Sunset Have you ever stared at the sky right before the sun began to set? Not in the direction that exists only as a distraction, pulling attention to its flaming brilliance, no, to the East. Where the colors change slowly and with intent. Where the blue in the sky gradually turns to pink, to purple, then black. Where the colors intersect in bands, pulling on each other in a calm yet fiery battle until both shrink away in defeat to the moon and stars. Well if you did you would notice something. Something only a few are chosen to see. How the blue and pink sky combine at the horizon line. How their shifting frequency morphs into a summit. Peaks dotting the eastern horizon as the sky quickly darkens. A magnificent mountain range that twinkles into the moonlight as quickly as it rose. Well, I observe this every night. And as I do I imagine myself, taller and stronger, scaling that range. Climbing further and further into the sky until I can’t see what I left behind. Holding the shimmering and cloudy snow in my hands as everything, including myself, fades into the night sky. Such a concept remains a fantasy. Something you can imagine yourself doing, but only with a resigned mind, not ever believing it could happen. I’m here to tell you that you’re wrong. That when I imagine myself in the clouds it’s not just make believe. I’m really there. I don’t know how to describe it, if it’s another time, another life, or even another field of existence but she’s not only in my mind. She’s there, on the mountains in the clouds. Sunrise Light. All I perceive is light as I slowly regain consciousness. The fog in my mind dissipates as I become aware of the gentle hum of the fan near my bed, the birds softly chirping outside, and the sound of water running somewhere in the house. It’s bright. I blink my eyes open and come face to face with the painful sphere outside my window. I let out a groan, shutting my eyes in agony, and roll to lay on my other side. After waking up for a bit, I swing my legs out from under me to the floor. I stretch my arms above my head and give a glance behind me, the sun still blazing into my room, and grudgingly get up. I wouldn’t be up at this hour if it wasn’t for my roommate. She’s been begging me to take a trip with her forever and I finally gave in to one. I had to be up at the break of dawn according to her, however according to my own health and well-being I convinced her to settle for a slightly delayed “break of dawn”. She has to be getting antsy in the kitchen though, I can hear water running and frantic scrubbing which must be from her breakfast. I pick out an outfit, nothing too fancy, just running shorts and a shirt, and swing my already packed duffle bag onto my shoulder. She made sure I packed according to her meticulously thought out list. If your roommate ever tries to specify how much underwear you should pack, run. Something that was too late for me at this point I think with a smile as I grab a pair of socks, turn off my fan, and head outside into the small common area we share. Her auburn hair bobs as she works in the sink, the curls grazing the tops of her shoulders. When she hears me she turns around with a wide smile that reaches all the way up to her eyes. “Carrie! I see you’re finally up, give me a hand?” She holds the frayed light blue towel in her hand, an invitation to help dry. “Good morning to you too.” I smile back as I snatch the towel from her and hold my hand out for a wet dish. We clean in silence for a bit, the sounds of the water pouring from the faucet and smacking the metal basin only interrupted by the squeak of wet cloth on porcelain. Standing on my toes I gingerly set the last plate on the stack and come back down to earth to see my roommate gleaming at me, anticipation in her eyes. “Thanks so much,” She turns and starts fiddling with a small bag on the counter. “I wanted to have something nice as we don’t always get to do this. I might’ve underestimated how many dishes I would go through in making it though.” At this closing sentence she again smiles and turns back to me, I can now smell the apples, fried crust, and other comforting odors as she picks up the bag and zips it shut. She didn’t mention this at all last night, I can’t imagine how early she must’ve had to wake up to get everything ready. She’s practically bouncing, obviously excited to see what I thought. “It smells delicious, Lilac, thank you.” I give her a gentle shove on the shoulder, making her laugh, “You should’ve woken me up to help.” She rights herself after the slight push and merely shrugs my concern off with a grin. “I know you would have rather stayed here anyway, I wanted to do this to thank you for going on the trip with me.” She pauses at this and blushes, glancing to the side. “And to be honest I really was craving pie.” I laugh and she begins to as well. I tell her I’ll be right back as I head into our shared bathroom and prepare for the trip. I run a comb through my hair and tie it up in a ponytail. I brush my teeth and then throw all my toiletries into a small bag which I deposit in my duffel when I return to the kitchen. Lilac is tying her running shoes at the door, dressed in a similar exercise outfit as me. As I approach I can hear her humming. I smile to myself. “Took you long enough to get ready.” I playfully chide as I let myself drop next to her, pulling my shoes from the door to me. I start to slide my feet in. “Says the one who woke up two hours after our initial departure time.” “Not my fault my body won’t let me goad it into waking up at unnatural hours, unlike yours.” “Ha ha.” Lilac mocks as she moves her head side to side with each “ha”. She ties her last knot and bounces up off the ground. In one clean motion