Context: This my character backstory for an RPG called Star without Number. I really got into her tragic story and wanted to share it for others to read. MES gifted are psychics and Tera is specifically gifted with precognition. There are others with different abilities. “One, two, three…” Three pieces slices of bread and a cup of water. Tera tore pieces of the food on her plate and popped them in her mouth at the small dining table, with her little brother, Isaiah. At the other side of the table, smiling, was Uncle Rob and his son Zachary. Zachary wasn’t really a fan of Uncle Rob taking Tera and Isaiah in, for one reason or another. Maybe he wanted to be the only mouth to feed in this small hovel. They were all MES gifted on an anti-MES planet, D'nobi. That’s the whole reason how Tera ended up here in the first place. “Someone’s at the door!” Tera would call down the stairs, “It’s Uncle Rob!” Isaiah would call out right after into the quiet house. A few minutes later, door knocks rung about the house. Tera had guessed her parents were afraid of them for one reason or another, and threw them out of the house to fend for themselves. She was 10. Isaiah was 6. Uncle Rob protested, but now here they are. She supposed mom was afraid the authorities would trace the strain back to her, but that’s her best guess. Isaiah would ask Uncle Rob once in awhile, but he would give the same uncle answer anyone would expect. “They’re just traveling right now.” Right. Traveling. Uncle Rob knew he couldn’t fool Tera, but could never give her a true answer. They just didn’t want them, simple as that. While the rest of the world asked them to suppress or die with their abilities, Uncle Rob felt it would be best they knew what they had and honed it. He taught them as much as he knew, constantly telling them that they would achieve greatness. “I can see it now” he reassured them for 5 years. Once they had enough money and were able to get off this god forsaken planet, they could start a new life where “MESses” were accepted. But he couldn’t see it. He couldn’t see what was coming. While Uncle Rob was out, the police kicked down the door and rushed to find the “dirty MESses” in the house. Tera and Isaiah could only hear what was happening, and couldn’t figure out how or why. As the authorities grabbed and dragged them out of their home, Tera saw. Zachary stood at the dining room window, waving them goodbye. She thought hard about returning the favor, but didn’t want to endanger Uncle Rob’s life either. It wouldn’t be fair to him after all he had done for them. Even though they could see what was ahead of them, there was nothing to be done. They were taken to some kind of facility. Metal walls, metal floors. Eerie silence except for their echoing footsteps. This was it for them. Isaiah cried as Tera held him, not only for his comfort but her own. Two men in white scrubs came through the door. They took Isaiah first, dragged him out screaming and kicking. She fought for him, but was swiftly kicked over by who she assumed was the Chief of the guard. She watched her brother get dragged out the door as he lifted her from the floor and up against the wall. “Maybe we’ll go easy on him if you give me something in return, girly.” She felt a hand run up her thigh. Her first instinct was to slap him across the face… Maybe that was a mistake. He just smiled after being slapped, and began walking out of the room. “NO WAIT!” Tera called out, realizing the decision may spell more trouble for her brother. But her call was ignored. The cell door shut, and then silence. In her solitude, all she could do was cry. Her precognitive abilities could only show her who would be coming through, and nothing else. It was nearly an hour, and the Oracle showed her the door opening and her brother pushed through. Were her abilities playing tricks on her? Moments later, her brother had been on the floor of the cell. Breathing heavy, and fatigued, but alive. Her tears of sadness turned into tears of joy as she picked him up from the floor and put him on their cell bed to rest. Why was he brought back? It didn’t matter now, what mattered was he was alive. The next day, the same men along with the Chief came into the room and took Tera. She soon learned his name was Adam Porter. Isaiah was too weak to stand and fight, but she went with them quietly. Walking through the same halls, deeper and deeper in. Chief Porter, smirking along the way, occasionally whispering into her ear. “Not so fussy today, huh? But I like ‘em feisty.” She found herself strapped to a metal table that was stood up in the room, lit with a white light. Everything was covered in a pale green as she looked ahead at a mirror. “Hello Tera. I’m Dr. Kerrigan Edwards.” A female voice came over some speakers above. “Dr. Edwards? What’s going on here? Please, just let us go!” “That’s not what we do here, Tera. Don’t you want D'nobi to flourish? It will all be thanks to you and your kind…” The quiet lingered as sensors were placed on her head and a distant scream rang in the distance somewhere else in the facility. “Wha… What’s happening?” “Just think, Tera. What’s going to happening in the next…” A short pause, “minute.” Tera focused and the Oracle the same room, except the mirror was now a screen with different patterns. “Square, butterfly, triangle, circle, circle, three, house, cat.” Tera uttered before the mirror flashed white, and showed her exactly what she just saw. “I don’t understand, why am I doing this? Why did we have to be captured for this?” “You will both be responsible for the most advanced technology known to this galaxy. To achieve this, we need the best minds.” Tera thought for a moment about what she had said, still confused. Why capture the MESses then? “Once more, Tera.” Tera took a deep breath, and again, patterns flashed before her through the Oracle. “Dog, umbrella, square, one, three, house, mountain.” Silence… “Good, good. Once more, Tera.” The woman’s voice was almost maternal if not for the situation. “I can’t…” Her head was already spinning. “Not today. I need to rest.” “Once more, Tera.” She was confused now, but tried to no avail. “I can’t, Dr. Edwards. I-” Her sentence was cut off by a sharp pain rushing through her head, and her back arched on the metal table, as visions came through again. Her temples burned as she took labored breaths. “Up, down, two, one, left, house, dog, flower.” “Brain activity emulation successful. She’ll work.” The rest of the conversation was just murmurs. “Again.” “Wait, n-” Her vision began going dark again as he grit her teeth through the pain, and in moments she was back in the pale room. “Dog… Mouse… One...” Tera took a deep breath. “Two... Three… Triangle… Up…” This went on for what felt like hours to Tera, until she could no longer speak, or raise her head to see the board flashing in front of her. Then they took her back to her room with her brother, still resting. Isaiah slowly looked over in her direction as she took deep breaths from the floor. Both siblings stayed silent in fatigued understanding. The next few months were more of the same. They would be taken on different days, and Chief Porter would take a little bit of time talking Tera up, occasionally copping a feel. Once, he was caught by one of the female researchers. “Chief Porter! She is not a play-thing for your pleasure. Do it again, and I’ll make sure they put you in the streets!” “Uh, yes.. Yes, apologies Dr. Edwards…” He never got too close after that day, but he still enjoyed sneering and taunting from a distance before leaving. They always had days to rest after the torturous sessions, but Isaiah seemed to be getting weaker and weaker as time went by. All Tera could do was watch her little brother waste away. All she could do was hold him and talk to him, tell him about the good times. “Remember what Uncle Rob would say? ‘I can see it now! You are made for greatness!” A smile traced across their face. “What a cheesy goober.” “Yeah, but he was our goober…” Isaiah weakly sighed out. “I wonder what he and Zachary are up to… Zach didn’t like us very much did he?” “Nooo… No no, I’m sure he was just always having a bad day.” Family was about all they had and Tera didn’t want him thinking family was what put him here. They had already been burned once by their parents. During one of Isaiah’s sessions, Chief Porter stepped into the room without Isaiah. Confused, Tera backed up to the room’s walls. “Your brother wants to see you.” Tera arched an eyebrow, and slowly made her way to the door. The Chief walked side-by-side with her down the same halls they always walk, toward the same room they always did. But they turned a hallway early. He entered some numbers into a datapad on the door and unlocked it. With caution, she followed him in. In the dark room, stood three researchers and a couple of armed security. Through the window she saw Isaiah. “One… Mouse…” He coughed. He looked pale. There was drool dribbling down the side of his mouth. “Eleventysix… Fish…” “He’s had enough, doctor!” Tera protested. “He’s just gotten here, Tera. Maybe hearing you cheering him on will put him back in order. Come.” The doctor stood to the side and let her walk up to the commspad. “Isaiah?... You…” Tears welled up in Tera’s eyes, as her lips quivered. “Hang in there, buddy…” One. Isaiah screamed into the pale room as the veins on his forehead pulsated. “House… Fish, mouse, tree, circle, triangle.” “Good, Isaiah. Again.” Dr. Edwards promptly commanded. Two. Isaiah screamed again, back arching towards the window. “Square, up… Down… D-” “Good. You’re doing well, nothing is going to happen to your sister. Again, Isaiah.” Three. Isaiah screams into the air again as tears poured from Tera’s eyes. Chief Porter pulled her back, away from the comms pad. “Please doctor. He’s had enough, he can barely speak!” “Triangle… D-Dow-… T-Tera?... Tera… Te…..ra” Isaiah’s words slowly weakened as he called out her name. Body going limp, and eyes closed. “ISAIAH!” Tera rushed to the commspad screaming his name. The researchers casually made way for her. “ISAIAH WAKE UP! WAKE UP! REMEMBER WHAT UNCLE ROB SAID!? ISAIAH!” Moments pass, Tera screaming the whole way. “Subject unresponsive. Come take him out.” Dr. Edwards reported on her personal comms unit. Two men in white walk into the room and unlatch Isaiah from the table, taking him away. “We’re only interested in the best minds, Tera. Your brother’s was weak.” Tera’s eyebrows furrowed in anger hearing this words, glaring through stinging wet eyes. “Some people just aren’t meant for greatness. Now go rest.” Tera charged forward but was caught in by security. They dragged her back to the room kicking and screaming. They left her alone for the next two weeks. In the literal sense. There was nobody around for her to speak to anymore, nobody to make her feel like this was all just some crazy dream. But eventually, they came back. Why wouldn’t they? They took her back to the same pale room, with bright lights. “Go ahead, Tera.” The same voice called over the intercoms. A few moments of silence go by. “Tera, you know we can just force it out of you.” A few more moments. “Have it your way.” A surge of electricity and pain drive into her head again as visions flash before her eyes. The screen ahead of her was cracked. She dropped to the ground. The door was knocked open as a commotion was happening outside. Tera looked up at the mirror at herself, not realizing a small smirk had run across her face. “Eat. Shit.” A seemingly unending scream roared throughout the facility in the distance, followed by a loud sonic boom. The mirror ahead of her cracked. The metal table she was strapped to bent forward, loosening her ties. She pulled as hard as she could until all the blood ran into her hands, eventually slipping them off. “Force construct loose in the facility, shut it down. Secure the subjects.” Tera heard through the intercom as she undid the ties to her legs. She turned to the door, and saw two men in white opening the door, just to be knocked across the hall as a creature of pure force stomped through the building. She didn’t know what it was or who it was that created it, but she would have to find them later to thank them. She made a run out the door, and down the hallways she had become familiar with. Bodies lie unconscious, strewn across various halls and rooms. Down one hall, she came across the unconscious form of Chief Porter. Wanting badly to kill him as he lie, she rushed to him. The stomping of foot soldiers down the nearby halls made her think twice. One swift stomp to his groin was all she could manage, and she was off again. The Oracle told her the way, down wrecked halls and forced open bent doors, avoiding halls and rooms with guards, and straight into a cargo truck. She kept hidden behind the numerous boxes of supplies she didn’t recognize, and held her breath in anticipation of being caught. But nobody came into the back. The truck just started, and left the dock to wherever. To freedom. The truck eventually stopped somewhere, Tera assumed for fuel. As soon as she felt it was safe, she unlatched the back door of the truck, and made a run for it into an unfamiliar city. Seemingly a port for shuttles stopping for fuel and Tera’s first introduction to a race that wasn’t human. She pleaded with the aliens to allow her to come aboard their ship in exchange for work, with them eventually agreeing. Maybe it wasn’t a smart decision to go with a foreign race she knew nothing about, but anything beat staying on this godforsaken planet. She eventually learned they were Uhlangans. “What are you all doing out here?...” Tera questioned. Their unfamiliar yet soft expression comforted her for one reason or another. “Searching for something new. For greatness.” They replied. Tera spent the next few years doing this with several different groups. Eventually learning not only to do menial labor, but to also fight, find, and hunt down people with bounties on their heads, earning herself enough money to upgrade her equipment. She learned the best ways to travel from city to city and who to ask when there wasn’t a legitimate path, always working along the way. She picked up the basics of most languages from planet to planet and did her best to remember their customs. Nearly 10 years of traveling around the galaxy, learning new information and skills. She wasn’t ready before, but maybe now she was. Not once did she forget their faces. Not once did she forget their names as she would lie her head down at night… and count. “One, Dr. Kerrigan Edwards... Two, Chief Adam Porter… Three, Zachary. The. Fucking. Weasel.


