightning happens around the world each day? That would be more than a full-time job. (Deep breath) I can read people’s thoughts. I know what you are thinking. Hah, yes, I know, that’s easy. You think I’m crazy and need to be locked up. Pumped full of good solid, old-fashioned anti-psychotics. But I'm not making this up. You know me as being rational, right? You want that coffee now? Or maybe wine? I have whisky, yes? A double. Sure. No, I don’t go around listening in, but I hear stuff. Oh, it’s pretty mundane. Worries about money, the kids, will he call, will she say yes. Did they look like a fool when ... fil in the blank. Promotions, dates, sexual fantasies. That’s a biggie. Especially women. You’d be surprised how many women of all ages walk through Kroger fantasizing about sex. You know, no wonder they’re a little short with the kids, when they get interrupted. Men will lust after someone for a minute, but when the lust object is out of sight, those guys will latch on to the next one. In between they’ll think about a sport, any sport. And the crazy thing is, 99% of them will never act on their fantasies. The women will just read trashy novels and hope that hubby is quick about it, tonight, so they can go back to fantasizing. Crazy, right? Weight is another biggie and the oh so dreaded having to up a size. Not that most of them will stay out of the snacks aisle or use that gym membership they paid an arm and leg for. And here’s a newsflash, with the exception of the ‘fashion police’, most people do not pay the least attention to what other people are wearing. That’s why you can walk into Walmart in your pj’s, and nobody looks twice. But wrap a pink boa around those pj’s and you should hear the comments. It seems you can walk around in a leopard print hooded onesie and nobody blinks but add a zebra print purse and they’re ready to call the men in the white coats. You’ve watched cop shows, right? You know that eyewitnesses are unreliable. Because most of us go around life on auto pilot. We go to work, on the way home we swing by the store, grab something from the freezer for dinner, watch the same shows on tv every night. Rinse and repeat. It’s not until we run into a roadblock or detour or that pink boa that we sit up and look around. Actually, it’s one reason, I’ve been staying home more. It’s just too exhausting hearing everybody whining about how their feet hurt. I mean, really! Buy shoes that are comfortable. You want your calves to look good? Get on a bike. Sometimes I just want to remind people that once they’ve caught someone’s eye for real with those shapely gams, those shoes will come off and he’ll run for hills when he sees those bleeding, misshapen toes and bunions. I’m just saying. You want another drink, right? Sure, no problem. Here’s the bottle. Help yourself. The other day I was in Kroger. It was early, nine something. Mostly seniors. You know how grandmothers smile and say everything is fine. Well, underneath that smile, they constantly think about their aches and pains and the fact that their kids never come to visit, how everything is so expensive, and the doctor won’t let them eat this or that anymore. Well, I hadn’t slept well the night before and was a bit cranky. So, I ... I know, it wasn’t nice, but in my mind I just screamed: “SHUT UP ALREAY!” And they did. I know, right? So, I continued. “Thank you” I thought. “Tell your kids you miss them and that you are happy they have a life of their own. Then go meet your own friends. Suck up your aches and pains and be honest with your doctor.” I figured that was enough for one day. So, I cleared my thoughts and went to the check out. I was the only one moving in the store. I get my groceries delivered now. And I’ve turned off the tv. I knew what they were going to say, before they said it. If it was a life show, people would look a little surprised when they said what I thought they were going to say. So, did I put words in their mouths? I have no business being that powerful, do I? No, I can’t cure the sick. At least, I haven’t tried. And no, I haven’t played the lottery, that would be cheating. Yeah, I could go to Washington and sit in the visitor’s gallery. But just because I think something should happen doesn’t mean it’s the right course, you know. After all, I have been wrong on occasion. And there is such a thing as free will. No, don’t be silly. I can’t raise the dead, who do you think I am, God?