she sweeps up both her duffel and the food bag and looks back down at me with another large grin. “Carolyn and Lilac on their next adventure.” She sweeps her hand out in front of her, now looking past me as I stifle a laugh. “Next stop, the moon.” With this her smile grows wider and with a 180 spin she unlocks the door. I believe she’s only half joking. “Meet you in the car!” A bang and bouncing footsteps follow as I smile and focus again on my shoes. After I finish I head out the door as well, making sure to lock it behind me. Lilac is already in the car, a small yellow buggy, parked parallel on the quiet street in front of our one story home. As I approach the car I see her tap the wheel in rhythm, and I can only guess she is still humming. The car ride followed similar antics. I’ve known Lilac since we were randomly paired as roommates freshman year, and ever since then she’s been a travel size sun. Spreading warmth everywhere she went, which was often on my heels whether I liked it or not. “So where do you think we’re going?” I’m snapped out of my daze with the expectant gaze of the girl next to me. She looks back at the road. “Well you made me pack multiple pairs of clothes, more than what we should need, so I’m guessing somewhere we could get dirty.” “Ding ding ding!” She pats the steering wheel with each word. “Anything else?” I see her holding back a grin, she really wants me to guess since she must be dying to tell me. I grin to myself, she’s the one who wanted it to be a surprise. “I can only guess, a hike? You’ve been super into fitness all of a sudden and have made me join you on your runs and whatnot. I’m guessing you’ve been trying to train me somehow. The only part I’m lost on is the fact we don’t have tents or really any outdoor gear.” I can tell by her sudden smile I must’ve been right. She glances in my direction then back at the road. “The hike we are doing won’t need any of that stuff.” Her smile fades at this and her eyes seem lost in thought. This isn’t unnatural for her, with her periods of blazing brightness she can just as easily retreat back into herself, I can only imagine thinking grand things. “Well whatever it is I can’t lie, I’m actually excited.” This prods her awake and her eyes widen at the road. “I mean I know you had to convince me but I think this will be good. You know, like what we used to do.” She nods and smiles, this time a small honest one. “That’s what I thought, I’m glad you think so too.” Her smile fades. Her eyes seem ages away. “It was time for another one I think.” I turn away from her back to the road. It’s laid out in front of us, the forest flanking on either side. We sit now in silence as Lilac begins to hum, this time a more solemn melody. Day The monotony of the straight road is suddenly broken as Lilac flicks on her turn signal. The soft clicks fade in and out, piercing the comfortable silence. “Almost there?” I look over at Lilac, her eyes shining in anticipation at the road. “Good guess, yeah almost.” The car slows and Lilac turns right onto a smaller road still lined with trees. Their branches overhang, letting the light catch them, scattering green across our path. I feel cozily enclosed by the brush and through the open windows I can hear it rustling in response. “It’s pretty back here.” I mention as I stare up at the sky, the brilliant blue flickering between the leaves. “Isn’t it? It gets better.” I immediately see what she means as we approach a small town, appearing in front of us as we climb up a small hill. I can see small cobblestone streets lined with quaint homes, and people milling about the main street, stopping at stalls and store front windows. “I wouldn’t have even known this was here, they’re perfectly situated.” I exclaim, gaping out the window. “Yeah, just look to your left.” And then I saw it. The forest surrounded us as we headed toward the town but opened up considerably when we entered. Hilly terrain replaced the trees, and straight out in front of us I could see small mountains rising in the distance. Looking to the left as Lily prodded I could see a glimmering sea of blue. The town was on the edge of cliffs that gracefully sloped into the waving ocean. “Don’t know if I’ve ever seen a town this beautiful.” Lilac grins at me and then back at the road as we finally enter the main street. We drive for a bit, past everyone enjoying the cool day before slowly stopping at the side of the road. I turn my head to see a hanging sign with the word “INN” carved into the wood. It’s another smaller building, only two stories, with a sloping grey roof and a brown cobble exterior. The door is a light brown wood with intricate metal work garnishing its surface, its handle a long ribbon of metal. “I thought we could drop our stuff here. Unless you want to carry it all on the climb.” I expected this to be sarcasm but when I looked over at Lilac I saw no trace of humor in her face. “No, no I think I’ll leave it.” “Alright then!” With a bit of a tone shift, Lilac quickly turns the key and the rumbling of the car stops. She slides it out and pops open her door. Grabbing her stuff out of the back seat she steps in front of the car and beckons at me through the window. I follow suit and when I turn around with bags in hand she’s already at the door, having a cheerful conversation with an older woman. The woman steps back into the home and holds the door open. My friend nods at her with a smile and continues inside. I stop at the bottom of the few steps leading straight up to the door. The woman looks at me and smiles but doesn’t beckon me inside. I tighten my grip on my bags and bound up the steps crossing into the home, smiling and thanking the woman. She closes the door behind us and waltzes