I’m sorry Mr. Allen. You missed it. It’s too late. The words struck me deep in the throat. This was supposed to be my future. This was supposed to make everything better. Are you sure there’s nothing I can do? I knew begging would only hurt my chances, but I was desperate for this. No, as I said, it’s too late. You can go home now. I wanted to strangle the lady. I knew she had nothing to do with it and was just the messenger, but I wanted to strangle her nonetheless. I wanted to strangle my cab driver who wouldn’t drive over 30 even though I told him I’d tip him double if he ran the speed limit. I gave him one star as some sort of payback. I wanted to strangle the man at the front desk of the hotel who gave me problems with my credit card for thirty minutes. I almost screamed at him when after so long of arguing, his manager showed him that I was right. More than anything, I wanted to strangle myself. Somewhere in my head I knew it wasn’t the man at the front desk’s fault that I missed this, nor was the uber drivers, and it was especially not the lady telling me I was too late’s fault. I’m to blame as always. I walked out of the building. I lit up a cigarette and took a long inhale. More than anything, the cigarettes were a stress reliever thing. I find myself smoking cigarettes on the sidewalk more often nowadays. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. God New York smells awful. When I breathed out through my mouth, just like my therapist taught me, a cloud of smoke emerged. During the winter when I was younger, I’d pretend like I was smoking whenever the air was cold enough to turn to breathe vapor. I took another hit of the cigarette and flicked it to the street. I’m sure no one will notice it. Ok. Now what? I’ve spent so much time preparing for today, I never thought about what I would do if it didn’t work out—so many nights of preparing jokes and speeches, all for naught. Looking around the streets of Manhattan, I noticed that it was snowing, very lightly. I used to love the snow. When I was with Harlene, it meant fireplace, hot chocolate, and snuggling under a warm blanket. Now, it meant terrible great memories. Does anything mean anything, I thought for the hundredth time as I aimlessly strolled the streets. I always place meaning in the stupidest things. But sometimes I’m right, I countered to myself. Remember Jared? Harlene said that he was just a friend from work, but you knew there was something else there. But that’s why we broke up, wasn’t it? Harlene’s voice asked in my head. You were so paranoid, so fixed on making sure we stayed together, that you neglected our own happiness. Jesus Christ, I’m going crazy. I squeezed my eyes shut and kicked Harlene out. For now. She always found a way back in. I stopped outside a coffee shop. Fuck it, I told myself and walked in. I ordered a hot latte and sat down at one of the tables. I used to come to coffee shops just like this one with my notes to write my script. I spent so long on that goddamn script. That’s what made missing this meeting hurt so much. I was writing for my one golden opportunity. This was my one chance. “Woody? I have a latte for Woody?” I got my coffee, tipped the barista, and walked out into the streets of New York. I was still young, but I fucked up. I guess success isn’t meant for everyone. There’s always the factory job.


  I used to be a book worm who like read many books and make a summary of that books but one book has changed my life, i like to share that incident with you.    It was a Sunday morning I have to complete my project. So, for that me and my friend Adam both are going to the nearby library. There are so many libraries in our town. Some of these are hundreds and thousands of years old. And this gives me a goose bumps. So, I mostly spend my time in the libraries.   That time my project topic is ''magical book" for this. me and my friend have to find the magic based old and ancient books.

  So, I had done my breakfast and taken the way to the library in the way I took Adam with me and he also lives in my neighbourhood and we both were close friends.   As we met he asked me" hi Kevin what's up bro. What are we goanna do today?". Then I replied "bro I have got a new project in which I have to make an article on the magical stuff or on magical books. Mostly on books. So, today we are both going to search for those magical books for a whole day until I find the right book or enough information.

   So this is our plan for today, are you ready? By making an excited face he said" yes sure let's start from the newest library. I always wanted to see that how is the interior design of that library. This is the newest library this means that it will have the fastest way or trick to find the book this will makes it easy to find our desired book. Both friends nodded yes and begin to walk.    So, "Adam where is this newest library of which you are talking about?" I asked. "It was in the woods near the exit of our town". He replied.

  The location of this library is little strange. Because mostly libraries are not built in this kind of place where it's hard to reach.   On the way we were near to the railway line. We have to cross this railway line to reach the exit. And there we met Bell.

   Bell is our one more close friend. She is an introvert girl, she talks very less. Now she is coming from her tuition.    By seeing her I asked "how are you bell?” she replied " I am fine, what’s up guys?, where are you both going?, both of you were not usually come here" I said "yes we are actually going into the woods. Adam is heard about a new library. Which is recently made. So, we are going to visit that library."

  "Yes Kevin had an interesting project to work upon" Adam said. "Would you like to join us?". I asked Kevin. Bell replied "yes why not I love to. Let's get on the way."

  Now three of us are on the way to that library. On the way Bell asked me about my project. I like to talk with her, I replied to her " it's a work of writing an article on magical books." I thought that she would think that I am a boring guy and think and work on silly things like magical stuff and books. But then she replied "kind of interesting". Hearing this I got the feel like she is really interested in these things. I liked it,

  Now we are on the exit of our town. In front of us there is a small library and behind it there is a vast and dark woods. Me and Bell are a little scared to enter it. But not Adam, he is so excited. Now we entered that library, this library is very strange. From outside it is not bigger than a bookstore. But from inside it is as big as a mountain of books.   As we entered, we were welcomed by a librarian who was dressed up in the style of an ancient prince. Big leather coat, tight pants, heeled shoes. He said" come here and put your entries here only then you can enter." I said "okay" then I made my entry in the register. I saw that there was no other entry like we are the first to enter in this library.

  This library is so big. I thought that it's good to ask the librarian about the book which I need. Then I asked him " hello sir I need to that where do you arranged the books which are based on magic?"

He answered " ya sure I like to help, let me check." He just looked over the mountain of books and said " there it is you have to pass the thirteenth shelf, then take right and you will get there what you wanted."   We said thanks to him and continued on the way to the shelf. As we reached to the shelf I said " Adam and Bell to find the oldest magical book okay" both nodded their heads in yes and started to put out every book they get. I started to make points from the books which I got.  On the other side Adam started to play with books. Bell told him to keep the books on their places, but he is not listening to her. Here the librarian is coming to see that what's happening.