I’m not superstitious, but I’m smart enough to connect the dots and see a pattern. I don’t know if I’d call it magic, but there’s something in Auntie Au’s sleeping porch. A power for both good and evil. And I got a hold of it. The tricky part - how do you know if there is a good and evil? Although it’s not a trick question, I want to ask some bar fly who’s hoisting beers next to me: “do you know how hard it is to take money from a guy who is living in your old house with your old wife?” I can picture this guy I’m sitting next to giving me a long serious look on his face, like this, and shake his head. To lead him further down the path of sympathy, I’ll add this: “It’s like they dragged me out and threw me on the curb. Like a soiled mattress.” “That sucks.” He’ll say and continue shaking his head. Then I’ll burst out laughing. “It ain’t hard. In fact, it’s easy as hell. It might be hard for him to give me money, but I take it every time. If somebody gives you money, my advice is, take it.” I bring up this little vignette because I know what I’m gonna do. I’m super confident it’ll work. It’s the right thing to do, at least for someone standing in my shoes. I’m surprised though because I’m sitting in Aunt Au’s sleeping porch, with a queasiness around my stomach. I’m thinking of Robin, my ex-wife’s lover. Man, that’s a mouth full, telling you who Robin is. And a flash of worry waves over me - am I feeling sorry for Robin? If anything, I should feel sorry for a guy being called Robin. I don’t have anything against him, and don’t plan to do anything against him. Not yet. He wasn’t sleeping with Terri, my ex, when I was married. That’s another guy, who I do have a problem with. This Robin, he’s living in my old house, which isn’t good. Yeah, I should be able to pay my own way, and if this works, I will. Me needing a big break isn’t so much about me being bad, more about my bad luck. Let me explain how things will turn around real soon. For those who can’t imagine life before AC, a sleeping porch was like a three-season porch on the second floor. Except no steps down to the street. And it’s always in the rear of the house. When this one was built, it’s where you went when the nights were hot and stuffy, and you couldn’t sleep inside because the sheets clung to your sweaty body. It’s also a good place for when your spouse was getting on your nerves. You know, a place to cool down before things get crazy. I could’ve used one of those for both reasons when I was married. As a kid I slept up here with my sister. I remember the coolness of the night sneaking through the balusters below the handrail, a dog barking in the distance, as we slept in sleeping bags on the floor. Like lying in a lean-to, except we were ten feet off the ground. I didn’t notice anything special, no powers about the room, until I began staying in Aunt Au’s house this summer. She passed away in April, age ninety-three and still living at home. My sister said she couldn’t do the stairs anymore. She was found in the downstairs bedroom, although she never properly moved into it. As my Mom’s baby sister, Aunt Au was the last one left of my parent’s generation. As a spinster, she left her house to my Mom, or in this case, her sister’s descendants. Built in the 1880s, it was painted white with green trim and shutters, and had a scary cellar for a kid. Lots of spider webs and dark spaces around the rickety shelving, ladened with slimy things like dill pickles or jarred squash. Back then, the sleeping porch meant fresh air and daylight. Aunt Au kept her house in good nick and had an ancient gardener who kept it thick with perennials. The blue hydrangeas and pink rose of Sharon are still going strong. Today, the gardener is dead. The yard looks a bit shaggy. The best thing about the sleeping porch used to be you seeing the lake. See, if you looked between the back ends of the white clapboard houses of the Smiths and the Duncans, and across the street, you’d see that flat blue. When I was little, looking through the afternoon sun, the water shone as blue as those pictures of the Caribbean. The water doesn’t shine as bright these days, but it’s still my preferred way to relax, looking at the lake, drink in hand. I loved that room as a kid. Once Au saw how much Sis and me liked it up there, she bought two single beds, one on each of the side walls. I slept in the one on the left. Still do. I love waking up, looking at the powder blue ceilings. I’ve been told they painted their porch ceilings that color blue to keep the spirits away. It didn’t work in this room. The décor up here is cool too. Above my bed is a painting of a brown bear lumbering into the darkness on the edge of a woods. On the other wall is a red fox running out of a barn with something in its mouth. My guess it’s a chicken. Besides the paintings and the beds, Au had a card table and a vintage 70s office chair. The chair is a gem: avocado polyester cloth over the bottom and back cushions, and