to the low counter in the back of the small room we are standing in. Behind the counter are many small shelves and to the left of the counter I see an entrance into what looks like a dining room. A grand spiral staircase is to our right, made with intricate patterns of wrought iron, and somewhere above light filters through and bounces down its curves. “Here for a room dear?” My attention returns to the woman. Lilac looks back at me and patiently smiles. “Oh yes we are, if any are available,” I tell the innkeeper. “Of course sweetheart, you’re always welcome.” She turns around and picks up a large ornate bronze key off a hook and hands it to Lilac. “Third floor, room facing the ocean. If you need anything don’t hesitate to ask.” I smile again and follow Lilac up the stairs. Each step reverberates with a thud throughout the staircase. We finally arrive at the room and as the woman said, the ocean is clearly visible from the slightly ajar window. I can see the waves padding the beach from here. “Aww man, it’s so nice up here!” Lilac exhales loudly and plops back first onto the bed nearest the window, letting her bags hit the carpeted floor. There is another twin bed next to hers with a little table between them. They are the only furniture in the room barring a floor lamp in the opposite corner, emitting a golden glow. I join Lilac by sitting on the edge of my own bed. “Yeah I honestly wasn't expecting any of this at all. How did you hear about this place?” Lilac flips to the side facing me and rests her head on her palm, propping herself up by her elbow. “I heard about it from our neighbors, I’ve never been here myself. But I knew from how it was described it would be amazing.” “No kidding. It’s basically a paradise.” I let out a soft laugh. “This isn’t all, the rest doesn’t begin for a bit later though.” She closes her eyes again, still facing me. I linger on her use of the word begin but decide to move on. “So we aren’t going to hike right now?” Her eyes open slightly to respond, the exhaustion evident in them. “Not right now, we have time to rest.” At that she returns to her back, stretching her arms and legs out from her body like a snow angel. I don’t waste time in deciding to rest as well, especially if we will be hiking later. I can feel a breeze through the open window and hear the faint wash of water on sand intermingled with chatter and laughs from the street below. I let myself drift to sleep. Evening “Hey Lilac, it’s about time.” I feel the gentle brush of her fingertips against my shoulder as I come to. I open my eyes to see her eyes above me, a small smile already playing on her lips. “Quite a wake up call huh,” I groan as I gently push her arm away. She laughs. “Very funny, come on, get up.” I glance over to the window to see the sky a bit darker than when we had left it. It’s blue, just not as bright. I rise from the bed, still wearing my clothes and shoes, and join Lilac near the door. “Do I need to take anything?” She is bent over the small food bag, seemingly taking count of the items there as she answers me. “Only if you want to, but you don’t need anything. I’m just carrying the food.” I glance over at my bag and shrug. I don’t think extra pairs of underwear would come in handy anyway. “Alright! I think we are all ready.” Lilac swings the bag onto her shoulder and looks at me. “Yeah I’m all good. Let’s get going then.” “Great, just follow me, we are going to be heading over to the ocean.” I smile at this. Those cliffs were too pretty to ignore. I had been hoping we were going somewhere near there. I follow Lilac out the door, down the stairs, past the woman at the counter who waves and wishes us a good evening, and then outside. The air is considerably cooler but still a bit humid. Almost like being wrapped in a warm blanket on a cold night. Our feet hit the cobble in tune, not speaking only due to our observance of our surroundings. People are still out and about, I can see in the distance children playing in the trees, couples picnicking in the hills past the town, families down at the beach under the cliffs. We continued our stroll through the town and turned to head toward the water. The cliffs were magnificent, grassy and flowery with a fantastic view of the ocean below. Small sailboats glided across the water in the distance as I stared at the glossy surface. Lilac’s finger breaks my view. “We are going right up there.” She’s pointing past my face at the highest cliff, the base on level with us before it begins to climb upwards, stopping after about thirty feet, its edge resting right above the water. We reach the cliff and climb up near the edge, stopping a safe distance away, neither of us are fans of heights. Lilac swings the bag onto the ground and pulls out a soft blue blanket. She lays it on the ground before sitting down, gesturing to the space in front of her. I move around the blanket and sit too, just as she starts pulling multiple goods from her pack. She made my favorites and hers from college. Chicken and dumplings in a glass platter, potato salad and corn chowder in ornate little bowls with plastic covering the top, and finally a golden apple pie. She also pulls out two plates and silverware. “Oh Lilac, it's amazing! Thank you so much. I can’t remember the last time I had these.” She grins in response. “Me neither! That’s why I wanted to treat us. Dig in!” I needed no extra cues as I took my plate from Lilac and started placing servings on it. We sat, talked, and ate with the chorus of waves as the background. When we finished Lilac neatly gathered everything and placed it back in the box. I got up and she then folded the blanket and put that back as well. At this point the families had packed up from the