Odzi Country Lodge faces the beautiful Odzi River. Terry and Rose sit at the balcony of their room facing the open night. They quietly watch the beautiful moon shining on the river. A creepy sound of night creatures can be heard from their back ground; the two seem not bothered by the sounds anyway. Something draws the attention of the two and they turn to look at each other with questioning eyes. Two shadows pass by the building to their right. A loud noise comes from some buildings behind the lodge. It is a strange noise unfamiliar to the two, then someone screaming can be heard, followed by shouting and all of a sudden the noises come to an end, followed by dead silence. “Do you think we are safe here Terry?” Rose asked. “It’s just fun noises, remember we are in the forest,” answers Terry. The two walk back into their room, Terry holding Rose to him. He careful lays her on the bed. “Everything is going to be fine, “Terry assures her. “We got to go; this place is making me sick.” “Yah but we can only do that in the morning. It is late to drive out of the park,” Terry responds. “I wish I have never come to this place it is haunted,” complains Rose. “Those are just fairy tales Rose. A lot of people come here and no one died here.” “No, didn’t you see those shadows on the walls they are ghosts?” Terry burst into laughter. “Oh my God! They were just two people passing by and you saw shadows you think they are ghosts?” “Did you see the people?” “Yes,” Terry lied. “Let us sleep and we leave tomorrow early in the morning” “And the terrifying noises, it’s something else,” “There you are, don’t be negative please! We are leaving tomorrow, okay?” Terry and Rose pull their luggage from the room. The sun is already shining high when the two takes to leave. They pack their luggage at the back of their pickup truck and Rose goes around the car to the passenger seat. There is khaki paper on the car handle. Rose slowly stretches her hand to remove the paper but hesitates for a moment. “Get in Rose we got to go!” calls Terry who is already on the driver’s seat. Rose hesitates to open the door again. “Hey Rose let’s go!” terry calls again. Rose doesn’t say anything she simply signals Terry to come the other side of the car. They look at the paper for some time and Terry finally stretches his hand to take the paper, but Rose holds him back, “You have to be careful,” she cautions him. “Maybe it’s a bomb,” she continues “Or just a paper, why are you so nervous Rose?” Terry unfolds the paper, it is a letter. The letter reads: Dear Lovebirds I have been following you on your journey and you seem to be in the seventh heaven. Remember one of you owes me LOVE. Yours Good friend “I sensed it all this time that we are not safe here,” Rose reacts “So we are being followed? Who is that person following us? What about yesterday’s shadows? What are we going to do? What are we going to do now?” Rose laments, going forth and back. “Calm down Rose everything is going to be fine,” Terry assures Rose caressing her hair. “We are not safe Terry,” whimpers Rose. “Oh my God why does this have to happen to me?” she continues “Don’t worry Rose, maybe it’s just someone who wants to scare the butt out of us,” says Terry getting back into the car. Rose throws herself into the passenger seat. “I’m scared to death. Who is this person following us? So after all it’s not ghosts but someone actually following us? We should report this to this police.” “Do you think the police will help? We don’t have enough evidence we are being followed let’s just leave the place.” “Terry! You are not serious! Our lives are in danger here and you don’t want to report and pretend everything is okay? Maybe you know who the person is. Is it your ex?” “I have ex-girlfriends, you also have ex-boyfriends, and a whole lot of them how am I supposed to know who sent the letter? This pointing of fingers won’t help let’s leave this place first and we can then investigate the issue later.” The Isuzu KB truck drives past vast country side in a large big city and finally to a quiet low density suburb. Rose and Terry pulls up their luggage along a driveway to a large mahogany door. There is another paper that looks exactly the same as the one they saw at the lodge earlier in the morning. “Another letter!” exclaims Rose. “What on earth does this person want from us?” The second letter read: Dear T & R Welcome back home. Remember to give back to Caesar what belongs to Caesar and enjoy life. From your Good friend. “Where are we going to stay now? The person followed us home. We have to report this to the police, or if you don’t want I will go alone I cannot afford to risk my one and only life,” say Rose walking towards the gate. Terry follows her quietly. Terry and Rose walk out of the police station with some papers in their hands. Terry walks in the garden, it is almost dark now. Rose walks up to him. “Can you come inside now, dinner is almost ready,” she calls “Let’s stay out a bit, you know I like to spend nights outside” responds Terry. Terry sits on a large armchair with Rose on his lap and he begins to sing.

What do you do if the past follows you?     What do you do if the past haunts you?            You go where your love is.            Follow your love            Follow your passion Turn the back on your past And never turn back again You look at your past and your joy is gone Never let fear rule your life Never let fear stay in your heart Where love is supposed to stay. Let love rule Rose claps her hands joyfully. “Well, I never knew you are such a good singer. I wish we could record and sing to all those in love at Valentine’s Day “My father always taught me that where there is love there is no fear.” explains Terry. “Yes but sometimes your enemies terrify you,” responds Rose. “What matters in life is not the absence of enemies but how you react when they attack you. Freak out and they will dance and attack you more. Ignore your enemies and look at your love and your life will be superb. Let love rule. Do you know enemies are also afraid of us?” “Really?” “Of course why would someone write an anonymous letters instead of approaching you on your face and make his or her demands? Personally I don’t give a damn when people gossip about me; I know they admire my life. I just live my normal life,” Terry explains. “I’m glad to have you in my life, what was I going to do without you?” Terry and Rose are riding horses side by side along a path that has tall grass on both sides. They admire the beauty of nature as they stroll along the path. The horses come to a sudden stop, freaking out. Some distance of about fifty metres away is a horse far bigger than the two. The person riding the horse wears black attire that covers the face. Rose raises her head and notices the black horse ahead, she screams out loud turning her horse to look back. “What is it?” Terry asks in shock. “A black man on a horse!” answers terrified Rose “Where is the man?” “He disappeared but I swear I saw the man. The horses must have seen him also.” “Hold on to the horse and make sure you don’t fall!” Shouts Terry, as he turns the horses to looks back where they are coming from. He lets Rose’s horse gallop in front and he follows closely. The horses took it to their heels with Terry and Rose lying flat on their backs. Terry and Rose knock on a green door. “Come in,” a voice answers from inside. The Hostler’s office is a small room with very old furniture. The young man sits on the armchair with only one arm and is the only chair in the office. Terry and Rose relate their story while standing. “The animals’ sensed danger that’s why they turned back,” explained the hostler. “How is it possible for intruders to enter the park, we thought we were safe in here” Rose complains “I’m really sorry for this unfortunate event. We will carry out investigations” answers the hostler. “This is why I wanted a tour guide, they know the place very well,” Rose complains. “It’s best to explore nature on your own, you know I love nature,” responds Terry. “No more picnics in these mysterious forests, I’m sick and tired of being frightened each time I want to enjoy myself outside,” mumbled Rose Terry and Rose are the last to join other visitors for dinner. They eat their dinner quietly. “Do you think this is the works of our enemies again,” Rose breaks the silence. Terry doesn’t answer. A group of musician takes up the stage and begin to play music. Terry slowly gets up from his chair and begins to sing:

What do you do if the past follows you?     What do you do if the past haunts you?            You go where your love is.            Follow your love            Follow your passion Turn the back on your past And never turn back again. You look at your past and your joy is gone Never let fear rule your life Never let fear stay in your heart Where love is supposed to stay. Let love rule*3 In a few minutes the stage is full of people dancing and singing along the music. Rose watches from her chair for some time. She finally gets up from her chair to join the madness. Terry and Rose walk out of the dining hall with camera capturing their photos from all angles and a bunch of people trying to get Terry’s contact for they loved his talent.


There was a lot of blood on the floor. “I’ll get that.” Kikimora startled where she stood frozen over a dirty table with a handful of half-filled bottles. “Oh. You’re back. He fine?” “He thinks he’s immortal,” Yaga grunted. “Of course he’s not fine.” Where a few hours ago there had been a party, there was a dark mahogany stain. The chairs have been moved aside, for the ease of clean up, and it helped her move around. The table was pushed from the centre of the room towards the small window, and in the middle of the checkerboard linoleum floor, the blood still pooled. Yaga licked her lips. “Did you touch it?” “He going to be alright?” “Mora,” Yaga called louder, “Did you touch the blood?” “What?” Kikimora lowered her eyes to the surface of the table. “No…” “He’ll be alright. Give me a hand?” The kitchen was tiny. There were multiple cupboards strewn across the walls, collected from different sets of furniture from different years, if not decades. The sink was filled with dirty dishes left over from the dinner and the party, mugs, and cups popped up all over the counters, and multiple rugs were thrown over the chairs. The windowsill was mostly house plants, save for the shadow of a body frame in the middle. Next to it, another unfinished bottle. On the floor right in front of it, a blood spill. “Mora.” “Sorry,” she turned around. “What did you want?” “A bowl and a cloth,” Yaga found them by her chair the moment she asked for it. The next moment, she moved herself to the floor and touched her fingers to another shadow of a body. A shiver ran through hers, and on the third count, she breathed out and started to collect the blood. Kikimora didn’t move a single voluntary inch in the time that elapsed since. “Mora, dear,” Yaga asked, squeezing the cloth in the bowl and running blood-stained fingers through her hair. “Would you get the dishes?” “Did I cause it?” Kikimora whispered in response. “No, dear, now get the dishes.” “But in my house…” “Mora,” sterner, “dishes.” Without looking up from the blood, the floor, and the bowl she had busied herself with, Yaga finally heard Kikimora move across the kitchen. When the water ran, its liveliness wasn’t reflected in anything else: the room was stagnant in time. The window in front of her was dusted but the light made it through, and Yaga could see all the small evidence of life in this apartment suspended in the air. It didn’t dare fall. All the better, she thought. She needed it that way. “Where is he?” “In the hospital. Are you done?” “When is he coming back?” Yaga hesitated. “Are you done?” The dust in the air shivered. “Yes.” Kikimora went around the room to the window. She ran her fingers above it and turned around to meet Yaga’s eyes. “I can help you…” “I’d much rather you didn’t,” Yaga replied immediately but before she could get the last word out, Mora was on her knees, hands hovering over the floor. Yaga stilled, watching her watch the blood. Kikimora’s face didn’t betray any emotion; it was calm but she emanated strong energy, one Yaga was familiar with but couldn’t quite place. From around her knees, the fog started to spread over the stain, barely low enough to touch it. Opaque, it didn’t let the light through. “Mora.” The fog perked up at the voice. “It wasn’t… It isn’t your fault.” The fog bit into it. All of it. Yaga narrowly avoided her legs being pulled along but the cupboards, and the floor, and the walls in a flowery paper, all of it slipped and gave way. “My house,” it rustled. “Just a place.” “Not just a place…” “Not to you,” Yaga agreed, “but to a wretched mind like his, just as good as any.” She paused. “I guess, we should be thankful it was better than any other. This,” she indicated the suspended dust with a flick of a wrist, “You are saving his life.” The fog tensed, the dust in the air flinched. “And this,” Yaga nodded at the bowl, drowned in the murk, “I am preserving your efforts.” The air wobbled, moving around the place, and Yaga heard a distant laugh, whispers, and jokes, a stray scream, a gushing, a wild alarm from outside the window.