the damn thing doesn’t break - not like the office crap you buy today. It’s a piece of magic. I still roll around in the chair now, you know, get some momentum sliding towards the door when I have to leave. Puts a spring in my step. However, like the beds, I haven’t moved the desk. I’m not moving anything because I’m onto something. When I moved out of the rental and came here May 28, I dropped my laptop on the stairs, so I started using Aunt Au’s laptop. She left it right on the card table, plugged in for the battery, with a note stating all the important information, like passwords and wifi. Makes me think Au wanted me in her house. She never did like Terri. Plus, Au’s laptop has some cool family photos on it. With our blond hair, Sis and I were cute kids. Sadly, neither of us are blond anymore. After I got a new laptop, thanks Robin, I still use Au’s for journaling and emails. You can’t beat the view and the memories. The between girl, that’s what I call the woman I dated after my ex and what’s next. She recommended I journal. That made sense as I’m starting a new life, and need to leave somethings behind. By keeping a journal, I can see how I’m doing, moving between what I had and what I want. Being able to see the difference has given me a new perspective. I didn’t notice it at first, just doing emails or journaling, but reading over the passages, it’s pretty clear. For instance, I sent a note to my ex-wife, Terri. Our speaking terms were like the two sides in low intensity guerilla war - we don’t want to kill each other per se, just make the other so miserable that they move out. At least for me. Terri is staying where I used to live, and I can’t afford the mortgage, but her beau can. I think they’re paying me in checks, so they can prove what they’ve giving me. I have this sneaky suspicion in two years, when they come down hard to get me to sign over the house, they can say to the court: we’ve paid him the value of the mortgage while paying off the mortgage ourselves . Those two say I’m avoiding divorce because I don’t want to give up the house. Maybe they’re right. I’m not making much right now, working for a landscaping company. I don’t mind it now, as I get to be outside while the grass is green, and collect unemployment after the first flurries fly. Things will get better for me. Real soon. Anyway, our youngest child, Beth, a marketer by training, interviewed for a job way above her experience level. While keeping cool in the sleeping porch, I emailed Terri on Au’s laptop, writing, I hope against hope Beth gets the job. But I’m not getting my hopes up. She’s consistently underemployed. Terri responded, I wonder where she gets that from . The bitch is talking about me, and my employment history. Anyway, two days later Beth is offered the job, with higher salary, good bennies. We’re all happy. I couldn’t help sending to Terri, I guess Beth does take after me. Maybe you should keep your mouth shut. I know, a tad aggressive, but I’m annoyed at her constant ragging while she’s living with a bald guy named Robin, who is an accountant. I mean, come on, what’s exciting about the guy. Another piece to the puzzle has been Frank, a dead-beat slob, who somehow moved into the house next to Au. I don’t know how he got inside unless he has relatives paying his way. His lawn hasn’t been mowed in a month. I’ve never seen a lawnmower on his property. And there’s old plastic lawn chairs and folding tables and boxes stacked up on the porch like he’s a caterer who went out of business. Like I said, I’m not superstitious, but I liked hope against hope, and I like this spot on the porch, and the laptop, so I emailed my sister, I hope against hope that Bill, who cuts Au’s lawn, will cut Frank’s lawn. Truth be told, Frank has been a bit of thorn in my side for a while. See, he parks his car in front of my place, or Au’s house, and he’s wearing away the grass between the road and the slate side walk. Oh, another thing about Frank. Being a bit older than me, he likes walking around the block, which is cool, but he takes a walking stick with him. Yeah, no big whoop, except the ground end of the stick has a two-inch metal prong, looks like a big nail poking out. Odd, right? Like, what’s he gonna do, stab rattlers? They don’t even live in these parts? Plus, the damn stick makes this kind of cement-scratching, clopping sound. Anyway, I heard the scuff thump as Frank galumphs down the sidewalk, so I run out. “Hey Frank.” He turns around with little steps, like he can’t turn his neck, and looks at me. “What with this?” I wave at his car and the lawn. “What do you mean,” he says in his dumb voice. “I mean, you’re ruining the grass in front of my place. Park it in front of your place.” It took him a minute to respond, and finally he squeezes out, “It’s a free country, and it’s free parking street.” Then he walked away from me and went inside his house. When he did, I wanted to do a backwards horse kick with my steel