beach and everyone was heading back to the town. I could still see lights on and people roaming about but it was quiet where we were. The sun had slid further down on the horizon and started to turn the sky orange. Lilac was standing on the edge of the cliff. I walk up to her side, she’s smiling with an all familiar glint in her eyes. “Remember when we first met Carrie?” At this she smiles in my direction. I exhale sharply and look out at the sea now. “Of course I do, how could I forget. I come in and you’re on your bed seemingly contemplating something awful. When you saw me you bounded up to me and immediately asked what I thought about the color of the walls. After that you regained composure and introduced yourself. I knew from that moment you would either always annoy me to no end or be the most interesting person I had ever met. I believe it turned out to be a mix in the end.” Lilac lets out another soft laugh and smiles at the ground. “I remember meeting you too. I abhorred those walls and wanted to know if you agreed. The surprise on your face instead took me back to reality. I’ve always appreciated your ability to do that.” I look over at her and she takes my hand in hers. “I’m glad I met you Carolyn.” I lean my head on her shoulder and look back out at the sea. “I’m glad I met you Lilac.” We stay like that as the sun further retreats behind us. The sky opens up in a multitude of colors. My eyes widen as the pink splotches darken, leaving ribbons of blue parading throughout the sky. Lilac releases a quiet exhale, she must’ve been holding her breath. There is a bottom band of royal blue on the horizon, directly above the ocean. From here it looks like mountains, its peaks dissolving into the pink that shrinks and grows as the sun shimmers on the opposite horizon. “Can you see it?” I somehow know she’s talking about the mountains so I nod in response. I lift my head and Lilac pulls her hand back. “Want to go back to the field? I don’t love being on the edge of a cliff so close to the water.” Lilac sheepishly looks down with this but I nod in agreement. “No, I feel the same way, especially as it’s getting dark.” We walk back toward the town, to more level ground. Lilac suddenly stops and turns back around. “Now we can hike.” This surprised me. I knew that Lilac wanted to hike but I thought maybe she just meant that short distance to the cliff. But now she looked up expectedly toward the sky so I turned and joined her. I can’t really explain what I saw next. From the sky down to our feet fell a glittering mountain. What I saw on the horizon suddenly seemed to connect right to the solid ground in front of us. Lilac turns toward me again. “This is it.” I look upwards. It stretches far into the sky, its peak only created by the pink surrounding it. I reach out my hand. I brush its surface. It feels like snow but it isn’t cold. I can easily grip it in my palm. I open my hand and the flakes sprinkle out. I look up again. “You mean, up there?” Lilac nods. “But it’s your decision.” I take turns looking at Lilac and looking at the mountain. I laugh. “You mean you drove me here to decide if I wanted to climb or not?” When I looked at Lilac there was no laughter in her eyes. “Yes.” I look again at the mountain. It’s shimmering peak is inviting. The colors spread across its surface like a watercolor painting. It’s not too steep and could easily be walked up. The only issue is the distance. “What do you want to do?” I glance at Lilac. At this she frowns. “I don’t know.” But I can see from her eyes she’s lying. To say they were longing would be an overstatement. It was more a look of belonging as she stared up at the summit. Not an urge to go up, yet still a gentle desire. She’s dependent on my answer. “If you don’t want to, we can go back to the inn, that’s why I had you pack everything, and then we can hike on the other mountains here. But if you want to…” She trails off. I join her in looking up again. The sun continues its descent and the mountain shimmers more and more. I believe my eyes would portray what Lilac’s did. When I look at the mountain I don’t feel it as a looming presence, more of an inviting one. I feel a patient pull from its peak. One that wouldn’t haunt me if I decided to walk away right now, but would welcome me if I did decide to make the ascent. I knew what my decision would be when I first set eyes on that sunset. “I want to go up,” I decide. Lilac smiles at me and wraps her arms around me. “Why haven’t you come here before?” I squeeze her tighter and feel her chest move against mine as she laughs gently. “I don’t know, I felt like you needed me to get here.” “You’re right. Thanks for waiting.” At this we pull apart. I start to walk up the shining surface laid out at my feet, I can still see the grass through it. Lilac follows me but soon overtakes me as we come up to the first peak, about twenty feet up from the ground. She scales it then turns and reaches her hand down for me. I grasp it. Night The sun left us long ago as we continued up the summit. All we can see now is the shimmering snow in the light from the rising moon and stars. We are very close to the highest peak at this point. Lilac is still in front of me. She makes it up there first and disappears from my view. I see her hand pop back into vision, so I take it in mine as she pulls me up. I feel solid ground beneath my feet and see nothing but darkness. Not an unfamiliar and frightening dark, more like closing your eyes at a party. Obviously you cannot see anything but you know you are surrounded by light, by everyone you love, and are safe. That’s what this darkness felt like as I stood there in silence. Then I felt warmth. Light. And I could hear someone humming nearby.