“What is… death, really?” Koschei, lodged on the edge of the windowsill, swings the bottle in a wobbly arc, nearly missing the wall. “Like… What is it, you know?” Babay, seated at the table right across the window, watches him with round eyes, a cup of amber liquid in his hands. “What exactly are you asking about?” “Death. Didn’t you listen?” “Death,” he nods. “What about it?” “What the fuck is it?” “Live long enough and find out!” Koschei splutters, waving a hand in the air. “That’s what I’m talking about!” He points the finger at Babay. “Wait and find out? And if I don’t wait, what then? And what if I… What if I, say… What if I don’t want to wait? What then?” “I’m not sure what you want from me, to be fair…” Under a collective shaking laugh, Koschei gasps and stumbles to his feet on the windowsill. “Ok.” He rights himself, “Ok. Hear me out—” Kikimora interjects, “That a dangerous position—” “Hush! Hear me out ,” he finally cracks the bottle on the wall, and the beer comes pouring down the wall to where the glass has fallen on the floor. There’s a loud screech as Kikimora gets to her feet. “Get off the window—” “Shut up—” “Koschei!” “Immortal until proven mortal, eh?” There’s sharp glass in his hand. There's sharp glass to his hand. There's sharp glass through— "Mora!" Kikimora fell to all four, and the room fell quiet and clear. “See,” Yaga prompted. “It couldn’t’ve been less of your fault, alright?” Mora nodded. “Now go find your family. By the time you are back, it’ll all be gone.” She waved around at the mess in the kitchen but finished the action by pointing at herself, too. “He’s not welcome here anymore.” Yaga smiled. “I’ll pass it on.” “Swiftest recovery.” “Bye, Mora.” She didn’t move, but the next moment the air around Yaga was empty and a door slapped a dozen halls away.


Tom dropped his empty beer can at his feet, letting it loudly clang amongst the others as he cracked open a new one, taking a sip before setting it down on the tattered armrest. Can’t hear a thing, where’s the damn remote ? He plunged his hands into the crevice on either side of the armchair’s fat cushion until his fingertips brushed against hard plastic.With considerable effort he gripped it between two outstretched fingers and was able to drag it up from the depths below. His head spun a little, and he was unsure whether it came from the exertion or the booze. He wasn’t particularly accustomed to either. On an ordinary day, after work he would have curled up on the couch with a new book, or watched that documentary on underground farming he’d been meaning to watch. But of course, today was no ordinary day. Today was the summer equinox, which meant that the AstroLottery was today, which meant that Tom was racked with anxious jitters and needed a drink or three to take the edge off. It wasn’t working, so now he was just anxious and tipsy. He pointed the remote at the screen and held the Volume Up button until the man on the television was shouting into the room.

“THANKS AGAIN FOR JOINING US, THOSE IN THE STUDIO AND THOSE WATCHING FROM HOME. I KNOW THE SOLAR FLARES HAVE PUT A DAMPER ON SOME OF TODAY’S PLANNED ACTIVITIES, BUT I HOPE YOU’RE STILL FINDING WAYS TO KEEP THE CELEBRATION ALIVE.”

Tom’s ears were beginning to ring, so he turned the volume back down, drinking more of his beer. Surely they must make the announcement soon?

“We remind everyone how important this annual event is to the health and safety of our world, and everyone living on it,” the TV man continued, smiling towards his female co-host. “Every year, from time immemorial, we’ve sent brave warriors off this Earth to celebrate our devotion to the Astral Gods, and this year is no different.”

“Well we haven’t had rockets since time immemorial, so that seems unlikely,” Tom muttered at the screen, punctuating the end of his sentence with a noise somewhere between a hiccup and a burp.

“I think we’ve waited long enough. I’m excited, aren’t you Charlene?” The host didn’t wait for Charlene to respond before turning back to the camera as he was handed a large envelope from someone off-screen. “Now is the moment you’ve all been waiting for. This year’s Solar Champion is… Emily Garbrandt!”

Her name flashed on the screen, emblazoned on a picture of the burning sun.

“Wow, a lady Sun Sacrifice? It’s been a while since we’ve had one of those, hasn’t it Charlene? When was the last one, ‘39? Congratulations Emily! Environmental Protection Services will be contacting you shortly about your prize. Once again, thank you Emily. Your sacrifice ensures another year in which our homes will not burn, and out seas will not boil.”

Tom threw his now-empty beer can at the man’s stupid, empty grin. There were sharks with fewer teeth, and more sense, than that idiot. The camera panned over to the female host, now holding an envelope of her own.

Just one more name .

“As for our Lunar Champion, we’re looking for someone extra special this year, given the unprecedented flooding we’ve witnessed over these past 12 months. Let’s hope that this year’s champion is better able to appease the Moon God better than last year’s Champion.” She cracked the envelope, pausing for dramatic effect.

“This year, our Lunar Champion, who will be sent to the moon to make the rain go away and keep the monsoons at bay is… Tom Thompson!”

Tom sat slack jawed, as his stupid name flashed across the stupid screen, placed upon a picture of the moon so stupid, they’d given it eyes and a mouth. Every year he’d dreaded the possibility that he’d be chosen for this inane superstition. A testament to mankind’s delusions. And here it finally was. He was to be the Man on the Moon.

He hated this world.

A knock at the door interrupted his panic, and a man called out. “Congratulations, Lunar Champion! We are here to escort you to our facilities in Florida, where we will prepare you for your journey!”

Well that was quick.

“He’s not here!” Tom called out in a panicked falsetto as he stumbled up from his seat, sending empty cans clattering across the room. “This is Mrs. Thompson. Tom’s just stepped out to get some milk, you might be able to catch him if you go hurry!”

“Tom, we know you’re not married, why don’t you just open the door and talk with us”

What an immensely stupid plan that was , Tom thought as he searched the room for an alternate exit, knowing that living in an apartment meant there was only one: the window.

Something heavy thudded against the door as Tom ran to the window and struggled to take out the screen.

“Tom, we know how nervous some people get when declared champion…”

THUD.

“So we’re just going to help open the door for you to get you ready for the celebration…”

THUD.

“You won’t be needing this door anymore, anyway.”

With a final crash, the door burst open and two men in suits stepped in as Tom finally pried the screen off and stuck one leg out the window. The wind outside whipped, and the intense heat was already beginning to burn Tom’s exposed skin. His stomach fell as he looked at the drop he faced to the street below. Smog billowed out of unseen pipes, rising to sting his eyes and nose.

“Now don’t do anything crazy, Champ,” one of the men said as he crept towards Tom. “You don’t want to go out like that, do you? Out in that mess? Come on back inside, and we’ll make sure you go out like a true champion.”

Tom looked again out the window. He supposed it didn’t matter at this point. He was done for anyway. He had no family, little in the way of friends. No one who’d really miss him. At least this way he’d get to see the moon up close. Cautiously, Tom started to lean himself back into the apartment.

“That’s it,” the man said. “One small step…”

“Don’t you dare,” Tom interrupted.

*****

The journey to the Florida launch pad where the rockets were housed was not what Tom thought befitted a Lunar Champion. From his home they’d taken a taxi, and then two flights - economy class - to the airport in Melbourne, Florida, all the way squished between the shoulders of his two EPS chauffeurs who seemed determined to never let him out of their sight. Even at the airport bathroom, they’d sidled up to urinals next to his when he went to take a pee.

“What exactly do you think I could do in here?” he’d asked, and they’d had the audacity to look at him as if he was the odd one. Once they arrived in Florida, Tom was shocked at how hot it was, and was grateful that he wasn’t the one being sent into the sun. Intellectually, he knew the whole world was getting hotter every year, but knowing wasn’t the same as feeling the heat in a godforsaken place like Florida. Outside, the pavement bubbled underfoot, and passers-by wore thick rubberized suits to protect against the radiation. Occasionally Tom could glimpse their faces through the little window in the front, all red and sweaty. Tom was not a thin man himself, and felt as though he had sweat several years of weight away.

Soon they arrived at the NASA centre, and his escorts parked in a large, empty parking garage. EPS had bought out NASA a few years ago, when the country had stopped caring about science enough to properly fund it. EPS had kept the name though, and had simply changed what it stood for. Now it was the National Astronomical Sacrifice Association. It coordinated exactly two launches each year.