  Here Bell is placing books on the shelf and I am also helping her. Because my notes are complete. I also made the Adam to help me and Bell to put the books. We are arranging the books on the 4th shelf. Then as the librarian saw me then in the sudden a book from the 6th shelf fallen on my face and I stumbled on the floor.

  In the bold voice librarian said "do you want any book to borrow from here".

  Then I replied " yes I would like to borrow this book, which is fallen on me." Then we left that place and I came to me my home. I kept my bag on the desk. I am too tired, I just lying on the bed. Then I noticed that I borrowed a book and I haven't checked it. I took my bag and seen that book.

 The book, is very strange, it is not having any kind of name on it, and the front cover is having an eye photo on it which is very real. It's only having a blank pages nothing is written on it. The most weird thing is that on the back cover their is a hole in it.

 I looked through that back cover and I seen nothing, but then on the first page something starts to write on it by itself. I got scared with this So, I just left the book and continued to my regular routine. In the night I kept that book on the desk and slept.   On the next day,    On Monday I went to college. In the lunch time I noticed that I accidentally brought that weird book with me in college. And Adam also noticed this thing, he took that book and started to take a look in it.

  There is only first page, which is written and other than that there is nothing written in it. But, then he used the back cover of the book to see through it, and looked through it and his face was like he had seen a ghost, through it he was scared. Then I calmed him and asked him what happened bro are you okay, he replied "bro I have seen a ghost behind you, and also seen that something terrible is going to happen with you."

  Then I said "see bro I am okay don't worry nothing is going to happen to me, so calm down and my book back." After taking book from him I opened the book and took a look on Adam through it, I still don't believe on, what I have seen,

There was literally a big shadow like figure standing behind of it, on the next blink I seen that Adam is seriously injured. But as I just closed the book then everything thing is normal.

  I was scared that if I have seen these terrible thing, then I was able to imagine that what kind of fear does Adam has experienced. That time I am in the shocked state. Now from today I am going to follow the Adam and always try to protect him it is my final decision. Because, he is the only one who understands me like a brother. And I am never goanna leave him in any condition. But still I was unable to protect him, an terrible accident is happed with Adam. I don't know how is this happened, I am feeling like it's all my fault, because this accident is happened in seconds.

Accident,

  Me and Adam were walking on the foot path, I was constantly keeping an eye on Adam, on the crossing I heard like someone is called me from behind, but when I turned back i seen that there is none on behind of me. On the other side a terrible thing is happened, a disaster for me, Adam is got hitted by a car. But, I have seen no car coming towards us. Holding tears in my eyes and with stoned heart, I called the ambulance, and took him to the hospital. Their I also informed his parents about this incident. They came and seen Adam in hospital ward. Doctors are telling that his condition is very critical, their are many fractures in his body, it will take few month to recover. Listening this words of doctor me and Adam's parents were in too much pain.    So, to give moral support to Adam's parents I decided, stayed their in hospital with Adam's family till night. I am sitting on the chair outside the ward. I was now trapped in the memories of Adam. He is a kind of childish person. He likes to make joke, and make everyone happy. Adam is my best friend we were childhood friends. We always play together and stay together in every occasions. Coming out of the memories Its getting late it's almost 12:30 Am. I don't know when I was slept. In the dream ,

  I am holding that Eye book, I open it and then readied the first page. And now this shadow figure is standing behind and takes me in the dark. This made me wake with a scream.   Then I think that I must read that book and complete it. I took that book and seen where is that shadow. It was just sitting on my left side. Then I started to read that book with heavy heart.    On the first page the intro was written and that is this,

   " We have to fight with our fear, this will make you tough against your fear.    we were not able to change our past, but we can make our future better.    We must leave our bad past and just move on to make a better future ." On the second page,    Adam is going to die on tomorrow's sunset. And there no any to save him. There is also not much time left for you too, because you also seen through this book. This book shows the death of your loved ones.

  After reading all this, it feel like I am also dead, in mind only one thing is banging on my brain. That is what should I do to protect my friend's life. Then in the first thought I got the point, that what if I burn this book then, it will help or not?

  Help or not, help or not, this thing made me made, then I made my mind to just burn it, or otherwise it will take my friends life. Then I just left the hospital and went near to the dust took some paper and then borrowed a lighter burned the book. Then I seen the true self of book a spirit came out of fire to me, and said "thank you Kevin I was cursed to stay in this book and to see, how the people get sad, get scared, get helpless against their emotions.   All this because of my greed and my habit to hold the past, then I did the worst thing and that is I done a deal with a wizard. To change my past and correct all the mistake and turn my pain in happiness.

  In the previous days I was a king and wanted to become immortal, For this I called my wizard, and told him to find told him to find a way to become immortal, then he said to me that it was it was against the nature of law if you do this it will ruin your life and others life too.

  But, I was stubborn, I forced the wizard after many years we come to me and said" I found the way to to make you immortal but there is some consequences and I still don't know about this consequences and what are they. After all these things my lord are you still want to become immortal".

  Now see my stubbornness had to pay my life in captivity for thousands of years in a magical book. And experience the pain of every dying person who owns this book. The person's sadness, pain, tears. But don't do that mistake which I did.

My last message is the thing which I learnt in these thousands of years is, " To stay always stay positive, and always stay in present and enjoy it. Leave the past behind and leave the worries of future." "And don't get trapped by your emotions. Life and death both of things is a part of life. "    After saying this spirit got disappeared. In the sudden from the hospital I got the news that Adam is completely healed. That is the best thing that ever happened with me in my whole.  From this incident I learnt the most important lesson and got the secret of always staying positive in life. ****


I’m not really special, I’m dead. I don’t know how I died really, that’s a weird thing about being dead. Who knows if it was suicide, a car accident, an overdose, or an animal attack. At least I remember who my family is. Day 1: They found my body, took them long enough. And what you’d expect happened. There was shock, tears, anger, and regret. I can’t feel sad anymore, but I would feel for them even if it took 1000 years. Day 2: Today the funeral took place, it wasn’t what I wanted. I wanted people to be happy at my funeral, like one last birthday party with cake, and balloons, and gifts. But the gifts would be for each-other. I never wanted a nice casket, but I also didn’t think I’d know what casket I had. Day 3: Everyone is sad. I tried to communicate with them, but of course I couldn’t. I tried to let my brother at work know I was still here, I tried to let my sister taking care of her kid know I was here, but nothing worked. I wish I could tease them, love them, and hold them again, but I understand why I cannot. Day 7: I forgot what color my eyes are, and I forgot which one of my feet were missing a toe. Kind of strange, whenever I look in a mirror it’s like looking at what a blind person sees. Not black, nothing, indescribable. My family is holding up well, I wish I could miss them so much, but I can’t. They are getting back to their lives. My brother met a coworker at work and now they’re friends, my sister watched her child take her first steps. I hope they will be happy soon. Day 23: Today I forgot my favorite food, the exact shape of my face, how long my hair was, and I never noticed but my hands don’t have those indents in them. My brothers dating his coworker now, my sister is struggling to raise a child alone but is pushing through, I also forgot the small things I do, like, I don’t know; waving to the mailman, or dancing in the kitchen, death is easy though. Day 135: Today I forgot what my voice sounded like, I forgot how tall I was, and I forgot almost all of my personality. My sister is watching her baby learning to talk, she finally got a name too, Sammy. My brother is happy with his girlfriend, he got a new job by the way. It pays much better than his old one. Money never really mattered did it? Just what we use to survive, all of us. All of this watching makes me wonder why I don’t see anyone here, also watching their loved ones. Being alone forever only allowed to watch live continue, is this hell? Day 826: Today when I looked in a mirror, there was nothing left. I saw nothing that was me, nothing was left me of me, besides some faint laughter I couldn’t do anything, besides watch. I forgot about my parents. They forgot about me too, dementia doesn’t that to people. They forget. They forget what you look like and who you are. My brother is getting married soon, and my sister is watching her baby go to preschool. I never stopped trying to communicate with them, but I think they did. Day: 2793 I forgot how it felt to feel. When I died I remembered what being scared, happy, sad, distressed, and desolated felt like. But now I can just watch. There isn’t even an “I” anymore. Just a soul watching, hoping, to not be alone. But I can’t even feel lonely. My brother is married, and is having a kid. I can’t even think anymore I can just observe. My sister is taking her kid to 5th grade. I don’t know if she’s happy, Sammy, that was her name. I wouldn’t know if she was sad either. Day: 2794 I saw my brother today, but he was dead. The gun was in his hands, he couldn’t handle it. I could finally talk with him, hug him, play games with him, and be there for him. As I went closer to his soul, he shouted. “Who the heck are you?” I realized now that in this moment, I actually died, and he would too, so I cried.