Robbie and I were best friends, at least that is until I achieved dubious fame. Missing Girl Found By Walker screamed the headlines, above a photo of me holding a bewildered, dishevelled child. Two days prior 5 year old Jennifer Dreaver had wandered off during a family bush walk. Searchers were combing another section of bush. We saw them on the way in , and of course Robbie wanted to join them. I managed to talk him out of it. Which is ironic considering that I emerged an accidental hero. Now that was a right circus. Amidst the scrum of reporters, photographers and rubberneckers I inwardly questioned the parenting skills of a couple who not only took their young child into the bush, but lost her there. Outwardly I smiled for the birdy, playing the hero. While in the background a mute witness to my newfound adulation stood Robbie.  His usual reticent self. Good ole Rob-Man, who not just had my back, but could be relied upon for his discretion. FFS who uses that kind of terminology nowadays? I was beginnng to sound like some great-granddaddy era stuffed-shirt. Discretion my big toe. In modern-day speak Rob Man was too busy having my back to have his own. Unlike yours truely self aggrandisement wasn’t his style. Which worked to my advantage as I surrendered that precious bundle (more like bludy nuisance) to her tearful (or as I saw it neglectful) parents. If little Ms Dreaver smiled and waved over her mother’s shoulder to that solitary figure who stood by now on the periphery of my fame it went unnoticed. After all it was me in the spotlight. I was the man of the moment, the walker who’d gone to investigate sounds coming from a clump of bushes off the main track. “Against my companion’s advice. Well I had to didn’t I? I mean someone could’ve been hurt, and isn’t it just as well I did?” ”Oh yes, yes.” The tearful mother fixing me with desperate eyes. No doubt imagining her daughter’s fate were I not to have happened along. While a grateful father gripped my hands, fixing me with an expression of profound gratitude and exclaimed. “Thank God you did son, and if there’s ever anything......” If I felt any guilt on Robbie’s part I brushed it aside. Sorry for casting aspersions Rob-Man, but I had to take out some insurance. You know, just in case you got any ideas or let certain things slip. Afterwards we drifted apart.  Given the circumstances a predictable outcome and  one that attracted considerable sympathy,  The man who’d saved a child’s life had become a victim of sour grapes, and from non other than the companion who was prepared to ignore little Jenny’s cries for help. And there were other benefits.... Debts I’d run up were forgiven, extensions granted on overdue papers and past grudges forgotten (for this read that people I’d wronged realised they’d get nowhere pursuing/harassing a hero). My home life also improved, with mum and dad heaping long overdue praise. They were overjoyed when Mr Dreaver a successful businessman made good on his pledge. “If there’s ever anything I can do.” They were magic words, assuring my future with little personal effort required. As for Robbie I heard that he was upstate washing dishes at some desert truck stop. With his rep in tatters he dropped out, which gave me brief pause. However I was far too busy to worry unduly, with an agent to manage personal appearances and a junior executive position with Mr Dreaver’s manufacturing company. I had places to go which also meant a hectic social life. With so much going on I almost envied my former bestie. ‘Rob-Man’s got it easy, no pressure or responsibilities. No hero rep to keep up, even after all this time. Washing a few dishes isn’t near as exhausting as being a real life hero. The man who found a missing child. Even now with the bludy kid a grown woman ready to graduate college. A grown woman who unbeknown to me had started having flashbacks.  When this development became known I had to wonder why the Dreavers never told me.  Just as I wondered over the years why despite giving me breaks they never quite elevated me to family friend status.  For a short while Jennifer referred to me as uncle, but was just as quickly disabused of that. “No Jen Jen he helped you when you got lost, but he’s not a relation.” Much later she became of age and a looker. But for the age gap I might’ve dated her. Perhaps I should’ve, because then she mightn’t have taken that desert road trip, stopped off at a certain truck stop and encountered a dishwasher on his break while looking for the bathroom facilities. An encounter that led to another flashback. I call it that flashback. Because from there my life began to unravel. They got talking, exchanged contact details, and after several months speaking with her parents and a counsellor Jennifer Dreaver took charge of the narrative and told the real story. “I knew I’d seen that man’s face before, the one at the truck stop. He had such a kind manner but it was his voice. When he asked if he could help me, and when I stumbled he put out his hands to steady me. Just like he did in the bush when I was a little girl. It was his voice saying it was going to be alright, and those same hands holding me. When his friend brought me out I wanted to tell mum and dad he was the one but there was a crowd and it was noisy. When I saw him over mum’s shoulder I smiled and waved but he never came forward. No one else saw and later I thought I’d dreamt it....” Because that day we’d been cutting classes. I had incomplete assignments due and wasn’t in the mood for drama. Besides it was too nice a day to be cooped up in a boring lecture hall. Robbie joined me because he didn’t think I was in any fit state to drive. Bunking didn’t come easy to him, but neither did letting me risk my neck. There were searchers in the carpark when we reached our destination, but I managed to talk him out of getting involved, It’d draw attention to our bunking class. It was Robbie who heard Jennifer’s whimpering sounds. This time I couldn’t dissuade him, but made my displeasure clear. Far from avoiding drama he’d walked right into the thick of it. Except the final irony turned out to be as simple as the call of nature. Can’t be helped, can’t be avoided, needs must. So while he did the deed I relieved him of the child, and that’s how the searchers found us. I could’ve told the truth, but held my peace instead.....payback for sticking his nose in. Until all these years later, when Jennifer Dreaver is determined to see the real man who found her recieve his due, While for me the usurper a label I have to wear now, the final irony‘s turned out to be as simple as that flashback,