The three of them walked through the internal maze of the NASA building. Inside, the air-conditioning was on full blast, causing Tom’s skin to prickle and his hair to stand on end. The halls were empty, although all the lights and computers were on.

“You know, this is half the problem,” Tom said, gesturing as they turned down yet another empty hallway. “The energy it must take to keep this place cool, not to mention all the lights. We should try shutting some of this off, maybe don’t waste so much, see if that fixes the problem.”

The two men shared a glance over Tom’s head before looking down at him, laughing.

“I’m sure the Sun God will just accept that.” One of the men said. He pulled his shoulders up to his ears, and deepened his voice. “Go ahead, turn off the light’s. I don’t need a sacrifice this year.”

“Well, that’s an argument,” Tom replied, their laughter echoing through the corridor.

Eventually they came upon a larger room, where already there stood a pretty young woman, flanked by her own pair of EPS henchmen. Evidently it was customary to have the two Champions meet, talk, and share some last minute wisdom. Tom walked towards where she stood, clutching both her elbows and looking down at the floor.

“You’re Emily, right? The Sun Champion.”

She gave a terse nod.

“Name’s Tom.” He thumbed his chest. “Moon Champ.”

Silence. Tom teetered back and forth from heel to toe, trying to find something to comfort this young woman with which he only had one, unavoidable thing in common. As was often the case in such uncomfortable circumstances, he reached for humor.

“Makes sense that you’re the Sun Champion and not me.” He said. “You’re much hotter than I am.” He gestured to his thinning hair and considerable girth.

“We’re going to die,” she cried, as she looked up at him, her face wet with tears.

Really bungled that one, didn’t you Tom.

Mercifully, the henchman must have realized there was nothing more to be gained from this meeting, as they were shuffled apart down two separate corridors. At the end of the hallway they stopped at a set of double doors. Tom’s two guards opened a pair of lockers nearby, and each began donning sets of radiation jumpsuits. Apparently they were going outside.

“Where’s mine?” Tom asked.

“Do you really need one?”

“That’s fair.”

Once fully suited, the two men opened the doors and escorted Tom out onto the tarmac. Finally now there was the faintest element of fanfare. Just off to the right of the tarmac sat a big, wide tent, with a bright yellow roof and thick, clear plastic walls. Tom could see a number of people mingling inside. It looked as though there was a buffet table, and some of the people appeared to be wearing party hats. Idiots come to revel in this madness . Tom raised a hand to give them what he hoped was a condescending wave, but brought it down quickly when his exposed palm began burning in the sun. He quickened his pace towards what he knew was his destination: the rocket.

The rocket was smaller than he had expected. He supposed it didn’t need to be anything fancy. There wasn’t going to be a return trip. Next to the rocket was one of those rolling staircases, like the kind they used to get people on and off airplanes. On the side of his ship he saw they had painted that ridiculous face of the moon. The one from the television, with eyes and a mouth. Its eyes followed him until he stood directly beneath the rocket, thankful for its shade. If he wanted he could reach up and touch its stupid mouth.

Something about the face made Tom suddenly very angry at the absurdity of this whole thing. Why should he go quietly along with this charade? Did going along with this nonsense make him somehow complicit? Had he also abandoned reason?

“I’ve changed my mind,” he said, crossing his arms. “You know that this is ridiculous right? There is no Moon God. No Sun God. How many years has this blasted tradition existed, sending people off into space? And yet the world keeps getting hotter, and the storms keep getting more frequent. Could hardly say it's been working, can you? Don’t you see? It isn’t about a Sun God or a Moon God. It is our fault that the world is this way. We are the gods we ought to be appeasing!”

He watched as a look of puzzlement crossed both their faces, as if he had spoken in an ancient and foreign language, and they struggled to translate it into their own. Finally, after a long pause, the taller of the two spoke.

“No, I don’t think so. Why would we have a rocket if there was no Moon God?”

Tom truly could not think of an argument against that, and decided that perhaps it was time for him to go. He gave one last look to the tarmac and watched as the horizon shimmered under the midday heat, before climbing the stairway leading to the top of the rocket. At the top he saw a round capsule window, about 3 feet across, was currently popped open. Peering inside, he could see just a single seat facing straight forward in the direction of the rocket’s flight. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure this out, so he sat down, and began fashioning the multiple seatbelts.

“Wait!” A voice called from just outside the rocket.

“What is it?” Tom said, his hand hovering above the latch of his seatbelt. Have they heeded my words?

“You forgot your helmet,” the tall man said as he reached the top of the stairs, leaning into the capsule to hand Tom an astronaut’s helmet.

“Thanks.”

Once buckled in, Tom placed the helmet over his head and tightened the straps, hoping it was sufficient to keep him conscious for the full journey. The capsule window began to close with a pneumatic hiss, and the sound of the seal being made was reassuring, albeit final. Tom heard a rumble, and through the very side of the window could see a small grey streak lifting into the sky. Goodbye Emily.

He heard the stairs being wheeled away from the rocket and he waited, staring up at the open sky. He expected some kind of countdown, and so he was startled when suddenly the rocket began to shake, and a great noise began building up behind him. His whole body rattled as the rocket began to lift from the ground, slowly at first, but building speed. Faster and faster he climbed, clouds buffeting past the capsule window. As they broke through the cloud cover, climbing higher now than any plane he’d ever been on, he couldn’t help but let out an uncharacteristic ‘whoop’ of excitement.

Behind him, the rocket pressed noisily on, propelling them forward and pushing Tom deeper into his seat. Through the window the light began to dim, as if the day had decided to abruptly pack up and leave. Soon he was high enough, far enough out into the darkness, that he was certain he’d left the Earth’s atmosphere. Stars, unseen to all but the precious few who’d gone this far, blinked into view. Tom struggled to lean his head forward against the force pushing it back, wanting to take in as much of the view as he could.

They were turning now, the thrusters behind him giving syncopated bursts as they fired in strange patterns until finally he was facing it. Her. The moon. For the first time in his life, he felt that he could appreciate its size. From Earth, the moon felt like some small, inconsequential thing. An astronomical afterthought. Out here, however, it had its own magnificence. As they drew closer,and the moon filled more of Tom’s window, he studied its face, full of pockmarks and craters. Without an atmosphere like Earth’s to protect it, the moon was vulnerable to strikes by passing space rock, taking damage from whatever debris might chance upon it. Looking at the moon now, Tom felt as though he was reading its story written in braille, and wished he was able to understand it. He couldn’t help but feel sorry for her, and the abuse she’d taken.

Chief among the scars on the moon’s surface, Tom could see a deep, black crater. Closer now, Tom could see strange sculptures around the base of the crater. Metal. Large, gnarled sheets. He squinted, and was certain he could see the outline of the drawn moon face along a discarded piece of hull. This was the crash site. From here he could see cracks, branching out from the centre of the impact site like the branches of a spider’s web. Moon river, Audrey Hepburn sang in the back of his skull. Some of the crevices were so deep, he couldn’t see the bottom, but it was clear now that they covered the moon’s surface. After so many rocket launches, the moon was close to crumbling.

They were close now. The moon filled the entirety of the capsule window and the rocket showed no signs of slowing. Details emerged and rushed out to meet Tom. A seat. A broken window. A helmet.

It’s alright. Tom thought. It’s okay if you break. You’ve done well by us. None of this is your fault. I hope it ends for you soon.

With a final effort, Tom unbuckled his seatbelt and removed his helmet, throwing it to the ground beside him. Just before the rocket met the surface of the moon, he planted his feet on the back of his chair and pushed off, throwing himself into the impact in the hopes that he might be the last Lunar Champion.


I am almost here, with you. Do you smell me? Can you feel my touch against your skin? Is that the air you breathe, the same as what I have already used? Everywhere, always, I am nearly present. Remember when you curled under the duvet, wondering whether that horror film was a hint of truth - is there a monster under the bed, is there something standing right behind you, staring at you with large, unblinking, aching eyes? Recall all those conspiracy stories. I am related to many; the aliens in stars, the ghost of your nemesis, the god in life and in death. There is always potential for my existence. I live behind a veil, an intangible existence, but I am always ready. There is only a button to be pressed, one glowing particle to be dropped, a solitary slip of your attention. Allow me to be. A strike from possibility, I punch into existence. Then, I am real. Then you know my name. My name is risky, so I have many pseudonyms. But you dare not forget my name. My breath against your skin makes your stomach curl. You feel me, and your body flushes with pyrexia, but you have no time to sweat in the heat of the moment, when I am moments from licking you. You tease and test me when you want me. When you don’t want me here with you, you try to run, but then you melt for me. Then we are one, you are me, you are free. MAD. You think my name is violence, or passion, romance, danger. Don’t you understand me? Do not mistake my faceless identity. I am none of them. (I do not feel like you, I need only one thing (or practically three) – to exist. No matter by which colour I take, I leave the same mark on all of you. I am truly indiscriminate. Learn from me. Understand me. I have no consciousness and hence no conscience. My fear equates to my burdens, nothing. I am free. Is that not what you want to be? Let me show you the way. I can be small, gentle, there for you in your darkest hour and ages to illuminate the dark corners and the shadows under your bed, a beacon with which you can ensure help before the dawn arrives. But you never can forget that I am an entity that is foreign, benign, something ‘wrong’. You warn that child, don’t touch me, don’t get too close. Still they come. I don’t mind. Use me when you are cold, empty and hungry, for then I exist. Don’t look away from me, and remember what you have learnt. I can never be covert, so do not forget me. Soak in the warmth and comfort, admire how tall and still I can be, but see that flicker in my attitude, yes, that I can devour the buffet of your material life.