She stumbles through the door. Her clothes fly from her in disgust. Her tan almost hides the jaundiced skin underneath. She moves with a listlessness. The house smells of a listlessness. He is there in the living room, and he is listless. It’s his day off. He exercised his body, cleaned it, then threw it gently upon the couch. He did not bother to clothe it. The workout is a pebble thrown against the bulwark of his disease. Lesions litter his thin skin, abscesses dotting body parts where veins float near the surface. Tiny wounds surround each infection, evidence of careless attempts at DIY drains. Desperate attempts to avoid an uncovered ER bill. And the wounds, they fester. A television injects images into his skull through his optic nerve. He’s been there for hours. She knows it. She’s jealous. She would have done the same, had they not required money. And always, it seems, they require money. She joins him, his nakedness a sensation, but not a comfort. A stench reaches her nose. His breath smells of fruit and nail polish, the ketones building again. He does not notice her body next to his. It would not matter to either of them if he did. A sentence escapes her lips, unbidden. “I hate work.” His head nods in agreement. She notices, idly, that his hair has receded to the back of his skull and is turning gray. He is thirty-three. His hair was once the color of fresh asphalt. His eyes are quagmires of black paint surrounded by a sickening yellow. She does not know when they changed color. She does not care. “I’ve watched this before.” She does not know why she feels compelled to speak to him. The silence lengthens, just long enough for her to feel uncomfortable, to feel that she has been ignored. And then, at the moment her mouth begins to open, he speaks. “Me too. Seven … seven times, I think … I … or seventy, maybe.” He picks something up from the couch, considers it a moment, brings it to his face. It is a smile, but it is false, unfamiliar, and his blackening teeth cannot support it long. She does not bother to try to attempt to do the same. He removes the smile, places it back onto the couch. It fades away. She feels the vague tapping of something. He feels it too. She realizes that it is hunger, eroding her insides. She feels a binge coming on. She wonders, in a vague way, if she has any ipecac left. The smell of the dishes rotting in the kitchen sink reaches her nostrils, reminds her how much she detests cooking. Her fingers dial numbers, stubs of ancient acrylic flashing in front of her eyes, reminding her of a different time. Her mouth speaks words. A pizza is ordered. She hangs up the phone. He slowly turns his head toward her. His black eyes do not leave the television. “I’ll … I’ll take … pepper … pepperoni.” She does not bother to respond. His eyes drift shut, his chin hits his chest, and drool begins leaking out of his mouth. When the pizza arrives, he wakes and consumes one slice. It does not contain pepperoni. He does not notice. He reaches for another piece, but his hand has begun to shake. He forgets this hunger and thinks of another. He withdraws the empty hand and fills it with a needle. She eats the other seven slices, drinks some ipecac, and enters the bathroom. She is there for ten minutes, but it feels like a beautiful eternity. She returns to the couch feeling clean, weightless. His eyes stare at the television, but they do not see. They are glazed, and a tiny drop of blood wends its way down his forearm. They do not move for five hours, and then it is only to clean parts of their bodies and look anxiously at the growing pile of mail. A demand for rent, an envelope covered in red words, sits at the top. Neither opens the letter. They are both filled with a nebulous resentment at the price of their rent, at the knowledge it will increase each year, at the fact that affordable homes sit only a block away, homes they could share together, if only they could save a bit of money. This assumes they will stay together, of course. But it is hard, yes, very hard for either of them to imagine talking with or living with or sleeping with or hating with or fighting with or existing with anyone else. The thought of the work required to obtain a home is enough to keep them both silent on the subject. It has been six years since they discussed home ownership. They have not discussed children in a long time. They do not have to. With bodies clean, bed seems the only option, but they do not go. The man clings to the day. He only has twenty-four hours off every three weeks, something his boss describes as ‘a gift.’ “You should be grateful,” his boss says, “to have a day off. I haven’t had a day off in six months.” The man is always unsure, when his boss repeats this tiny paragraph bimonthly, why his boss does not take a day off, or why he should care that his boss does not take a day off. The man does not feel grateful. The man does not feel much at all. They do not go to bed because the next day holds nothing for them. They are loath to meet it. The woman feels a rock of anxiety in her stomach when, every night, she thinks about her inevitable return to the grocery store, to the idiot customers who cannot seem to understand basic math, who feel it is her job, as an assistant manager, to give them free items because they possess expired coupons, who feel compelled to educate her on the difference between ‘less’ and ‘fewer,’ who verbally abuse the poor high school students whose parents have tricked them into believing that a job at a grocery store will be a stepping stone to something greater, to the beginning of The Dream. She began working at the grocery store when she was in high school, before she got pregnant. Her mother told her that it was, ‘The first step on the path to success!’ She is thirty-five years old. She realized ten years ago that her mother is a fool. Or a liar. Maybe both. The man no longer thinks much. When he exits his twelve-hour marathon of sleep on his day off, exercises, and enters his ten-hour marathon of Valium-and-heroin-coated-television, his mind is fuzzy. When it is time for sleep again, his mind has been erased. He finds that not thinking about returning to the restaurant makes life bearable. He finds that not thinking is best of all. But the grind of time is relentless, and they are forced to bed. They pretend to read, pretend to screw, pretend to sleep. They give up, take an Ambien each. He takes a few extra. The pills sleep for them. Oblivion is painfully short. They wake together. Alarms screech from both sides of the bed, but neither moves, neither opens their eyes. Instead, they pray the only prayer they ever pray: “Please, let there be a disaster. “Let there be a fire at the store and an explosion at the restaurant. Let a sinkhole open under both buildings and swallow them whole. Let a tornado suck the shitholes into the sky and rain the pieces down on our apartment. Let my boss (and my other boss, and my other boss) be sick, ill, diseased, cancerous, crippled, dead. Let a riot over presidential decrees and congressional apathy and people who have lives that really do matter pass our places of business, leaving behind burning cinders. Let an army of old women step on their gas pedals too hard and punch out the plate-glass windows covered in the handprints of shithead children. Let a hurricane make unforeseen landfall and carry us into the Mariana Trench. Let a plane crash into the freeway, let an alt-right-men’s-rights-make-America-hate-again psychopath go on a rampage, let a terrorist target both buildings, blowing up these two monuments to capitalism in a meaningless gesture of violence that ultimately solves. “Let them burn. “Let them burn. “Let it all burn. “In the name of nothing, we pray—amen.” And they check their phones. And they have no missed calls, no text messages of disaster, no alerts of tornados or Nazis or earthquakes or terrorists or hurricanes or pandemics or old-lady armies. Not even a goddamn amber alert. And they sigh. And they rise. And they dress. And they prepare for the pain of living. They share a ritual—a bowl of cereal in a dark kitchen. He readies his needles for the day, cooks the Valium and the heroin separately, mixes them together, searches for a vein that still shows a hint of health. She’s stopped caring that he does it at the table. She pours half her cereal in the trash, walks to the bathroom, sticks a finger in her throat, and pukes out the rest. Tiny, brittle, crackling strands of hair fall from her head. They have lost all pigment. She steps on the scale, and the number that comes up gives her a brief stab of sorrow: eighty-seven. “Still too big,” she thinks. But as she looks in the mirror at her colorless hair, colorless eyes, tanned, loose flesh, and protruding bones, she cannot help but have a thought: “Beautiful.” She returns to him. He is slumped on the table. A needle juts from his arm. She pulls it out, props him up, slaps him once, twice, thrice. He opens his eyes after the ninth slap. Shakes his head. Gathers his filled needles. Places them in his work apron. Mutters: “Thanks.” Outside, the land is still black with night, and snow has fallen, and the snow continues to fall, and the snow will not grant them a reprieve, not like when they were children, and the snow is black, and the light, when it comes, will be black too, and when they leave their jobs, the land will be black again, and he will count his tips and realize that always, always, always, they are not enough, and she will walk through the snow and hope that no rapists lurk in the parking lot, that she will not slip and fall and end up in the hospital and limp out with a series of bills that will take them a decade to pay, and she will wonder what it must be like to have health insurance with a deductible under fifteen thousand dollars, and he will walk for half a mile before he realizes that he drove to work, and he will walk back, and his eyes will be blank, and his eyes will be black, and they will not even reflect the light of the sodium streetlamps that set the snow sparkling, and they will not even see the snow, and he will stumble in the dark and wonder if Marco Polo will ever come back to Netflix, and she will sigh with relief when her engine turns over and her lights turn on, and she will wonder what it must be like to be rich enough to own a car with heat, and she will don the extra jacket that she keeps in the backseat, and she will bow her head and thank God that He did not curse her with a kid because honestly, honestly, honestly she does not know how they could support just one kid, let alone two, let alone the twins her coworker Sharlene tells her are a blessing, yes, a BLESSING, such a BLESSING Sharlene says it is to have not one but two children, but hard it is, yes, hard indeed to raise them on nine dollars and fifty-three cents an hour. Hard indeed. But Sharlene will make it work, yes, make it work, yes, yes, they have to make it work for the sake of the CHILDREN, for them, for them it is that Sharlene works so hard, so hard, for them it is that her husband works so hard at the construction sites, despite his bad back, even though they never could QUITE get that green card, but my God, what a blessing, what a blessing it is that his boss has taken PITY on him and raised his under-the-table wages all the way up to five dollars an hour, and it really makes those ninety-hour weeks just so much more BEARable, you see, bearable … Bearable. The man and the woman drive home in the dead of night, and they try to forget about the meaninglessness of their day, and the snow whips around their cars, and they think about the things they want, and the things they do not have, and the things other people have, the things they would steal, if only they could get away with it, and they arrive home, and they see the emptiness that crawls from each other’s eyes, and they do not speak. No, they do not speak at all. They live in a land that tells them they are free. They do not feel free. He places the empty needles in the trash and fills new ones. She purges again in the bathroom, the seventh time today. They meet on the couch, shed their clothes, turn on the TV. She helps him find a vein. He passes out. She ignores him, stares at the TV, eyes unfocused. Thoughts rise, unasked for, unwelcome. Unstoppable. “It’s not that we can’t afford kids,” she thinks (for indeed, she is the only one who still has what might be considered thought processes), “it’s not … that’s not what it is. It’s not that I’m barren. I don’t think I’m barren. I’m definitely not barren. No, it’s not those things. It’s not that I’m on birth control (I am, and thank God my insurance covers that, at least, well, twenty percent anyway). “It’s not the abor—it’s not … that. I don’t regret that. “It’s just that … “It’s just that … that I wouldn’t wish this life on anyone. Let alone on a little baby. “To force that on a kid … it’s … it’s cruel. “What would they have to look forward to? “Nothing. They would have nothing … nothing.” And back when his brain did not sink—daily, nightly, foreverly—into benzodiazepinic opiate abyss, he would consider this matter too, and he would mull it over in his not-so-stupid brain, and he would think: “A child, a child would be so much work, so much sacrifice. Sacrifice, you know? And what do we have to sacrifice? We have nothing to sacrifice. We’ve sacrificed it already. “I don’t know what I would give to a child. “I don’t have anything to give.” And he pukes. And he wakes. And again, she deposits her food in the toilet, but a bit less this time, a bit less. And again, he deposits his dope in his body, but a bit less this time, a bit less. And the television drones on. And they sit. And the smell of acid and death rises, and they stare at a box filled with moving pictures of people much richer and much smarter and much more successful and much happier and much healthier and much more content than they are, and they stare, and their brains empty. And there is a timelessness. And a thought pushes the drugs aside and enters the man’s skull. It is not a thought of suicide—it is a different thought. And he tries to tell her the thought, but his mouth takes time to work, time to move, and finally, he finds the muscles again, and he speaks as though encased in ballistics gel: “I think … I think …” She turns to him, surprised. “I think that … you know … if only I could … could experience … nothingness … real … nothingness … well … I think I would … sit in it … forever … forever, you know?” She does not answer for a long moment. He does not notice that she has not answered. A whisper boils its way out of her brain. “Me too.” And she looks at him, and she looks at the lack of life behind his eyes, and he stares at a point five hundred meters beyond her skull, and she thinks of the children dying in the country in which she lives because they do not have enough to eat, and she thinks of the people dying in her country because they cannot hold down jobs, or because they had the audacity to contract a difficult-to-treat disease, or because they had the audacity to stand up for their rights, or because they had the audacity to try to protect and serve their fellow human beings, or they had the audacity to think right-handed thoughts, or they had the audacity to think left-handed thoughts, or they had the audacity to have a skin tone just a bit darker than her own, and she thinks of the people in her country who are dying because they take the pittance they are offered as a wage and give it to their children, and none is left for them, and she thinks of the people who are dying in other countries because her country is dropping bombs on their heads, and she thinks of the people who are dying in other countries because her country will not stop the bombs being dropped on their heads by still other countries, and she thinks of the people dying in other countries because they do not have enough water, or they have enough water, but it is not clean, or they have enough water, and it is clean, but it is held by warlords, or they have enough water, and it is clean, and it is not being held by warlords, but they cannot afford to purchase the water, and she thinks of the strangeness of having to purchase water, and she thinks of the people who are dying in other countries because they’ve had their clitorises cut off by their aunties with dirty knives because those same aunties had their own clitorises cut off by their aunties, and she thinks of the people who are dying in other countries because they have been raped—violently, repeatedly, systematically—by men who hate them, and she thinks of the people who are dying in other countries because their heads have been cut off because they do not agree with the thoughts that run through the heads of the head-cutter-off-ers, and she thinks of the people who are dying in other countries because they do not worship the correct invisible man in the sky, or because they are the wrong color, or the wrong shape, or they love the wrong people, or they say the wrong things, or they think the wrong thoughts, or they wear the wrong clothes, or they believe the wrong beliefs. And she looks at her empty life. And she wonders how she can be so selfish. And she wonders how she can have so little gratefulness. And she wonders if the children in other countries cry when she does not finish her baked potatoes topped with melted butter, if they cry when she eats only half of one, pushes the rest into the garbage, and retreats to the bathroom to purge what she ate from her belly. And she wonders which of her organs will fail first. And she wonders if his poisoned blood will kill him before his liver gives out. Or if, one day, he just won’t wake up. And she thinks about how nice that would be—to just not wake up. And she looks at him, and she notices, for the first time in a long time, that the tiny punctures in his arms are not healing, that they are spreading in fractal patterns across his forearms and shoulders, that they cover his legs, creep toward his neck, climb delicately along the large vein on his dick. And she notices that his skin is the color of saffron, and she brushes a layer of amber crystals off her arm, and she tongues her teeth, and they wiggle in her gums. And she whispers again, her mouth aching with sores. “We’re not OK, are we?” He moves toward her, hands shaking, eyes blank, fingers reaching for a jawline ravaged by osteoporosis. His nails are black. They slide like delicate razor blades through her hair, dislodging clear strands in bunches. When the air moves through his lungs. It creaks. “No … we aren’t.” And the next morning, they do not wake. And after two no-call-no-shows, their decaying bodies are fired in absentia. And in three weeks, the smell rouses the neighbors. And when the remains are dumped in a black trash bag and buried. The only witnesses are an old man. And a shovel.