re-enforced work boots into his silly Dodge Charger. I mean, what kind of 70-year-old drives an old orange charger? I kept my cool, and went to my journal. I felt something special about the journal or the sleeping porch, but I still didn’t want to believe. I had to test it, so I journaled, I hope against hope Frank wraps the stupid Dodge Charger around a telephone pole after a night out. I’m pretty sure Frank is a boozer. He looks the part with flabby, sallow skin and his eyes don’t focus well. It’d be a just ending. I forgot to mention, last week, I almost twisted my ankle when I walked by Frank’s place. He had pulled out a piece of broken slate from the sidewalk. After I stumbled but didn’t fall, I looked around for Frank. Instead of him, I saw the rock triangle leaning against the third and fourth step to Frank’s front door. He painted a pink peace sign on it. When I made it up to my sleeping porch, I wrote in my personal pages, I’m hoping against hope that someone Frank knows breaks their ankle in the sinkhole. Here’s the topper: Later the same day, I hear a baby bawling and someone moaning. When I went outside, I see a young woman, sprawled in Frank’s driveway, next to a stroller. Bill, the good neighbor is helping her. I decided to keep my distance, so I went back inside, closing the door gently. Anyway, I’ve had it with Frank. It’s when I started to see the pattern. Sure, I’m sad someone innocent got hurt, but I’m glad it happened. I hope she sues the shit of out Frank. Yesterday, late morning, I hear the hum of Bill’s electric lawn-mower across the street. Sure enough, I look out, and Bill’s using it to hack some paths through Frank’s weed jungle. Meanwhile, while I’m drinking my coffee at the card table, I get a text from Robin, you know, my wife’s boy toy, and he writes: Terri had a weird mishap, out on a sailboat this morning, on a team building exercise. A freak wind swung the boom around and smacked Terri in the jaw. She’s out of surgery and has her mouth wired shut. I thought you’d want to know, please offer thoughts and prayers. In the privacy of the sleeping porch, looking over the freshly cut grass along our side of the street, then to the lake where Terri must have been sailing. I’m thinking whose thoughts and prayers are you talking about. I have to admit I smiled, then giggled, before saying to air around me in a perky voice, “thank you.” Switching to emails, I went to Sent to read the end of my last text to Terri. Maybe you should shut your mouth. I mean, I had the right to say it: “or somebody will shut it for you.” At Au’s laptop, I close it with a slow follow through, like I just finished writing a novel. The peace is ruined when I hear a scraping sound, and Frank must be out again. I remember what I wrote to my sister about his car. It hasn’t worked - at least not yet. An accident would be the fourth tire to go flat. However, I see Bill with one of those stupid lawn implements that supposedly cuts the sod, which grows over your sidewalk. Like they never work. Anyway, Bill’s nice to me, mows my lawn, so I walk out to see what he knows. Bill shakes his head when he sees me. “Frank had a bad accident last night. Wrapped it around a pole. He’s in intensive care. He has some internal injuries and a wicked concussion, but they expect him to pull through. That’s why I’m fixing his lawn.” Bill must have seen my face because he said to me. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know you knew him. It’s a shame when anybody gets severely injured.” I pursed my lips to crush the smile, keeping my mouths firmly closed. I didn’t want to speak as a smile might sneak out. I shook my head. “I’ll call if I hear anything,” Bill said as I climbed my steps. The accident happened, kind of like I specified, but not enough. I have to be more precise when I write what will happen to Terri once she’s out of the hospital. Or maybe while she’s there. The car accident worked well, however, I have to be more specific. Take your time, I tell myself. I’ll type it out in my journal on Au’s laptop in the sleeping room. I’m using hoping against hope. Maybe throw in a fatal brain aneurysm. I mean, why mess with what’s working? Afterall, maybe it’s Au’s laptop. Or the hope against hope. Or a combination. Not that I hate her - she’s the mother of my two daughters. I do, a little, but I want my house back. No, not because I want to live there. I’m not leaving Au’s place - I’ll even pay my sister rent. I want to sell the house I used to live in. I need the money. And I’d love to see Robin moving his shit out - by himself. Where is this sense of vengeance coming from? I know it’s a human emotion, but I’ve got it in spades. And I like it. Sure, maybe it’s the power talking, giving some cover so the pettiness to slip out. I sit down at Au’s laptop. Like a I’m writing an acceptance speech, I rub my hands together, then blow on my fingers for good luck. If I get this one, there’s no such thing as good or evil.