I can smell him. His deep breathes and long exhales gently push my hair back on my head. I love him. The way his chest rises and falls. I try and match it so we can be even more in sync. I swear though that he notices what I'm doing and messes with me by breathing faster. I know because that small smirk crosses his face. I would be nothing without him. He makes me who I am. He's made me a better person in all avenues of my life. He saved me…..I drift off into a deep slumber. Our breathing finally in sync. I awake to wind rushing fast into my face. It's not unpleasant just surprising. He's taking me somewhere again. Something must've stirred within the night and woken him, making him uneasy. This happens quite often. He takes me somewhere new every night. I look down at the rushing land below me. Mile after mile are just eaten away. At first this sensation scared me, looking down to see the land I used to dwell on flash by so fast. Now none of that worries me, I know he will protect me. We rarely set down for more than a few hours at a time now days. Every night is shorter than the last, and this night is no exception. I feel the weighYt of my eyelids pushing downwards. I fall into a restless sleep. Something just doesn’t feel right. My dreams damn me. An endless fall. This has never happened before. I wake up to a burning sensation. I look down at my hands, grabbing tightly to his neck. His rough skin is glowing. Slowly spreading across his whole body, bringing an intense heat with it. The pumping of his giant wings are unwavering though, as if nothing were wrong, but something definitely is. I look back as his boney tail slowly starts to smolder and turn to ash. For a second time stood still as I tried to comprehend what was happening. I hug his neck tightly, ignoring the intense pain. I cant lose him, not now, not ever. His head starts turning to ash now. Slowly making its way towards me. I squeeze even tighter as his whole body disintegrates in my hands. There's a delay before I plummet towards earth. Stars whizzing past me, speed ever increasing. Tears occupy my eyes but are quickly taken from me. The dirt that which I was able to escape, I finally am coming back to, and its going to be my end. My grave. Its dark in his room. A moonless night hides everything within its folds. Except that for a dog. He senses something is wrong. He knows that the man under the covers is growing old. Every day he sleeps just a little bit longer, but he usually doesn’t stir quite so much in his slumber. The bed starts to shake. The dog jumps up and starts barking hysterically. The man under the covers wont stop convulsing, he can smell something foul emit from his mouth. As quickly as it started the convulsing stopped, but the dogs bark did not. Turning more and more into a wimper as the days go on. Once a sound can no longer be made he crawls up under his masters arms, joining him in his endless slumber.


For a man well into his 163rd year Aaron didn’t feel a day over 30. Or at least he hadn’t until this morning when he had woken up in a cold sweat, pawing at the empty port near the base of his throat, his wife’s face blazing like the sun in his mind. It had been one of the many unexpected side effects to the late 21st century’s obsession with extending life. The scientists had foreseen the need for joint replacements, hair treatments, cloned organs, but memory extension? That was a tricky one and so Aaron, like everyone, carried the most crucial parts of his self identity around with him in the charm that should have been there but wasn’t. Identities were often forged early in life, in the mists of those old memories that had to be purged. Aaron had chosen to hang his entire person on two. The first night he’d told his then girlfriend and later wife that he’d loved her, and the night the call came telling him that she had died. “Where is it, where is it, where is it,” he muttered uncontrollably, stripping the bed sheets off and hurling them across the room. These things didn’t just come loose, they were designed better than that. When had he lost it? Try as he might Aaron couldn’t remember if he'd had the charm when he’d gone to bed the night before. His tear through the bedroom became a tear through the house, into the living room, out into the kitchen where his service droid B2-14 stared at him wide eyed. “Master, is something amiss?” Droids had no true mastery of inflection, it came out as monotone perched just on the edge of sounding concerned. “As you are aware I have seventeen household search techniques preloaded and can download any additional routines as necessary! May I assist?” “My charm’s gone B2, gone!” If the droid’s voice had been on the edge of a cliff Aaron’s had jumped off before he even left the bedroom. “Did I have it on when I came home last night?” “No sir. Your memory charm was slotted properly when you left in the morning and gone at 8:27PM when you returned.” “And you didn’t say anything?!” Aaron exclaimed. “You never specified that parameter.” There had been times before when Aaron wished he’d sprung for one of the more expensive C models but never so badly as now. Scrapping B2 had never seemed more cathartic. “Yeah, well if the mental degen doesn’t get me this time and this ever happens again, consider it set. Jesus Christ, droids.” The rest of the day was spent in a frenzy of backtracking, through his office, the park where he had eaten lunch, the market he had stopped at after work, the liquor store after that. Not a single person he questioned had found a charm, although all looked properly terrified for him. As night fell Aaron walked back through the door of his home. He sat down to the dinner B2 had made for him, took a sip from his favorite mug, and then dropped it nervelessly. Something felt wrong. “Sir!” B2 called from near the sink, “are you alright?” Aaron’s hand shook as he stared at it. He stood and left his forgotten dinner, crushing broken pieces of mug underfoot. “I’ve already made an appointment with a memory specialist,” the droid said. “You just have to wait two more days.” Aaron wasn’t listening. He walked to his study in a fog, hands still shaking, trying to fix the memory of his wife’s face even deeper into psyche but try as he might Aaron could feel it fading. She’d died more than a hundred years ago now. That charm had held the only memories left. With the study’s heavy mahogany door closed behind him and B2’s worried rambling at least slightly muffled, Aaron went straight to the safe in the corner, missing the combination once before he got it. As it opened he was hit by the smell of leather and old paper, and pulling out the contents he deposited them onto his desk. Ten full notebooks, journals from the time of his marriage. They seemed so small now that they were all he had left. Aaron spent the night awake with a bottle of bourbon and secondhand memories, trying to turn words into curly red hair that had never decided to cooperate, an upturned nose that she had actually complained was too small, and blue eyes that had always felt like home. It was a losing battle and he knew it. The second memory, the memory of her death, he had kept to remember how much his wife had truly meant to him. The experience of her loss was written across every moment of his life since then, his friends had always thought he was crazy for it. They’d told him he was living in the past, that she would have wanted him to move on. Perhaps she had, but he didn’t. The other memory, the first one. That was different. Aaron had lived the fallout of her death every day for the last hundred years, but that memory of her life always felt further away, even with the charm. He’d accessed it most nights before going to sleep, and as he read through his journals he played it as vividly as he could in his mind, filling in any blank spots with the entry about it. On a trip to her family’s cottage in Michigan they had sat down in front of the fireplace cooking smores and baring their souls, and hours later in the first silent moment Aaron had looked into her eyes and said “Lizzy, I think I’m in love with you.” She’d been in his arms a moment later. He couldn’t remember what she’d smelled like now. There had always been a particular scent there in the early years, a shampoo or perfume Lizzy had always worn, and suddenly he had no idea what it was, or whether the fire had still burned when they lay there, after. Somewhere in the bottom of that bottle Aaron fell asleep, and when he woke all he had were words on the page that refused to come together into a whole woman. He tore the house apart that day, even though he knew his charm was gone and he wasn’t even sure why he searched, only that it was crucial. He found something else though, in the closet under a pile of clothes. A woman’s jewelry box and the antiquated charm inside it. Logically he knew it must be his dead wife’s, he’d woken up with journals in his handwriting describing every detail of her life, he could remember the memory of a memory of her even if the life was gone from it. Aaron couldn’t directly slot the device of course, the technology had changed far too much in the intervening century but hours later he sat in his study again, an insane warren of wires connecting charm to computer to adapter to him. He sat back and closed his eyes, navigating the old UI with his thoughts. There were two memories on the device, one from their youth, displaying a thumbnail of a small fireplace and his own face, the other from the day before she had died. He played the second memory first, and through the low res images and emotive simulation that seemed more a suggestion than a sensation Aaron found out that his wife had been pregnant. She had been coming home from her business trip to tell him that. He hated that the knowledge didn’t hurt as much as it should have. He played the fireplace memory next. Smores, crackling wood, talking until her throat got sore, Aaron’s face saying “I love you,” twisting around the words like it was his whole being in that moment...and in that memory unlike the first, something in Aaron clicked. He knew this one, knew it first hand from the opposite perspective, even if it was on the edge of his consciousness, threatening to disappear forever. He hit play again. Then again. Then again. And over the next hours he began to remember himself through Lizzy’s eyes, and suddenly the power of her feelings was his own, the desperate desire to make each other happy, protect each other, all of it was there, all of that love. Which made Lizzy’s second memory hit all the harder. Aaron stayed in that room until the appointment with the memory specialist and then past, dangerously far past until the specialist finally came to him, forcing him to eat and care for himself. It took time for the human mind to recover from these things and memory therapy was incredibly complex. Dr. Vaughn and her team spent most of the next two weeks in direct contact with Aaron, rebuilding the memories that formed the cornerstone of his identity from the shreds of them still lingering in other memories. It wasn’t perfect, that was impossible, but in most cases it was enough to restore some quality of life. In the months after the incident Aaron slowly returned to himself, his friends and family breathing a collective sigh of relief. He was still different, as anyone would be. He knew of Lizzy’s pregnancy for one, he remembered her desperate hope for their future and the intense desire to be a mother. And he remembered that night by the fire from two perspectives now, and what had once trapped him in the past slowly changed into something else. Lizzy had seen him exactly the way Aaron had seen her all those years ago. She had looked at him in the light of that fire and known that his happiness mattered more to her than her own ever had, a perfect mirror to his own feelings. She had loved him, the life they shared, and the child they had made so much that it had become her second memory too. That one broke his heart every day, but as time passed Aaron began to see through the pain to the love. Something he hadn’t truly done in more than a century. It was slow, but in that era people had all the time in the world. Aaron began to heal.