CW: This piece contains religious themes that are not meant to accurately follow holy texts. It also includes profanity. Viewer discretion is advised. * All of the characters in this piece are entirely fictitious and are not based on real people. Any character that resembles any person— dead or alive— is purely coincidental.

“There is no god.” I read the opening line of the old manuscript aloud, its pages coated in dust and creased several times over from being buried in an old library until tonight. I don’t want to even look at the following text, yet my eyes glide over anyway.

“There has never been a single god. There was no god before or during mankind and there will not be one after. We have spent our lives blaming and praising a higher power, yet never stopped to question if our pleas were being received by anything. We have lived a fairytale, one that, with this book, I will break. What you are about to read may be my demise, but I will not let my life’s work meet the same fate. The public deserves to know the truth.” “With what proof?” Kat asks in bewilderment mere moments after I finish the segment. “What could this author have possibly found that proves God doesn’t exist?” “Well,” Eve starts, “what proof do you have that a god does exist?” They turn to Kat, whose eyes narrow with frustration.

“For one, all of the different holy texts, not to mention the tales from places like Greece,” she offers. “Those are myths,” Eve counters. “They only exist because the people at the time had no other way to explain things like thunderstorms and plagues. We know now that all of those occurrences are rooted in science.” “What about the creation of the world, hm? Think about it: how would a mess of dust and chemicals create anything more than a base for the Earth? Where did all of the different animals and plant life come from once they had somewhere to exist? It makes sense that God would have at least done that part of the creation,” Kat argues.

“I’m sure there’s a logical explanation for that as well,” Eve sighs.

“Is that not a logical explanation?” “In terms of science and basic history, not really!” As they bicker, my trembling fingers slide between the next two pages as if preparing to turn to the next segment of the manuscript. In a flurry of panic, I freeze my hand in place, half-wishing for it to turn to stone so I don’t have to worry about it anymore. I don’t want to see what lies beyond this opening page. If I dig us into a deeper hole, I can bet I will be digging us into our graves.

“What else does that say, Yasmine?” Eve calls, dragging me out of my thoughts and into a whirlpool of fresh fear. My fingers dig into either side of the manuscript, locking the dreaded pages shut, an action I don’t realize until Eve is trying to pull it out of my hands.

“Come on, what else does it say?” They insist, pulling at the faded paper and its worn-out binding. My fingers don’t budge. “This isn’t a good idea,” I try to explain, my voice a shaky whisper. “This sort of information, if it’s real—” “I bet you it is,” Eve interjects. “This sort of information could be dangerous, Eve!” I plead. “Do you have any idea what sort of chaos this can cause?” With a grunt, my fingers come loose and Eve tips backwards as the book finally comes into their grasp. Despite my protests, they hastily pull it open and flip through the pages, their eyes zipping through paragraphs for information they can use— a predator hunting its prey. Some flicks of the pages later, they stop, lean in close to the text, and read it aloud.