I had always been the timid one. The person that always sat in the corner nibbling on her biscuit and never said a word. To anyone. I enjoyed the soft breeze brushing past me, the first rays of morning sunlight bathing on my face. I longed for a time where I could be

me , when I didn’t have to hide myself from these people that seem to laugh in my face every time I dared to speak up. Which I never did of course, for I didn’t have the strength to look darkness in the eyes and send it fleeing in the opposite direction. I would say I was ‘fine,’ or ‘having a great day,’ but I was never fine, and I was never having a great day. The facts were never woven into my string of words. I needed someone to confide in, to talk to. But most of all, I needed someone to believe in. I’d watched Autumn fall to Winter. I’d seen tiny white snowflakes gently tumbling from the darkened skies, and witnessed the intense heat of the Summer sun. But within all this new life blossoming around me, I was the centrepiece on display, never changing, always fixed in the same position. Still, and unmoving. Yes, I’d walked on the damp sand of the beaches and swam in the icy waves, but I’d never danced, never sung. My legs, while just bearing my weight, carried me along the dusty road of life, but my heart never followed. I was a shadow of a memory long gone, of the future, whatever it should bring. It was on this lonely path I was on, that I’d heard the song of the silent sparrow. It sang no song, but I could hear it’s desperation all the same. There was a longing in its voice, a silent plea for help. Yearning for better days. Then there were the words. The words shaped by letters, and the letters shaped by feeling. ‘Hello,’  was a common one. It meant;

‘I acknowledge you.’

‘How are you?’  Was another one. It meant;

‘I wonder how you’re feeling?’

But these words meant nothing to me, for nothing ever said to me could fulfil the hungry desire I had in my heart, like a big, black, empty hole waiting to be filled. Fulfilment never came however, and so I think back to the swallow. The lonely sparrow on the desolate road of life. I saw him on the opposite side of the river. The waves were lapping the shore, and the breeze brushed past the leafy arms of the trees above me. He shouted something at me, but I looked away. Words meant nothing to me. He jumped in the river and swam to me. I turned away, not daring to hope. He reached the shore where I was at and reached out a hand to touch my shoulder. He looked at me through sea blue eyes. I gazed at him with sharp green ones, then looked away, ashamed. He beamed at me with perfect lips, and I replied with a tight smile.

“You look lovely when you smile,”  he said. But I did not believe in flattery, so I walked away, out of sight. But he ran after me, his hand landed on my arm. I looked at him quizzically for a moment, trying to find truth in his words. He nudged my side and walked me over to the other side of the hill. He gestured for me to sit down, but the lush grass was damp with rain. He spread out his jacket so that I could sit. I sat, and he sat beside me, though he sat on the grass. He pointed out at the brilliant sun setting over the hills, and at the birds chirping merrily, singing a song. A real song. I had seen a faded dull sun set over a dreary meadow, but I had never seen a sun so full of light and hope explode over the grassy hills like this. I felt a movement inside me, like my heart was shifting into place. It was a pleasant feeling, and I knew then, in that moment, that he was someone to believe in. I saw the swallow from the road flutter over beside me. It sang of joys and renewal, of hope and belief. And its words could be heard, even by me. He gazed at me with compassionate feelings, and I felt for a moment; I could open my eyes. The clouds began to form, and drops of rain began to fall from the sullen sky. They tumbled down onto my skin, the sudden coldness shocking me back to reality. The rain poured. I arose from the jacket on the grass and hurried to my home under the valley. He called out to me, but I didn’t stop, not even to ask his name. The rain kept falling, dripping onto my chestnut hair and leaking through my clothes, hugging them tight to my flesh. My shoes squelched beneath my feet as I ran further and further towards my home, until I tripped. The ground met me as I landed on the rocky path. The world resembled a spinning top, and I lay amidst the dying crimson of the sky, and let my thoughts wander through my empty frame. I felt all life I had left slowly melt away… then an arm encircled my waist, I was being lifted. But my senses were incomplete as I slowly looked around at a world made entirely from darkness. A blinding light and a piece of loose yarn broke into my vision. He was there, looking down on me as I slowly let my eyes adjust to the light. His jacket was unravelling, leaving a me-sized hole in the center. I closed my eyes and let myself moan. He touched a hand to my face, and I let the warmth of it sink into me until I was warm all over, a kind of fluttery feeling. He looked at me with a knowing smile, and I smiled back, not a word spoken between us. After all, words were just words after all, nothing more. I knew that if I fell, he would catch me, whenever I was in doubt, he would support me. The hungry desire in my heart had been fulfilled at last. He was someone special, someone to believe in.