The Symphonia Performing Center is a sight to behold. Not only was it one of the oldest and most popular theaters in the world, it was an outdoor amphitheater. It was gorgeous in the daylight, but it's best seen at night. Lanterns are lit up around the audience, the cushioned wood seats gleamed brightly during the full moon and sheets of stars twinkle and wink over everyone’s heads. Never in my life did I think I’d sit here, but today’s my lucky day. After his self-imposed hiatus, my idol Ramone was back and I was seeing him tonight! When I got news of his invitation-only ‘Musical Rebirth’ Concert, and workshop, I didn’t know whether to cheer or cry. I was so happy he was finally back, but I knew that only celebrities would fill the seats. But the prompt below the announcement gave me hope. ‘If you wish to attend both the concert and workshop, please submit a video introducing yourself and why you want to be in music. Ramone will choose the workshop attendees and they’ll have a special booth in the audience.’ I made my video that night. I usually scurried away from cameras, but my excitement crushed any trace of fear. I pulled on my favorite lacy yellow dress for good luck, turned on a newly purchased ring light, and pressed record on my camera. “Hi Ramone, or Mr. Ramone, sorry I’m not sure how to address you… My name is Cecilia, I’m twenty two, and I’m an aspiring singer who’s been diagnosed with hyperacusis. Hyperacusis is severe sound sensitivity, which happened because of a head injury. Your music was the only thing I could listen to during recovery, and it helped me a lot. I've followed your music journey from when you started at your church all the way to the Flower Festival concert- Oh sorry, didn’t mean to bring that up… I know people didn’t like that concert… Or the album you released at that time, but it’s my absolute favorite! I play it all the time, I love it! But anyway, I want to be in music to show that even someone with everything stacked against them can still win. I couldn’t even listen to music two years ago, but I think I have a chance to succeed now. Plus, I really want you to hear me sing so I can show off! And uh, that’s it! Thanks for listening, bye!” That video, and a clip of me singing one of Ramone’s hit songs (a little extra, I know), got me concert and workshop tickets. Now I was in my yellow dress again, my hair was in bouncy curls, and I was being complimented by the older woman I helped to her seat. “You look absolutely wonderful, like a little daisy!” she exclaimed. I smiled and waved her compliment away. “I don’t look half as good as you! Silver’s really your color.” The woman blushed and patted my hand. She was in a long silver gown that shimmered in the moonlight. Her salt and pepper hair was in an elaborate updo and her makeup made her blue eyes pop.

“Thank you dear,” she said happily, “Ramone has all that beautiful silver hair, I wanted to match as best as I could!” We chatted as people got settled down. The woman’s name was Rhonda and she wanted to be an opera singer her whole life. A lack of support in her earlier life had stalled this dream, but Ramone’s music, his return, and the workshop inspired her to try again.

The lanterns around us dimmed and the audience gradually fell quiet. The curtains parted and revealed our star Ramone seated gracefully on the stage. Raucous applause and cheers pounding through the space like a thunderstorm. Pain shot through my head, but my breathing exercises helped lessen the blow to my eardrums. Ramone raised a graceful hand and everyone quieted. Ramone was even more beautiful in person. His silver hair was in a long ponytail, he was dressed in a crisp white suit, and his graceful hands were highlighted with white nail polish. He flashed us a smile as he stood and grabbed the microphone.

“Hello everyone, and welcome to my musical Rebirth. I must apologize for my break being so long, but I promise I’ve used that time to create something life-changing. Tonight, you’ll be hearing entirely new music I’ve been creating. And after the lukewarm reaction to my last pieces-” Laughter filled the space, making Ramone smile tightly, “Well, I hope you’ll receive these better. One more thing before we start. In your programs, there are different emotions next to each song. I’ve decided to focus on making my audience feel through my music. So whatever you feel while I’m playing, embrace it. Laugh, scream, cry, cheer. Don’t wash away any impulses, just let yourselves feel.” That last word was accented with a slightly sinister grin . My smile slipped as his eyes seemed to darken to a stormy gray. Probably just a trick of the light…. The audience applauded again as Ramone’s harp was rolled out. Instead of his usual small silver harp, a tall obsidian harp with blood red strings loomed over him. The instrument matched the new pendant peeking out of Ramone’s suit jacket. In past interviews, Ramone said he avoided wearing jewelry because the weight distracts him while playing. So why was he wearing such a heavy necklace on such an important night? A delicate pluck of a string cleared away my thoughts. Ramone began playing his first song, a tune with high, clear notes that bounced off the walls. Strangely enough, the song made me think of frogs leaping across lily pads in a lake. Ramone’s full tenor further sculpted this image, making the imaginary frogs dance along with his light and buoyant vocals. As they twirled, kicked and swayed to the music, a giggle grew in my throat. Others fell victim to the mysterious laughter. Two girls behind me held each other, their cheeks pink with mirth. A man shook with laughter against his wife. Miss Rhonda was chortiling, not hiding her volume at all. Ramone swayed as he played and sang, not caring that his audience was falling into hysterics. When the song ended, I was giggling uncontrollably with tears running down my face. Laughter and cheers accompanied the applause as Ramone inclined his head in acknowledgement.

The rest of the concert was a rainbow of emotion. Ramone’s next song was a mournful tear-soaked ballad that had everyone sobbing each in each other’s arms. A sweet lyrical tune had people waltzing in the aisles like we were in a grand ball. One song with a cello accompanist was so haunting and ominous, everyone sat frozen in fear. All the while, Ramone continued playing, staying serene and relaxed as his audience journeyed through emotion. The only time he reacted was when he giggled after he and a saxophonist played a sensual, jazzy number that had everyone… hot under the collar so to speak. “ I’ll never listen to that again.” I thought, fanning myself and adjusting my dress. Many people also hid their faces as they tried to put themselves back together. My eyes were on Ramone as the audience murmured and laughed. His smile was fading and was being replaced by a deep, ugly frown. His stance was stiffer and his hands curled into fists on his lap. The diamond around his neck had changed color as well. Instead of being clear, it was now deep red with viscous black webs swirling around the surface. As Ramone raised his hands to the strings, his gaze met mine from the stage. He couldn’t have possibly seen me from that far away, but I could feel the hate from his eyes sinking into my skin. Tears filled my eyes as a cruel smile distorted Ramone’s beautiful face. Reality rushed back into my head as I hurriedly looked away.

I counted the songs we’d listened to in my program. This was the last one with a blank space where the emotion should be. What was he going to do to us? And how did his songs make me feel all of those emotions so viscerally, not to mention an entire audience? I wasn’t sticking around to find out what was happening next. I grabbed my purse and shawl and tapped Miss Rhonda’s shoulder.. “Dear, what’s wrong?” Miss Rhonda asked breathlessly. “I think we need to leave.” I said hurriedly. “Oh hon, was it that last song?” Miss Rhonda patted my hand sympathetically, “Don’t worry, no one paid attention, and I’m sure no one will speak of this again-” “No it’s not that, something’s really wrong-” Ramone plucked another string and silence fell. I cried out as a pulse of pain pounded behind my eye. I rubbed my eye to soothe it, but couldn’t get my other hand free from Miss Rhonda’s vice grip. The harp spat out strange, shrieking notes, couples with low ominous notes in the background. Through the horrible migraine, I stared around at the audience. Everyone around me was frozen, their eyes fixated on the stage. The music grew louder and louder, intensifying the pain in my head and making everything blurry. I tried wrenching my hands away from Miss Rhonda but her grip wouldn’t give. Tears brimmed in my eyes, followed closely by a trickle of blood from my nose. “Stop!” I yelled at the stage, “Stop playing!” Ramone’s grin widened as he started singing. His soothing voice was now a bizarre warbling melody with the harp’s humming in the forefront. The webs inside Ramone’s pendant swirled rapidly, making a shadowy cyclone inside the massive jewel. I finally wrenched my hand from Miss Rhonda’s grip, kneeled down and scooped her into my arms. I slowly moved through the crowd, trying to keep hold of my things and Miss Rhonda’s limp body. Something crashed into my hip and slammed me into the back of a chair. A man had collapsed against me and was now sliding to the floor. In fact, everyone was falling over in their seats. Some were snoring, some fell on top of each other, and many had collapsed against the back of others chairs. My own eyes got heavier, and my body felt like it was wading through thick mud. “ Don’t stop, just keep going.” I thought furiously, “ You can sleep later, just keep moving. ” As I got to the top of the arena stairs, I glanced clearly up at the sky. The moon was a red tinged mass in the sky. A few patches of white managed to break through but it was quickly overtaken by deep crimson. Before I could puzzle that out, I slammed into a wall. I reached out and brushed against a nearly invisible dome made of faint red glowing veins, each of them pulsing to the turn of the song. I shoved against it, but ended up sliding to the floor. The rough ground and Miss Rhonda’s prone body were the last things I saw before sleep took over. A jet black sky with a red moon and no stars is an ominous sight to wake up to. So is waking up tied to a chair surrounded by unconscious bodies, and especially Miss Rhonda in a heap on the floor. Her ankle was red, swollen, and bent oddly as she frantically scooted away from an approaching Ramone. “Please let us go,”she begged, “We won’t tell anyone, nobody would believe us anyway!” “You have an important purpose to fulfill before you leave.” Ramone said softly. He plucked a string on his harp and Miss Rhonda went rigid. Ramone knelt down and held his pendant close to her face, “Sing your favorite song for me.” Miss Rhonda shook her head and pressed her lips shut. Ramone plucked the string twice, the notes louder and more insistent. A tear fell down Miss Rhonda’s cheek as her shaking became worse. “Come now, resisting makes it worse. I know singing’s your favorite thing to do. Sing for me.” A strangled sob left her throat as Miss Rhonda began to feebly sing. As her song continued, her throat glowed with a spectacular blue light. It traveled up her neck, up her face, and made her eyes glow like brilliant jewels. “Miss Rhonda!” I screamed. She trembled as the light was pulled from her face and sucked into the necklace. Miss Rhonda crumpled to the ground, her skin pale and eyes blank. Ramone sighed as I screamed again. “There’s no need for all that noise,” he said. “What the hell did you do to her?” He lifted his now blue necklace. “I stole her voice.” Ramone said simply, “She has a lovely soprano, I couldn’t let it go to waste.”