Wielding their torches, men traverse the galaxy shining light into the darkness, searching for a new hope for their people. For a century men searched, and a century later, humanity found the hope they were looking for. They found a new world, a habitat suitable for their own. So they returned to Earth with the news; another world for the taking. More fruit, ripe for picking. Their people throw themselves to the scientists and engineers of their generation. The scientists and engineers build a vessel, to carry humans beyond the home they once knew, and into a land no Earthling had ever laid eyes upon. A select few board the craft and begin their voyage. Their departure is played up to ridiculous extremes. These men and women become gods in the eyes of men. However, upon arrival to the new world, they encounter an issue. Their newly claimed world has, in fact, already been claimed by a people unknown to humanity. This should have been a riveting discovery, a discovery that would change how humans view the universe. However, the hero men and women purposely provoke the naturally peaceful and curious indigenous beings, and the beings instinctively retaliate. A report is sent back to their Earth-dwelling superiors: it is now known that the land they once thought was theirs for the taking is populated by savage, hostile beasts. The beasts attacked the brave men and women of Earth on sight, and proper measures were taken to rectify the situation. Rage spreads like plague on Earth. How dare these beasts endanger our heroes, our saviors, our gods? The people once again throw themselves, but this time to the governments, and militaries of their generation. The answer is simple. War. So the humans construct an armada of vessels to carry Earth’s finest to reclaim their rightfully conquered land out in the cosmos. For a decade, war rages on the new planet. Twice a year every year, the humans send troops to bolster the war effort. World superpowers pour cash into the war like a waterfall into a bottomless lake. The people of earth begin to face the consequences of their newly allocated funds; times are hard. Every family must ration each consumable item once held dear to their hearts. But not a single person complains, because surely their suffering directly affects the cause. They teach their children about the savages fighting our soldiers. Lesser beings, devoid of morals empathy, and love. They teach their children to hate, and to fear the savages. One boy in particular is so invigorated, that he makes it a goal of his to ship off join the fight as soon as he can Three years later, at the ripe age of sixteen, the boy boards a vessel along with fifty thousand other soldiers and begins his trek to the battlefield. When the boy arrives, he takes a look around and immediately realizes that things are not as advertised. There is no war. There are no savage beasts, and there is no raging battle they are waging. There is, however, an extermination of massive proportions underway. The boy quickly realizes the native beings are not a fighting people. Bullets fly in one direction only, and that is away from the humans. The boy is appalled by his revelations, and is quick to share them. So he tells his peers that the war they fight is no war at all, that they are not soldiers. They are pest control. The native lifeforms do not attempt to fight back in the slightest, and yet they carry on with their relentless slaughter. The boy’s peers listen. They listen, and absorb every word the boy says. The boy is then mocked. He is ridiculed, and he is framed as a sympathizer. He seeks out a higher power, just to be shot back to the ground. He doesn’t give up his fight, and is disliked more and more amongst his peers. One day, during an explosives test, the boy was tasked with placing the charges. Before he had a chance to get far enough away, the soldier in charge of the test hit the detonator prematurely. It was an accident, the squad says. Innocence and conscience were incinerated, and morality was lost. And somehow, when the war was over, humanity further spun their web. In another hundred years, they moved on.


Dear Claire. You will never read this. I know that, because you died today. In a car accident on the interstate. Some drunken idiot rammed you into the railing, where you and your father died on impact. I regret that I didn’t say these things to you earlier. If I did, maybe you would be here today, and not in some other place. You know that I don’t believe in heaven, but I’d like to picture you there. With the saints and with your sister. The two of you never got to know each other, but I hope you do now. I should have said this earlier. I love you, Claire. I won’t say that I’ve loved you since the day we met, because that would be a lie. I took me almost two years to see the shining light that is you. Do you remember the party we had this summer? When we drank cider with our friends and stole dad’s scotch when they had left? How we laughed at Pam and Jims wedding? That was the second I knew I loved you. On that couch, seeing Pam and Jim getting married. But I was always a coward. So I waited and waited, tried to get closer to you. And we got closer. You said that I was your only real friend. You know that you are among my closest friend, possibly the closest. Do you remember that time we went water skiing? How I could not for the life of me get up, yet you managed it on the first try. Or maybe the movie we saw, when we weren’t alone. I still felt like we were alone. Like no one else in the universe mattered, in that moment. And what about the first snow of the season? How we were standing outside with our eyes glued to the sky. How I grabbed your hand and you grabbed mine back. I should have said something then. The night when you wanted to talk will always haunt me. How you crept into my bed, way past midnight. How we talked about philosophy and math, movies and books, the future and the past. How we eventually got too tired to talk and just laid there, holding each other. I felt at peace then. The only time in my life that I’ve really felt at peace. If you were here, you would understand. You know how fucked up my life has been. You were the one thing I saw as a way to leave my past life behind. But now you’re gone. Dead, soon to be buried. I’ve bought a suit. Not rented or borrowed, I bought one. It was the suit I was gonna wear to prom. Remember, how you helped me pick it out. It was gonna be a surprise that I bought it. I looked forward to it. The suit that you helped pick out for one of the most festive days of my life will be used for the saddest. Maybe saying something to you would not have changed things. You could have rejected me, ending our friendship. Had that happened, you would be attending my funeral instead of me yours. But maybe you would have felt the same. And then you could have been here with me instead of in that car with your dad. I don’t know. Nothing could have been different, or everything could have. I don’t know. I never will. I love you, Claire. I haven’t always loved you, but I probably always will. A small part of you will live on inside me, just as I would have lived on in you. I love you. I’ll see you soon.