It was the day after the March equinox, marking the Spring season. The first freaking day of Spring and there is already a case of a missing person. I heard the call myself. A frantic man calling to report that his wife was gone. He began rambling on and on, fast and frightened the words all came out. Ellie, the emergency dispatcher, gives me a glance.

“Sir, sir, I need you to calm down. Talk slower for me?” Her voice is cool and collected. I marveled on how she could do this all day. Channel all of these frantic voices and urge them to calm down and give us the facts so that we could get help to them as quickly as possible. Her voice never wavered, not once. At least, not while I’m here when she receives a call.

He gives her all the information.

Address, last seen, name, wife’s name, how long she’s been gone, etc.

“She...She was just here yesterday. She won’t answer any calls. I...I’m sorry, she’s just been going through sort of a rough patch and I thought she was finally recovering. But she didn’t come back from the errand she said she had to run yesterday so I’m on edge. Oh God, do you think she went to kill herself? Oh God!” The man was starting to freak out. “Sir, please, we will try to help you locate your wife. Just stay strong for her right now, OK?,” Ellie says, ever the therapist. “OK,” he whispers on the other end.

The call is finished and Ellie turns to me, her short, dirty blonde hair flat against her head. She grabs my coffee and I glare at her before grinning and heading on over to check things out about this guy’s missing wife. I bring my partner, Cameron, along and ask him to put the address on his phone. He does as I ask and then we’re off, speeding down the road.

I arrive at the brick house and knock on the door. A man with dark orange hair comes out and closes the door behind him. His eyes look red, presumably from crying. I go through protocol and ask him to show me where she was headed. All he knew, unfortunately, was that she was going on an errand. She didn’t tell him where or what for.

Cases like this are harder to define. We hardly have any information. I just hope we find her. ** The case is underway and I arrive to work on the second day of Spring, rested up and ready to go. Well, of course, after a cup of coffee.

Carla knows me. She already had my cup hot and ready on my desk. Aiy, what would I do without her. She’s the first person I befriended here, considering she was a fire that no man would dare pour water on. She seemed to control the place, her voice loud and full of authority. She would make a great cop, I’ve told her so, but she continues to refuse. She’d rather stay here and scare us while bringing everyone what they need. Her skin was darker than mine, a deep brown while my Spanish roots give me an olive tone.

“Rise and shine K-9’s!” I hear her call. She has the accent of this small town, somewhere between rural and urban.

I chuckle as I notice Jerry jump at the sudden increase in noise. The office is usually quiet when she’s gone. And that’s why we need her. I smile despite myself as she comes over, showing off her nails to everyone she passes on her way to my desk.

“Heyo, heyo! Latina in the HOUSE! Have you seen my nails?”

I laugh and take a second to look at them. They’re a pretty shade of purple, one I’d have to ask her about later. I haven’t gotten my nails done in quite some time and thought maybe I should treat myself to something nice.

I look up at her, raise my eyebrows, and nod coolly, a smirk on my lips.

“Yeah, I know. Purple is in style right now, Darla told me.” “How can you get your daughter to tell you all the trends! I try my best with mine but she just looks at me, crinkles her nose and laughs, It’s embarrassing! It’s like she thinks I can’t pull it off. I wore a scrunchy the other day and she looked at me like a complete stranger. Aiy, I’m too old now, I guess,” I say to her. “Oh please. Honey, you’re not old enough to say you’re old. Look, I’m sure she'll come around. Just...I don’t know. Be cool.” “Yeah, thanks. Now, if only I knew what cool was,” I respond, messing with her. Carla sighs and rolls her eyes as she gets up. I take a sip of my coffee when Cameron comes over to me. He takes a deep breath and looks at me, lips shut tight. “What?,” I ask. “Another missing person two neighborhoods over the one from yesterday.” He crosses his arms. I slump in my chair and turn my head up to him. “You’re kidding.” “Nope. Just got the call a few minutes ago. A young kid. He didn’t come back from school and a witness claims that they saw him enter some woods.” This Spring did not look like it was holding any promises. I place a hand over my eyes and squeeze.

“Alright, let’s go.” ** After we interviewed the parents of the mom, we came back to the office. Turns out that 15 new missing persons were filed. What is going on here? By the next day, we had over 30 cases and all within close distance of each other. And then the real weird thing came up.

“Guys, you’re going to want to see this,” says Seth, the computer whiz with the glasses. We all bound over to his desk, even Carla seemed intrigued. “All the calls, when you pinpoint their addresses on one map, form a circle. A perfect one, actually, surrounding a single point. Here.” He points to a dot on the screen and I look up to Cameron at the same time he looks up to me. We nod in unison and I copy the coordinates down on paper before I get up and go, Cameron close behind.

I turn the siren on and make my way. ** It’s definitely not what I expected. For one, it’s empty, not a single person on site for as long as the field is wide. Two, it’s a beautiful meadow blooming with flowers of all kinds.

I turn to my partner who shares the same confused look.

We scout the place, guns at the ready, but find nothing. We head back to the car, tired and sweaty. Seriously, what is going on? ** Finally, a breakthrough. A mother called today and said that her son might know where they are. She said he’s willing to show us. The boy’s brother was one of the missing and we headed there as soon as possible. I just want to know how he knows where they all are in the first place and if he truly does. I hope this isn't some kind of trick where the boy leads us to his room and says that his brother is on the chair, that he’s a ghost. Cameron knocks this time and a tall woman appears. A brown-haired boy in blue sneakers jumps forward, takes my hand and says, “Follow me.” I am taken aback but does as he commands. To my utter surprise, he leads us to the meadow Seth made us investigate. He continues to grab my hand until we are in the middle of the great expanse. The mother gives me an apologetic look, excusing her son pulling me all the way out here. But she also looks...Hopeful.

The boy turns around to us and gestures all around him. My eyebrows furrow, puzzled at what he’s trying to get at. Then, suddenly, his eyes go wide with fear and he points a shaky finger at me. No, behind me. We all turn around, whip fast, but see no one. I turn back to the boy but...he’s gone. Just disappeared. ** No one can explain it.

He was here. Then he wasn’t. The department is a sad mess.

We are all just so demented. How were we going to solve this? I rub my head, drinking my third cup of coffee this morning. We got another call today. Another few actually. All of them to file someone as missing but one was claiming that their little girl can speak to them. That’s all she said before she hung up. That her daughter has spoken to them. It’s almost too much. It’s such a vague comment but it’s almost too much. We’ve contacted other police departments and none of them have reported a missing person yet this Spring. It seems to be in only our town. I take a gulp of my drink before we head out.

** The little girl is blonde.

She’s small and doesn't talk much.

Her dad went missing a few days ago. Her name is Melody and she likes to draw. That’s what we know. Oh, and that she speaks to the missing persons. She’s really small so I have to bend to look at her in her pale blue eyes. “Will you show us?” She nods her tiny head, wavy hair almost covering eyes. The mom places her in their car and starts driving. Cameron and I follow her. She stops right in front of The Meadow. I take a deep breath in. “You good?” Cameron asks. “Yeah, yeah. Let’s just try to get this figured out.”

He agrees and we follow Melody to a spot on the field. She drops to her knees in front of a particular flower and says, “Hi Daddy.” Melody looks up. “They’re all here.” She points dots across the field. "The flowers are the people you're looking for."


A strange sound of thunder crashed through the peaceful cerulean sky. I braced for impact, expecting to see the terrible ribbon of lightning that was guaranteed to follow. I waited and waited, and was finally greeted by a light spray of rain. “Oh great,” I muttered to myself, “you just had to forget your umbrella.” The thunder continued, growing more and more violent and ominous, a complete contrast to the peaceful street bustling with unfamiliar faces. No one seemed disturbed by the assault. Passersby kept their lighthearted pace, birds manoeuvred through the rain like trained pilots, and store owners didn’t budge to move their outdoor furniture. The storm itself was a mere mirage to them all; and I couldn’t help but feel mesmerised by the scene until the storm picked up and the rain became shards of glass cutting into my skin, making me wince and washing me over with a terrible dread.

   I ran to the nearest restaurant, in hopes to find safety, coffee and breakfast; and to my surprise, the scene around me remain undisturbed. “This is what you get venturing too far off Alice,” I joked with myself as I ordered a coffee.

I was several blocks away from my neighbourhood but the buildings and sights were nothing too new or too out of place from the usual suburban neighbourhoods. A bookstore replaced by a coffee shop. A bank replaced by a Walgreens. Same landscape, different mapping. And, although I was unfamiliar to this area, I felt connected to it somehow. There was an invisible ribbon that was tied to this place and my heart was flooded with love and peace for the quaint space.