“The preceding information and everything following comes from a man who, for his safety, will remain anonymous. He was moments away from becoming the new Pope— had gone through the teachings and all— when he was thrust out of his position at the last possible moment. In an instant, the life he had worked to obtain was ripped away from him, the honor of the Pope bestowed upon someone else. Within seconds, he was nobody. This man tells me the reason for his sudden fall from grace: the truth. “He recalls the night that roused his suspicions. In the middle of a violent thunderstorm on the 13 of April, 1775, he knelt on a cold, wooden floor, his hands clasped and held tight to his chest, uttering prayers and pleas for God to send him a sign. Midway through the storm, there was a lull. Silence fell upon the world around him for a moment, one long enough for him to rush to a window and cast his gaze to the sky. ‘The sky,’ he told me, ‘was a deathly black. It blotted out stars and left the perfect clearance for a sign to be sent down. I thought God was setting this up. For a moment, I stared and saw…nothing. There was no voice like the teachers had promised me. There was no evidence of life or death up there, only darkness. When the storm came again, it was as if a lost piece of information had clicked into place. This God we’ve believed in—it never existed at all.’” Eve’s reading, confident as can be, fades to a whisper by the time they reach the final sentence. There are notes of fear in their voice. Kat’s eyes are wide and her expression sits somewhere between befuddlement and worry.

“Is that enough proof for you, Kat?” Eve’s question is quiet as they slowly turn their gaze to Kat, who only stares at them for a long moment before snatching the manuscript out of their hands and flipping it to see the front.

“Someone search this author’s name,” she mutters. “Lucien Vieux.” I fumble my phone off my nightstand and tap the name into Google. The only result is an obituary. Reluctantly, I read it out. “Lucien Vieux, 45, was burned at the stake on October 11, 1783, in Paris, France, on charges of heresy. These charges arose from the attempted publication of a manuscript entitled ‘La vérité’ —‘The Truth.’ The piece pushed that there was no God, accompanied with a fair amount of self-proclaimed ‘evidence.’ The man whom he co-wrote it with has not been found as of this time. Mr. Vieux did not marry or have any children. All copies of his manuscript have reportedly been destroyed by the Catholic church.” “That’s it?” Kat whispers, to which I nod.

“That’s all that came up,” I confirm.

Kat’s eyes shine with tears. Her gaze falls back to the manuscript still clasped in her hands. “What do we even do with this?” She asks.

“Someone wanted us to find this,” Eve concludes. “There can’t have been many copies of this particular piece. How would one be missed? God may not exist, but luck still must.” “Who do we take it to? The church? The government? The natural history museum? They’ll all just lock it in a vault never to be seen again!” Kat’s voice rises almost to a shout. I motion for her to hand me the manuscript. She does.

“We’re on the cusp of chaos with this thing,” I breathe. “People will be a complete wreck if they find out there’s no god. Religion is a comfort, a baseline, something to focus on instead of all the horrible shit happening in our society. It gives people a sense of purpose and belonging. What happens if we shatter that illusion?”

“Didn’t Lucien say that the public deserves to know the truth?” Eve chimes in. “Don’t people deserve to know about this so they can change their lives for the better? Think how many problems would go away if we got rid of religion!” “Think of how many more problems would start if we did that!” Kat retorts.

“Give me the manuscript.” Eve holds out their hands to me and I hand the manuscript over. They take it and flip to the last page of the piece.

“I may not live to see the effects of this piece, but nobody should continue to be in the dark about this any longer. Our history has been torn to shreds by the belief in a higher power. Our belief in ourselves and each other has been ruined by the idea of a lack of responsibility; if everything can be blamed on a higher power, there is no need for guilt or shame or simple humility. With the truth, the good can be good without punishment, and the wicked can face retribution for their actions. In the truth, we will find balance. I beg you, reader, understand the truth and let it become common knowledge. Do not doom this world. “There is no god, only man.”


TW:References to death January 3rd, 1945 Dear Mama, How are you doing lately? I was informed not too long ago about Katō-san's sickness, I and my friends are keeping prayers for her. Sadly I forgot what they said it was, but I hope she recovers swiftly. But again, how are you? Did you make that special soup for Papa's birthday? Were you able to get the ingredients? I know how much I fantasize about your cooking while laying in my barracks. I always go on to my comrades about how great all of your food tastes. One of my friends in specific, Kota can't wait until he comes back, he tells me he must come over, and he'll eat until he's sick! Also, how is Kiseki? I hope he has begun eating again, I really want him to do better, I couldn't imagine life without him. Remember back when he was only a puppy, and he stayed with me in bed when I was sick with the flu? I was just thinking of that this evening, every time my fever would rise, he would come and lick my forehead. Believe it or not, I miss Kiseki's licks. Oh and, Mama. Do you remember the recruiter I told you about? Asking me and the other airmen to join the Kamikaze? Our training is said to begin in a few days. I am utterly anxious and excited at the same time. Kota signed up as well. I am unsure who else has, but everybody around here is talking about it a lot, it makes me wonder what could be awaiting. With love, your son, Akatsuki January 10th, 1945 Dear Mama,