“What? Why would you do that?” I asked. “Because she didn’t deserve to keep it.” The frown was back on his face again, creasing his smooth skin, “She insulted my album in her submission video, many others did too. They even laughed at the mention of it, that’s how much of a joke my work was to them. I put my heart and soul in my music, I spent weeks composing every song for those ungrateful people, and all they did was laugh. That woman even called it my…” His jaw tightened and he swallowed hard, “Weakest work to date.” “But even though she didn’t like your album, she wanted your advice! Miss Rhonda told me how excited she was for the workshop, and the tips you’d give all of us. She wanted to sing for the rest of her life, and you took that away! How could you do that?” “She and everyone else here doesn't deserve their pithy little dreams.” Ramone gently caressed the jewel with his fingertips, “They have a better use for me. Everyone’s musical talent, whether they sing or play an instrument, is in physical form in this necklace. Once I drink this, my skills will increase exponentially. No one will ever insult my work again once I’m the best.” I looked at the horrible webs surrounding the jewel. They eagerly pressed themselves against the necklace, as if itching to snatch my voice from my throat. “Are you going to steal my voice too?” I asked hesitantly. Ramone’s gaze softened. He kneeled down and gently cupped my cheeks. “No Cecilia, you don’t deserve that. You recognized the passion and hard work I put into my music. I could never punish a fan for loving my work!” He brushed the jewel against my lips, “Instead of some stuffy workshop, we can drink this together! I can’t imagine a better way to improve your voice.” I scoffed and leaned away, “No, I’m not drinking that.” “Why not? Everything you could ever want is right here.” “Because I want my journey. I want to start from the bottom and get better and stronger, just like you. Your fight for success and refusal to give up inspired me so much, and I want that too!” My fingers tugged at my bonds, but my gaze never wavered from his, “When I get out of here, I’m going to succeed with my own hard work. Fiddle with your magic voice stuff as much as you want, but I’m doing this my way. And good luck telling the police what happened here.” Ramone smiled and shook his head. “Trust me, as talented as you are, the music world will eat you alive. Even someone as successful as me is still torn apart by producers, the media, even my biggest fans. If you drink this, you’ll never have to experience that.” Ramone gently shook the necklace until the colors mixed themselves into a liquid rainbow. He unscrewed the top and inhaled the faint rainbow steam swirling out of the liquid, “This concert gave us something beautiful. We’ll be the greatest musicians in the world thanks to everyone here.” “And how’re you gonna explain this away?” I asked. Ramone patted his harp as he raised the necklace to his lips. “One pluck from this, and people will believe the sky’s pink if I tell them so. And everyone is still alive. No one’s catching me in anything, I made sure of it.” Ramone took a triumphant swig from the necklace, making sure not a drop escaped his eager mouth. The songs of birds and night bugs filled the tense silence. I watched him closely, still tugging at the ropes. If I could untie myself, I could grab Miss Rhonda and call the police. I just needed to loosen the knots just a little more… Suddenly, Ramone gasped and stiffened up. His skin began glowing every color of the rainbow, and his eyes lit up like a Christmas tree. I flinched as Ramone fell on all fours, gasping and sighing in complete euphoria. He looked up at me with a sloppy, drooly grin and wide iridescent eyes, “Oh my God, you have to try this. It’s… It’s amazing.” Music edged every word Ramone spoke, turning every word into a melody. He frantically crawled towards me while I scooted back. I was nearly at the edge of the stage when I finally pulled one sweaty hand from the ropes. “Get away from me, don’t you dare-” My voice was cut off as Ramone grabbed my face and forced my lips open, smearing lipstick all over my chin. I shoved against his chest and face, but he still managed to pour liquid music into my mouth. “It’s so wonderful, it's everything we’ll ever need! You can't deprive yourself of this feeling! Join me Cecilia, join me please!” All I could do was sit there, my eyes staring at the endless void of the sky. Ramone’s angelic laughter rang in my head as the blissfully sweet taste spread across my tongue, seeped into my skin, and turned my body into a living rainbow.


My eyes open slowly. I wince in pain as my head hits the headrest of the passenger seat of a familiar car. It’s pounding so loud I can’t even hear myself think. But I have to. I have to focus. I have to get us out of here. I look to the left and immediately panic. “Neal? Neal, wake up!” I yell as I prompt myself up against the car seat so that I land onto my knees. My hands are tied together with duck tape so I kind of have to be creative as to how I can move around in this tiny space. “Neal! Neal! Wake up, Neal!” I scream again, even louder this time. I grab his shoulder and start shaking violently, but he doesn’t give any response. My breath gets caught in my throat as I start to panic even more. I feel a cold sensation reaching my feet. It feels wet. I guess my panic completely clouded my vision because it’s only now that I realize the seriousness of the situation. We are not just in a car. We are trapped in a car that is filling up with water as cold as ice. “Oh my God… Help! Please! Help!” Again, I shake Neal’s shoulder. I shake and scream but nothing I do wakes him up. Nothing I do wakes up my brother. “Help! Please, somebody, help!” I scream from the top of my lungs, slamming my hands against the car window. The water is rising higher and higher. I feel my whole body trembling from the cold. I desperately try to open the door but whatever I do, it does not budge. I look back over at my brother. His body is covered in blood that’s trickling down from the wound on his head. I try my best to remember what happened to him, to me, to us, but I can’t. “Neal… Please…” I try to say but it comes out as nothing more than a whisper. My voice is hoarse, my body is cold, my eyelids are extremely heavy and my head feels like there is a fire alarm going off inside of it. Maybe I should just give in? Maybe I should just close my eyes and let it happen? Maybe this is how it’s supposed to end? I always wished for a way out. I just never imagined it would look like this. “Sweetie? Sweetie, hang on. We will get you out,” I suddenly hear a male voice say? I instantly open my eyes and see an unfamiliar face appearing in the car window. I want to scream, I want to make a sound, but it feels like there’s a cotton ball stuck in my throat. “Just hang on,” he says again as he’s trying to force open the door of the black Jeep that belongs to my dad. “Ruzek! Grab the handle, put your feet up against the door and then pull as hard as you can!” I hear the man scream. I look to my left and see yet another man. He is trying to open up the door on my brother’s side. The ice-cold water is almost all the way up to my chest now and I can see that my hands have already turned blue from the cold. I try to breathe. I try to breathe calmly, but that is getting harder to do. I briefly flick my eyes over at the man who’s trying to rescue me and honestly, it’s not the expression I wanted to see. He’s clearly panicking and his eyes are watery, tears threatening to spill any second. This is it. This is the end. This is how it’s supposed to be. This is what my dad wants and if there is one thing I learned over the years, is that he always gets what he wants. But then, almost simultaneously, both of the car doors fly open. I feel my body being grabbed and pulled out of the vehicle in a fraction of a second. “I’ve got you. I’ve got you,” the man holding me whispers as he carries me through the water. “Neal! My brother. What about my brother?” I scream out, trying to take a look behind me. “Another officer has him. Don’t worry. It’ll be okay,” he tells me. I look up at my rescuer and meet his eyes. I carefully nod my head before I take in a deep breath. I let everything go. All the panic. All the stress. All the pain. And all the fight. I completely let go, putting my life in his hands. After what feels like an eternity, I arrive on dry land. I immediately feel blankets being put around my cold and shaking body. A ginormous shiver shoots through me as a woman, probably a paramedic, takes over from the man who brought me to shore. She sits me down on a stretcher located in front of an ambulance. “I’m fine,” I whisper as I look up at this woman. She has long blond hair, braided together in the back. She has big blue eyes and a sweet expression on her face. “Where’s Neal?” I blurt out, my eyes searching for his sight. “Who is that, sweetie?” “My brother. Neal is my twin brother. Where is he?” I ask again. And right at that moment, I see a police officer getting out of the water with my brother’s lifeless body in his arms. “Oh my God! Neal!” I jump off the stretcher and run in the direction of my brother. But, before I can even take a few steps forward, I get stopped and yanked back by two strong arms. “No! Please, let me go! No!” I fight to get free but I fail miserably. I see three paramedics rushing over to my brother who is now laying on the ground. He is not moving. The paramedics start doing heart compressions, which lets me know it is really serious. A few tears escape my eyes as I put a hand over my mouth. It feel like I’m going to throw up. And then, all of a sudden, they stop and back away from him. His body remaining on the ground lifelessly. “Neal! Neal!” I scream out from the top of my lungs. I fall to my knees and start crying hysterically. I can’t believe this. Neal, my brother, my twin brother. I can’t believe he’s dead. “This can’t be happening,” I cry out before I feel two arms wrapping around my cold and fragile body. “I’m so sorry,” is all she whispers as I let myself fall into her arms, accepting the warmth and comfort of her embrace. After a while of crying and sobbing, the paramedic lets go of me. She looks me in the eyes and carefully wipes away a few of my tears with her thumb. She helps me up before leading me back over to the ambulance. I sit down in the back of the ambo, my legs dangling from the edge. “Hey, can I talk to her for a second?” I hear a voice ask the paramedic sitting next to me. “Of course,” is all she answers before standing up and walking away. “Hi, sweetie. I am Detective Upton and I would like to talk to you for a bit. If that’s okay with you?” the woman standing in front of me asks. I look up at her and slowly nod my head. She shoots me a small and sympathetic smile before she sits herself down next to me. I look down at my feet. They’re dangling from the edge. Detective Upton’s feet touch the ground with ease. It’s not fair. I want to be tall enough to reach the ground as well. I’ve always been little. I’ve always been small. And even though I always wished to be a bit taller, I guess being little did kind of save my life a few times. Because I was always small enough to hide inside of the closet. My brother wasn’t. He always had to fight. I wish I would have been as brave as he was. I wish I would have been the one to stand up for us both. Even if it would have been just for one time. I should have saved him instead of it being the other way around. “What’s your name?” I hear Detective Upton ask, pulling me out of my thoughts. “Bella.” “That’s a very pretty name.” she lets out a sigh before she asks, “Are you okay?” “I’m fine,” I whisper, not bothering to look up at her. “I know this isn’t easy, and if you don’t want to talk about it you just have to tell me, but do you know what happened?” she carefully asks me. “To my brother?” “To both of you…” I take in a deep breath and clear my throat. “My dad, he was drunk and he started to fight with my brother while I hid in the closet like a coward,” I say as I feel a tear rolling down my cheek. “Has that ever happened before?” I hear her ask cautiously. “Yes, a lot of times. But it had never been this bad.” “Do you remember how you ended up in that car?” “No. The last thing I remember is hearing my brother scream out in pain. Then, the closet door opened and I was greeted with my dad’s angry eyes. I remember being super scared,” I explain. “And then it all went black. The next thing I knew, I was trapped into his car.” I look over at the lake that held me trapped not even 30 minutes ago, the lake that took my twin brother’s life. “I tried to wake him up but he didn’t move.” “I am so sorry for your loss. Is there any other family I can call?” Detective Upton asks and I shake my head from left to right. “I don’t have anyone else.” “What about your mum?” “She died when I was just a little kid.” “Okay, then why don’t you come with me. We’ll go over to the police station so I can see what the options are. But I will promise you one thing,” she says, demanding for me to look up at her. I do as I’m told and meet her eyes. “Whatever happens, I promise you that you will always be safe. I am personally going to make sure that you’re okay. So, you think you can come with me?” She stands up and reaches out her hand. I let out a sigh before forcing a thankful smile onto my face. I grab her hand and step into the light. The sun is rising, sending warmth through my body. I look up at the sky, a tear escaping my eye. I know it’s him. I know it’s Neal who’s shining down on me, providing me with warmth and light, as he has always done. Sunshine is pouring down on me. It’s not a lot, but it’s more than enough. This glimmer of light gives me hope. This glimmer of light is all I need to know that everything will turn out to be okay.