I stood outside by the restaurant sipping my coffee, lulled by the sounds of the deadly rain falling on people nonchalantly walking the street, when my name was heard faintly. “Alice….please….” The voice trailed off.

“Alice…..stay with me…..” The voice continued.

The voice almost melted with the rain, which made it harder and harder for me to identify. I tried scanning the street but the rain was thick enough to be a smokescreen, masking the faces and bodies of pedestrians strolling along. I waited for the voice to call my name again but nothing. Maybe there was an extra “kick” in my coffee that had me hearing things, possibly the voices of ghosts long passed.

I figured it would be best to cut my little adventure short and find the quickest way home. I bowed my head and closed my eyes slightly as I stepped back out into the rain. I was expecting its cold grip, but instead I felt nothing. Surprised, I looked up and saw…him. There he was my ex, Harvey, standing over me smiling with an umbrella in tow. “Harvey….I thought….but you’re dead…” My body froze. It was him, “Danger Prone” Harvey, the love of my life whom I hadn’t seen for over a year. Harvey reminded me of a mahogany tree; extremely tall, kissed by the sun, riddled with scars from the wear and tear of life, sturdy and reliable as can be and topped off with a mop of ruffled hair that crowned the frame of his face.

“Dead? Wow, I mean I did leave suddenly but that’s harsh, even for you,” he joked.

Dumbstruck. I was absolutely dumbstruck. My hands, having a mind of its own, reached out to touch his wet cheek. Using his free hand, he cupped my hand into his, brought it to his lips and kissed it gently. My heart skipped several beats, the blood in my body raced, my breath shortened. He was real! He was alive and with me! My mind was reeling with questions, so much to the point that I pulled my hand away and cradled my head. I had to stop the typhoon of thoughts that thrashed through my brain.

“It’s okay,” he assured, “spend the day with me and it’ll make sense.” He was my Aladdin, and almost on cue he outstretched his hand and smirked, “Do you trust me?”

I took his hand. I did trust him. He was my life, my world. He left but maybe this was the closure I needed. The storm cleared up; the thunder, like myself, surrendered to his voice; and, the rain evaporated as suddenly as it appeared.

People were still walking, life was still existing, but time was standing still for me. I scanned the neighbourhood, and realised that the familiarity that I felt was because of him. This was his neighbourhood! My mind had somehow subconsciously led me here, to where he lived…to find him? Was this the first time in over year that I had thought to visit here? Had there never been a time when I retraced my steps to his doorstep in search of him? I searched within myself for the answer but nothing revealed itself. I felt confused, overwhelmed and slightly disappointed.

“You think too much you know that.”

Harvey broke the chainsaw thoughts that were severing my peace of mind and mended it with his smile. Grabbing my hand, he pulled me from the restaurant into the direction of the street— the actual street. Half laughing, half screaming we bobbed and weaved through oncoming cars and motorbikes until we had safely crossed over.

“I swear, you’re trying to kill me,” I panted between breaths and laughter.

His bushy eyebrows frowned slightly for a second before wiping the beads of sweat off my face.

“I want to take you someplace.” “Harvey, where have you been? You can’t just appear out of nowhere and then say you’re going to take me someplace,” I began to argue. My body felt like an act from Cirque de Soleil, doing somersaults and other gymnastic feats due to his presence, while logic remained the skeptic audience. I had to know where he went. He ignored me. Instead, he grabbed my arm and dragged me to the corner where his black BRZ Coupe was parked.

“I see you kept the death trap,” I joked. Harvey had insisted on purchasing a used coupe that he took his time to refurbish, driving it with or without working lights, gauges or brakes.

“It’s almost fixed,” he shrugged, half embarrassed.

He opened the doors, threw the umbrella in the back, and like prince charming bowed with a playful boast, “Your chariot awaits milady.” I couldn’t control the laugh that escaped my lips. There was a beauty to Harvey, even with his scars and burly exterior. He was the sweetest; daring and bold and filled with so much life. I couldn’t help but follow along like a zombie to his wishes.

“Sure,” my voice imitating tension, “but only if you tell me where you’re taking me.” “I’m taking you to see the lights.”

We drove in silence.

The road seemed endless with trees blending into each other like a watercolour canvas. The sun seemed to be frozen between the sky and earth, a never-ending sunset; not quite dipping beneath the earth but not quite postured in the sky, creating rays of deep reds, oranges and purples. Music played through the radio but blended into the scenery. The only fixed state was Harvey as he made narrow turns around the winding corners, eyes fixated on the road and deep in thought. Normally, I would’ve screamed or yelped at his reckless driving but I couldn’t stop staring at his profile. He was serious, so lost in thought that I felt like he was drowning in them. I contemplated being a life vest to save him, but I was nervous myself. I had so many questions, so many feelings. And the longer we drove, the more everything felt like a memory.

We took a wicked turn, grazing the barracks of the road, before meeting a new scenery of a shore. We were going uphill, maybe to the end of the city? “I’m sorry.” His words came out almost like a whisper. “For endangering our lives just now? Yeah, you should be,” I teased. Nothing.

Something was wrong. Harvey wasn’t this quiet. He would’ve swerved the car once more or maybe stop abruptly to scare me. But this time he seemed lost, in a trance, following a script that only he knew the ending to.

“Harvey, are you—” “Remember the last time we drove up here,” he interjected. The last time? There was no last time. We hadn’t taken this road before as far as I knew; but as we continued to drive, the blurry scenery became more in focus, each tree becoming more distinct to my right, and the waves more boisterous to our left.

“I wanted to take you to the lights because I love you. They’re beautiful. I don’t want you to keep doing this to yourself Alice. This isn’t a life worth living.” “What are you talking about Harvey?” “I know it’s selfish, but I want you to come with me. I always want you with me, but maybe….maybe you don’t want to be with me.” His voice was agitated, his fingers curled tighter to the steering wheel. The car jolted forward slightly, increasing in speed.

“Harvey, slow down.” “Do you want to see the lights with me? Do you want to go with me? Please say yes Alice, it kills me every time you say no.” “Harvey, I don’t know what you’re talking about. Let’s pull over and talk about this.” My heart started racing. Beads of sweat formed on my forehead and I felt the goosebumps rear their heads under the thin layer of my cocoa skin.

 “I’m such a fool. I wanted to marry you, you know. I had it all planned out,” he started with a melancholy chuckle, “I would take you to the hill at sunset. The ring was— is in my pocket. I wanted you to see it shimmer with the sun. But I wasn’t going to ask, not officially ask, until we stopped.” The car sped up. My heart was racing. I saw a glint from the corner of my eye and finally noticed the ring on his pinky. It shimmered against the backdrop of the water; and for some reason, both joy and dread beat upon my heart.

“Yes, Harvey, I’ll marry you. Just slow down. Or at least for God's sake, put on your seatbelt,” I screamed over the engine. Everything started to speed up and I swallowed my spit, trying not to barf. Harvey stared at me, tears falling from his face, “I love you so much Alice.” “I love you too, Harvey.” “Then come to the lights with me. Be with me.” My heart winced. My head burned. Memories crashed my brain. We had taken this road before. This was in fact a memory, my memory. But Harvey wasn’t this upset; he was nervous, chuckling like a kid hyped up on sugar, fumbling with his hands trying to put the ring on his finger. He hadn’t seen the last curve that took us to hill overlooking the sea. He hadn’t seen it. And, he wasn’t wearing his seatbelt.

“Harvey,” I whisper, “you’re dead aren’t you? Am I? “Will you see the lights with me Alice?” That was his only answer, but it gave me what I needed. Tears poured from my face in uncontrollable sobs with Harvey following suit.

“I love you so much Alice and I understand if you don’t want to stay with me but please, think about it. I hate losing you like this,” he voice trailed off.

We were going to die.

“Will you see the lights with me? They’re just up the hill.” “No Harvey,” I screamed, “this doesn’t make sense. No, I love you but I can’t. I just can’t.” His face disappeared between his chest and hair for a moment before he remerged as his usual self. The car seemed to slow down but the uneasiness in my soul refused to leave.

“Alice,” he started, fumbling with the ring on his pinky, “you’re my world. You’re bright and beautiful and if I could I would give you the moon and the stars.” “Harvey, what are you doing right now?” “You’ll see,” he beamed, “we’re almost there.” He stared at me, his eyes filled with so much hope and love. This was the Harvey I knew, the Harvey that was as sincere as he was reckless.

“Harvey, focus.” “I am,” he laughed.

“No, I mean on the road. You’re not wearing your seatbelt and I don’t want us to crash.” “Oh come on! You’re my good luck charm there’s no way I could—” The sound of the car hitting against the barracks was like thunder and proceeded with other ominous rumbles as the car went spiralling down the hill into the ocean. Harvey tried to grab my hand but kept missing from the sudden jerks and pulls of the vehicle. Sprays from the ocean could be felt as we continued closer and closer to the sea. Our bodies thrashed about into the car until we were stopped by a huge boulder that sat on the shore. Harvey’s body flew through the front window, onto the shore. The shards of glass pierced my skin as I cried in pain for myself and my love. The waves continued to splash into the boulder, adding literal salt to my wounds and slowly pulling Harvey away from me, with me being unable to save him due to the seatbelt that held me hostage.

“Alice….please….” The voice trailed off.

“Alice…..stay with me…..” The voice continued.

It was the voices of paramedics. There were lights flashing and I saw myself being carried into an ambulance while Harvey’s body was encased in a black bag. No….no….no… A strange sound of thunder crashed through the peaceful cerulean sky. I braced for impact, expecting to see the terrible ribbon of lightning that was guaranteed to follow. I waited and waited, and was finally greeted by a light spray of rain. The rain felt like shards of glass piercing into my skin; but, before I was able to run for cover, an umbrella miraculously sheltered me. I turned to thank the kind stranger and was shocked to see who it was. There he was, my ex Harvey, standing over me smiling with an umbrella in tow. “Harvey….I thought….but you’re dead…” My voice trailed off, dumbstruck from seeing him for the first time since over a year.

“Dead? Wow, I mean I did leave suddenly but that’s harsh, even for you,” he joked. Suddenly gripping my hand he stared into my eyes deeply and said, “I want to show you some lights, will you come with me?” Still in shock, I allowed myself to be led by him across the street as the storm cleared up; the thunder, like myself, surrendered to his voice, and the rain evaporated as suddenly as it appeared.


In a time before time, when the mountains were still young and volatile, there was a cave of wonder hidden on a far-away rock resting deep out at sea. A shoreland piper lived there, his eyes were bloodshot yet pale. He was not of the fairy-folk, nor of the human-folk. He was an earthbone, an animeyas, a Walker-of-Water-Tone. Of stone was he, so porous and free. Often would he sing of despair and of glee. Yet his heart was with the tart of melon-calling Bree. 'O Breeze!' he would play, always on repeat. The ocean was wide and blue-gray during these beginning days. Islands like his were few and far in between, but many creatures knew of them and flocked to them in hopes of finding caves like his own, or perhaps a tree to make a home. He was well liked by the animals, for he bothered them not and instead sang his songs of forget-me-not. Countless sea-birds would follow him and say 'Play some other tune about some other lady. We hear enough of the Wind already, up here in the air where her gusts swoosh swift and fair." But he would just laugh and continue to whistle and bounce. Sometimes he would make a serious sound and whisper 'Only that which is as heavy as air may catch me like a net of lilly-weed hair.' Deep inside his cave was a cove of sea shells and ancient elf-jewels resting in the salt-brine. It was a place of calm solitude, a place where one could go and hear only the soft whine of the wind and the chirps of chicklings. This was his orchestra. The wind would rush into the fissures of the rock and down into his body holes, issuing forth mellow tones of color and hue. He would place his little hands over other holes and cause different sounds and whistles to come forth. This was his magic. For all the chasms and cracks upon that island would catch up his song and send it out into the airwaves over the ocean, spreading his tune to the islands around him. And as his love for this eternal dance propounded over the multitudes of waves, little pixies and fairies would harken on white sandy beaches. Their little cheeks red with emotion, their eyes closed or open in admiration. The music of the Walker brought joy to the fae folk which in turn gave them visions of ocean sailings and grand escapings. The fairies thought that his songs were about adventure and change. In truth, his songs were about blue longings and new range. One day, the shoreland piper played a tune previously unthought. He had become inspired by watching a massive yellow leaf float ever so gracefully to the surface of his cove. The stars reflected themselves in the still water until the leaf broke the placid jewel-home, giving way to a twinkle of moonshine swoon fickle. The song was, of course, about the wind. His Love deserved nothing less than the best. It was his overture to her, and when he was finished, he would be over singing. The melancholy life of solitude called to him, for he would never be with the wind. All of his life experience he put into this long tale of his love from above. The birds were perched at his cave entrance, while frogs and lizards rested upon the shells of large sea turtles on the beaches. His magic was at work that day, one can be sure of that. He needed no hat to pull off such a feat, only a cove of elf-stone and coral-shell, and a body of hollow bone and show and tell. On the islands nearby, the fairies and pixies danced and played. Oh! Such games they had on that night. They ate berries and drank cordial, but they mostly sat amazed in wild wanderlust. His songs had wisdom and wistful searchings for home and kingdom in them. To them, it was a beckoning. The four fairy queens spoke together in thought from the four islands. The flower fairies wanted to fly and find the orchestrator. The tree pixies thought of asking sea-birds to help them find their chief joy. Yet, the mushroom fairies had the idea at last. They would build rafts of bamboo and of large shells. In this way, they could grow strong as a team for the journey was long and sure to be dangerous. They would use coconuts to hold their flowers, nuts, and mushrooms. In this way, they would survive their journey's end (fae folk tend to be tied to some sort of source). They would make sails out of their hair, and most of the pixies loved their new hair style and felt it fit the strange change they had felt in their hearts. And they would forge paddles of coral to show their love of the sea and give respect to beauty in creation. As the legendary shoreland piper continued to induce wonderment to the young world, the fairy folk sailed to his island using only the melodies he played as a guide. The stone fairies did not join with the others, for they were content in their mountains, listening from afar. The flower fairies had the best singer, and her name was Anthuri. On that great journey, she sang this song quietly to herself. The fairies who heard it did not hate it, nay they said it paired perfectly with the angelic song already playing. "O silent silver streams, they wash my hair. From quiet meadow springs, I've taken my lair. Only the tale of tales could give me this scare. What is this I feel? What is this soothing light? Am I going to peel upon the very first sight? My journey is long. My night abound. I will chase this life. I will chase this sound." And so it went for quite a while. Anthuri only stopped her singing when she saw the island the fairies and pixies were seeking. They left their boats upon the shore, and floated after a heart worth keeping. Dreamland kisses of tonal hisses rifted by the fairy misses, beckoning them to the cove of lilies. They passed by turtles and crabs sleeping upon the beaches, and they passed by birds and 'munks resting upon the branches. The cove was beckoning, and they were following. When they peered through the dim opening of the cave, they at first were confused. No man or elf could be seen there, no fairy or beast was singing. Nay, it was a little rock creature covered with pockmarked holes standing there upon the brink of the cove like an orchestrator looking out upon his band. He moved with Grace, and he seemed to have no face, yet in him was a light known only to reside within the fright of fairy kind. He was akin to them, being an animeyas, being an animated spirit, but he was different. The fairies collapsed into a long sleep as his song reached its crescendo, and oceanside memories licked across their dreaming minds. When they awoke, they found that the rock-child was gone, and they knew not where. All over the island they looked, but to no avail. Until, finally, a young pixie named Willow Switch saw a grove of palms upon a high mesa upon the island. The fairies rounded themselves together and ascended to the peak of the mesa, seeking this mista’. There they found him, dancing and singing with odd little creatures who were of similar size to the pixie-folk. The creatures were fuzzy like a kiwi fruit, and they had two antenna protruding from their foreheads. They wore no clothes nor suits, and they had wings upon their backs that seemed as soft as a silk-bed. Together with the Walker, they danced and sang and laughed and played. The fairies were at first in shock at this new beginning, but they quickly joined in with the fun. It was soon to be realized by the fairies that these new creatures were to be their counterparts. When the fairies would raise their arms, the others would drop theirs. When the fairies wished to rest, the others wished to play. Many of the fairy-folk fell in love that day, for these others were smooth and silly, and acted ever so gay. As all the pixies were female, all the others were male. The queen of the tree fairies spoke aloud and said “My eyes see that we are all fae-folk, somehow. May you tell me what you call yourselves?” And a new creature arose to speak with her. He was slightly larger than the others, yet he was of similar shape and mold. But he had four arms instead of two, and his colorful wings could drape around his shoulders like a cloak. He lifted lazy eyelids and answered thusly. “We are the trow-folk. I am their leader, Kalimah! One day, all of my trows will look as I do. We are herdsmen to the little bugs and birds, or so we think. We awoke upon this mesa just the other day, as our great friend here sang his song of love to the Wind. Finding ourselves alone as his song ended, we lifted our voices together and summoned him to our birthplace. He says his singing brought us here.” And the queen of the flower fairies spoke and said “Why, we fairies awoke when the Wind whispered in the Meadows of our distant birthplace. We are of like kind!” “So it would appear.” said Kalimah with a smile. And the queen of the mushroom fairies stood and beckoned all to her. She was fairest of all the pixies, and Kalimah bowed before her, as did all the other trows. The Walker had only watched the two folks dance and play, and as they spoke he had begun to walk away. He was sad again, for his melancholy would not let him forget his love, and he felt trapped as if in a pen made from the sweetness of sorrow. And the queen sang to the Animeyas, which caused him to turn and listen. “O Walker-of-Water-Tone! Our hearts here have found their home! We will all follow in your footsteps, and sing songs of joyous desires known to be full of love and peps. You have awoken many fires, so do not begin to fret. You are married to the Windy Mother, you are her magical husband-other.” And he saw the truth in her words and began to weep. Who else could play with the wind as he could? Although he could never kiss the wind, he could feel her kisses. Although he may never see her in her majesty, he could sing about how she might look and be. And so, in the springtime of magical enchantment, the Father of Fairy-Folk accepted his heart. He lived no longer with despairing disappointment, but rather with the wee children he had gifted to start. Passion may wither like a flower in the sun, yet always can it arise again like children seeking fun.