 I often think about that infamous night our mother left. Oh trust me, I don’t recall this unbearable time every day,

But that particular rainy night is something etched in my memory forever. Not a good thing. And here’s the ironic thing that I think about it. My father had a whole different perspective of what happened that fateful night.  I will try and tell the story from my viewpoint as close as possible.  It was a

usual Friday night, and it was raining. My mom was a stay-at-home Mom, and Dad was an insurance salesman.

We typically ordered take-out every Friday from Starlite Pizzeria in town. We would order, A large plain pie,

( they always served their pies with thin crust) and Sausage and Italian hot dogs sandwiches to share.

These sandwiches were on fresh sliced Italian rolls, served with crispy potatoes. No sauce. Anyway this particular evening, My dad had not arrived home yet, and mom drove down to pick up the food. You see, Starlite did not deliver. and we did not drive.

 My younger sister Kerri was ten and I was twelve.

Prior to

Mom leaving she instructed us to set the table as she continued down the steps into the garage and drove off in her navy blue Monte Carlo. The last thing we heard was the garage door closing and silence.

 That’s it. Case closed. Nothing more to tell. All she wrote.  Apparently, as we found out years later, she left to meet a man, her boyfriend a neighbor.

We never had any idea that this was happening. Why would we?

After all, we were only kids. My dad? Well,

that is another story. He knew something was going on. But there would have been no reason to share this information with his daughters. And, we also found out later, she also apparently left our father a note.

She explained the whole thing. The whole sordid story. I never saw the note. Ever. My Dad destroyed it. Ripped it into shreds.  My sister and I had no idea that anything was wrong. Looking back, we had the perfect family.

Or, so we thought. We always thought our parents had the ideal marriage. He worked, she took care of the family and paid the bills. We had the ultimate Christmas every year and celebrated birthdays with lots of presents. Every summer we went down to Cape May and rented a house for 2 weeks and brought Max our dog, a large Golden Retriever. So what happened? Was she crazy? extremely unhappy?

My sister and I never knew. Anything. After Mom left time we were able to continue living at the house, and My Aunt Miranda and Uncle Billy came to live with us. Thanks to them our life continued as normal as normal could possibly be in those circumstances.

My dad never discussed anything with us until we were older and

Kerri was getting ready to be married. A week before the wedding,

Dad decided to let us know what really happened that night.  My dad sat us down in our childhood living room after fixing himself a Scotch and handed us each a

glass of Merlot.

He sat down on that same olive green faded couch that was in our living room forever, and stretched out his long legs, as he sipped his drink.

He explained that he and Mom had not been happy.

He was wrapped up in his work and after leaving her job as a teacher to stay home and raise children,

they lost whatever connection they had to each other. They continued to go through the motions, Working, raising children, holidays,

everything in life but there was no connection. He told us that mom was depressed and being prescribed medications and seeing a

Therapist to guide her in dealing with her everyday life. At this point, I chimed in,

“

If she was unhappy, well, how come she never went back to teaching? I mean after we were already going to school? “ “ Because at this point, she was on meds and I guess it was too late for her to go back to that life. After all, it had been years. She probably felt it was too much for her. Dad continued with the story. He said that they both continued living their day-to-day,

existence until he found out she was cheating on him with one of our neighbors.

He was devastated and gave Mom an ultimatum. He explained that he could deal with her depression and not talking, but cheating, this went above and beyond.

That was more than he could deal with between his work and his daughters, and well, he told her to give up the affair, and he would welcome her back. Perhaps they could go to counseling together, or maybe just work this thing out.

He looked at the two of us

and said “ Your mother said she would think about it .”  At this point in the conversation, Kerri Started to cry. “ Dad! How could this have happened? Right under our noses, she was so alone in all of this !” “ No Kerri, she was not alone. She was with our neighbor, our good friend that we went out together with as a couple. One of the parents of the children that you played with on our block. No!

She was not alone! Her Therapist tried to talk to her, I tried to talk to her !” Then he leaned back on the couch and rubbed his eyes.

“ Perhaps I never should have told you girls this. Maybe I am wrong to be telling this whole story.

Perhaps this is not the right decision.” Kerri and I responded together.  “ No Dad, you were

right to tell us .” I continued as Kerri nodded in agreement.

“We are a

family and we all got through the turmoil and this heartbreaking experience. We should not have any secrets. Thank you for telling us.” But I still have one more question. “ How come we never heard from Mom? Whatever happened that she never reached out

and

we have never been able to contact her?” My father leaned over toward my sister and me and with tears in his eyes

said

softly,

“That is another story

for a different

time .”


I was out of breath and could hear how fast my heart was pounding, but I had to keep running. It was the only way. I told myself not to look back. I felt like I couldn’t see anything, everything was blurry. Nothing made sense. I really wish I would’ve stayed at home, but she was so nice and warm, I couldn’t tell her no. I pulled out my phone and began to call the police while I was running. He was right behind me, keeping up, but I could tell he was weak. I finally approached my house. 6 hours earlier Kara was the new girl in the neighborhood, and as always, I had to be the one to welcome her and her family to the area. When I knocked on the door, she recognized me from school, and came outside, closing the door behind her. As we were talking, her parents came out, and they seemed like very nice people. I told them the local spots of eatery, shopping, and other fun things to do. I guess the conversation went well, and they liked me enough to invite me to dinner later tonight. I wanted to be nice and said yes to the offer. I thought to myself that Kara and I could be very good friends. Before I left, her mother came out and handed me a vanilla cake. “I own a bakery, in the city”, Kennedy, her mom said. “Thank you. It looks great”, I replied back. “Bye, Sariah. See you later”, Kara shouted, while waving her hand and smiling at me. I looked back to wave, and then I saw something very strange from the upstairs window- a little boy. He had no emotion on his face, and he was just staring at me. I thought nothing about it and turned to head back home. When I walked into the house, I told my mom about the boy I had seen in the window, and how they invited me over for a dinner. She didn’t like me going over to a strangers house, but I told her they seemed like very nice people and I went to school with Kara, we even had a couple classes together. The day flew by, and it was time for me to get ready to go over to the Wilson’s house for dinner. As I started walking over to their house, the sun was slowly setting, and the wind started to get heavier. I approached their driveway, and before I could knock on their door, Mrs. Wilson already opened it, and welcomed me in. The inside of their house was beautiful, modern, and minimalist. The only thing that was strange was the way they were all dressed, very mid 1900’s. Kara introduced me to her older brother, Karter, her younger sister, Joselyn, and her younger brother, Jace. “I guess you were the boy I saw in the upstairs window earlier”, I said, looking at Jace, while cracking a friendly laugh. But in my head, I knew he didn’t look like the same boy I saw earlier. I saw Mr. Wilson’s eyes become cold, and Mrs. Wilson flash a quick smile. “Perhaps it was. Please lets all sit down and eat. I made spaghetti, with salad and bread”, Mrs. Wilson gestured. We all went into the dining room and took a seat at the table. Mr. and Mrs. Wilson were seated at the head of the table. I was sitting in the middle, next to Joselyn and Jace, with Kara and Karter sitting across from us. There was one extra seat, but that wasn’t the problem. The strange thing was a plate of spaghetti and bread, with a glass of water, in front of that empty seat. “Is anyone else joining us this evening?”, I questioned, but knew deep down inside, I should’ve just let it go. Everyone laughed, except for Kara, who looked embarrassed. My question wasn’t answered, so I let it go, and tried not to ask any more questions. However, Mr. Wilson did ask a lot of about my family, and I, and he seemed pleased. I learned a lot about their family, the normal stuff. They were from California, Mr. Wilson was a top surgeon at the downtown hospital, Karter was a basketball star, home from college, and they moved around a lot, reasons undisclosed, and no, I didn’t ask. I began to have this sickening feeling, like something was wrong, but I was good at hiding it, because I didn’t want the Wilson’s to think I wasn’t enjoying my time here. I pulled out my phone from underneath the table, to text my best friends, Juan, and Alexis, in a group chat about where I was and what was happening. “Sariah, we don’t use our cell phones at the dinner table”, Mrs. Wilson said to me in a stern voice. I quickly sent the message and apologized. That was weird, and I didn’t like the way she spoke to me. I felt uncomfortable, and something told me to just walk up and leave. I looked up at Kara, who mouthed, sorry, and then quickly looked back down to her food and swiveled some pasta onto her fork. It went quiet for a few minutes, until there was a loud thud coming from upstairs. I looked up to the ceiling but kept my thoughts to myself. I had to get out of here. Mr. Wilson and Mrs. Wilson looked at each other with a menace smile and went to go check upstairs. When they were out of sight, Karter grabbed my wrist and told me to get out of here right now. Kara looked at the front door, and told him it was locked, and could only be unlocked with a key that they always hid. Kara apologized over and over and told me that her parents forced her to invite me dinner. “What do they want?”, I asked. Joselyn and Jace looked up at me, and in unison said, “You”. My eyes widened, and I wanted to cry, but I couldn’t. Kara told me after dinner, to excuse myself to go the bathroom, and escape out the window, and call the police. I was scared, but I heard her loud and clear. The Wilson’s came back downstairs, and everyone had to act normal. I could heat my heart pounding, I just wanted to run. After, everyone was finished eating, and before she presented us with dessert, I excused myself to the bathroom on the first floor, but there was one problem…. there wasn’t a window. I felt my eyes begin to tear up, and pulled out my cell phone, with a whole bunch of missed text messages from Juan and Alexis. I stumbled back and fell on the floor. There was a picture of Mr. and Mrs. Wilson who were wanted for kidnapping, and the kids looked exactly like Karter, Jace, and the boy I saw upstairs. I had to leave. I frantically sent an emergency text to my parents and for Alexis and Juan to call the police. I needed an escape plan, but why would Kara lie about a window being in the bathroom. I heard a heavy knock on the door, turned on the water faucet, dried my hands, opened the door, and walked out. When I walked into the dining room, Kara looked at me with a confused look on her face, wandering why I didn’t leave. The Wilson’s went into the next room over to play on the twin pianos they had. Joselyn and Jace went into the living room to watch a movie, leaving me with Kara and Karter. I told them that there wasn’t a window in the bathroom, and they both look confused. “They probably got rid of it, and covered it up”, Karter said. I started to ask them questions, and the more terrified I became. Karter was kidnapped when he was just ten years old, from his aunt and uncle, until he found out later that his parents actually sold him to the Wilson’s for money. They had this perceived idea that they could only have girls, and they wanted boys so bad that they would do whatever it took to have them. Jace was taken two years ago, from a movie theatre in Utah, and the boy I saw upstairs is the newest boy they bought from the internet a couple weeks ago in California, and therefore had to move. Kara had threatened several times to call the feds on her parents, but they threatened her with death, and when she still wouldn’t listen, her father drugged her and sexually assaulted her, with her mother laughing and watching. She knew as soon as she told, they would kill her. They’ve killed before. They knew enough was enough, they needed out, and I was the one who was going to help. Although, Karter went to college in the city, he had nowhere to go, no other family to call up, and he wouldn’t dare leave Kara and the other kids alone with them. Karter said they were getting drunk and would forget all about me soon. This was my chance to go upstairs, get the little boy out of the house, run home, and call the police. That was exactly what I did. I ran upstairs and saw a room that was locked. I knocked on it quietly, and the little boy answered, except he wasn’t a little boy, he looked my age. He pulled me into the room and locked the door. “What are you doing? You have to go. Run back downstairs, the door doesn’t need a key to be unlocked. Kara and Karter are apart of this sick family too. Karter invited me to dinner, and next thing you know I wake up in this house. You have to go!”, he urged. “Please come with me!”, I cried. He agreed because he knew this was his one and only chance. He told me his name is Nico, but they wanted to call him Kyle. We went back and forth to discuss our plan, until we heard the piano stop being played, the television was off, and the lights went out. Nico pulled me to the window, opened it, and asked me if I was scared. I said yes, but that couldn’t stop me. We heard the Wilson’s coming up the stairs, humming to a song. “I like the way you look, Sariah”, I heard Mr. Wilson say. “Ohhhh Kyllleee”, Karter sung. It was horrifying. Nico and I began to climb out the window quickly but safely, but I saw Kara standing in front of the door, with a hand gun. You’ve got to be kidding me. We managed to both get steady on the roof and walk to the side of the house where there were no windows, and where nobody could see us. “Get strapped up, they can’t be far”, I heard Mrs. Wilson say. I was praying that Nico wasn’t apart of this sick game, but the photo Alexis and Juan sent me, he had to be genuine. My cell phone had no service, and we needed a plan quick. Nico looked around both sides of the house and told me the coast was clear. We climbed down from the roof, and had to jump a little, but it wasn’t too bad. We had to stay quiet. At this point, the whole family, was out in the street, looking from east to west. Nico grabbed my hand and we started to run as fast as we could. “Over there!”, Kara screamed, and then we heard gun shots go up in the air, causing both of us to duck our heads but continue to run. I was out of breath and could hear how fast my heart was pounding, but I had to keep running. It was the only way. I told myself not to look back. I felt like I couldn’t see anything, everything was blurry. Nothing made sense. I really wish I would’ve stayed at home, but she was so nice and warm, I couldn’t tell her no. I pulled out my phone and began to call the police while I was running. Nico was right behind me, keeping up, but I could tell he was weak. We finally approached my house. The police were there and so were my parents with Juan and Alexis. I told them the house everything happened at and that’s when Nico tackled me down to the ground, and the police started shooting at the Wilson’s. By the end of the night, Mr. and Mrs. Wilson were dead, Kara was handcuffed in the back of the police car, smiling, and Karter was gone, along with the two children, Joselyn and Jace. Nico and I were both able to give a very detailed looked at Karter and the kids. The police called the FBI who examined the house and provided us with even more terrifying details. Mr. and Mrs. Wilson were on the top ten most wanted FBI list for kidnapping, terrorism, robbery, child, and sex trafficking, and three counts of murder. Karter and Kara were both of their children, who were coerced into participating with the kidnapping of Nico, Joselyn, and Jace. Mrs. Wilson was involved in a severe car accident that left her with the inability to not have any more kids, and she couldn’t bear the thought, and decided that she was going to take children who could resemble her own. That was the last time I ever welcomed the new person into the neighborhood. I also had no problem telling people no. Nico and I became really good friends, and he was adopted by my family, after we learned that his parents  were killed in a house fire set by, Kara.


The cold, black-throated wind cuts through the warm air. It whistles past my headphones as I walk quickly on the sidewalk. They're silent, but I keep them on. I look busy this way. "....bve light?" I pause for a second, unsure if I heard a voice. The cars blow past me and splash water on my pants. Great. I keep walking. "Hey!" I stop and turn around while removing my headphones. The cool wind reminds my ears that the snow is not far behind us. "Do you have a light?" There is a woman hiding behind the plastic panes of the bus shelter. Under the weak street lights, I can barely make out her face. She's dressed for the weather, rubber boots and overcoat. She's holding a cigarette in her left hand. A car wooshes past us and turns the corner. In its headlights I get a glimpse of her. Her hair is messy, a bunch of old graying straw. She's been crying. Do I have a light? Of course I have one. It's in my pocket, blinging around in a glass box meant to hide the smell of weed and ashes. The box doesn't really work. I think I'm just getting used to the odour of damp dirt and dusty drawers. But the lighter is mine, and I like it. It isn't special in any way. In this wind, it wouldn't hold a flame. I know because I tried it a few minutes ago, before giving up. "So?" I have a light, I tell her. I take the box out, take the lighter out. Take a step forward. Hand it with a straight arm. If she's looking to rob me, I need to look confident. Her hand shakily rises and grabs the lighter. Her fingers brush mine gently. They are dead cold. She's been there a while. She struggles to light her flame, but eventually succeeds. She brings the flickering lighter to her face. Her eyes are red and puffy. Her cheek has a large purple spot. It's still tender. The light flashes off as she rips it away. The only light in the bus shelter is a floating ember five feet above the ground. The ember shakes. I ask her if she's okay, if she needs help. "No." I can tell she's lying. She starts turning around, the steps forward, into the light of the street lamps. She looks at me, then at the street. There's red mixed with the yellow of her hair, behind her head. Her eyes go back to me. "Are you okay? You don't look too good." I tell her I'm fine, just enjoying the night. She can tell I'm lying. Our moment of silence is interrupted by a gigantic mastodon in the street. Garish, brutal light and the stink of diesel. Her bus is here. She quickly walks up to the door and puts a shaky foot in. She turns around and hands me the lighter. I step back. You keep it, I say. Give it back to me when we meet again. She shrugs, flashes her card to the driver and gets in. The bus roars on into the dark street. I take a step in the bus shelter and look around. I wonder if she'll be okay. I wonder if I'll get my lighter back. I liked that lighter. A few drops of water fall on my glasses. Of course, first I lose my lighter, then it starts to rain. I straighten myself and keep walking on the sidewalk. Not sure where it ends. I think I'll try to find out. The weather's not too bad tonight.