Today is Wednesday, and training has begun. Now I realize the weight of it all. I am sorry for the pain that may come with this but know it's for you and Papa. Training is a bit harder than anticipated but nothing I cannot handle. Today our rations were smaller than we originally hoped, but I managed enough that I didn't feel too hungry. Earlier this morning I was rebuked by our sergeant for writing haikus on the top of my bunk. Remember the one you made for me?

Clouds acherontic A little, brave tiger stands despite the mountain It has always been my favorite of yours. It always makes me feel like I am closer to you Mama, even in these dark times of war. But don't worry, I will make sure to honor you, Papa, and the family. Just know that someday, I will be Eirei. And perhaps I will be enshrined at Yasukuni. Also, how is Katō-san? I recall you saying that she hasn't recovered much. Don't forget to mix the medication with Kiseki's food. I remember you telling me that he is doing better with said medicine. If you can, please send a photo of him, it would make me very happy. Love, Akatsuki February 11th, 1945 Dear Mama, I am sorry I haven't written you in quite some time. I have a hard time squeezing in these letters with training. But know that I do think of you every day I am here. We were told that training was to last thirty days. so only one more day and I should be out. Then I will be able to send you more letters. I assure you, Mama, I will try and get a photo of me once we graduate. I would love for you to see me in my uniform.

We've been practicing our maneuvers and tactics with gliders, though, sometimes we don't have enough fuel to confidently fly about. Training hasn't let up anymore or less since the beginning, and I am really missing home. Some of our fellow comrades graduated sooner than us, and I never got the opportunity to say goodbye. Last night I found Mako crying on his bunk. When I asked him what was wrong, he told me that he was missing his Chichi much so. Which reminds me, don't forget about Valentine's day, that's coming up soon, and it is Papa's favorite holiday. I know Papa is normally picky, but I am sure he will understand with the rations. One thing that's for sure is, I know I would be pleased with any of your foods Mama. I will try and send more letters Mama. I love you. Akatsuki P.S, tell Ogawa-san that I offer congratulations on her daughter, Azami's graduation. February 18th, 1945 Dear Mama, They allowed me to write you now as I don't think I will have much time to do so in the future. Today is Sunday and the sky is cloudy and appears rather stormy. You know my fear of storms—they are forcing us to fly in these conditions anyway. They're saying the war won't wait on storms. Mama, the training is getting worse now. And though they told us training would only last for thirty days, it has lasted much longer and I don't know when it might end. I must confess I am feeling less and less zealous about this now. All I want is to come home, pet Kiseki, hug you and Papa. Walk to the market and come back and help you make Miso soup. Have Papa tell us stories about how he served in the Great War, then go to sleep. Oh, how I miss the good days, back when you used to tell me stories and tell me all sorts of Haikus. I still occasionally write, or quietly cite my favorite haiku here when I am feeling sad, though sometimes it doesn't stop me from shedding a tear or two. All I want to do is be home Mama. but I am really unsure if I'll be able to. I wish I could write to you more Mama. but they are rushing us. They are teaching us things now that make me question. They are doing things that I must confess, I didn't expect. I don't know, and when I say this, I do so with a heavy heart. I don't know when I will be able to write you next. Know that I love you, and please give my condolences to Katō-san for the loss of his wife. I will miss her greatly. With much love, Akatsuki March 11th, 1945 Dear Mama, Today is Sunday, training has finally ended. We were given our ceremonial uniforms, white scarves, and headbands inscribed with "Kamikaze" on them. We are back at an Airbase, but I am unsure if I can tell you where. We were told to study the tokkōtai manual, which we did so carefully. We made sure to read from front to back and from back to front. I and the other airmen are joking a bit, but the laugh doesn't feel real Mama. I read your letter saying that you did everything you could. I just wanted to let you know, that I don't hold you to blame for the passing of Kiseki, maybe it was just his time to go. I am also happy that you sent me his collar, it was the same one I picked for him a while ago. I will miss Kiseki, I did love him very much. Akatsuki March 20th, 1945 Dear Mama, Today, our officer came in and announced the pilots chosen on the papers, I was on that list, Mama. I know I should feel honored, but I can't help but cry. I just want to be home now, but that is a decision chosen for me. Do not fret for me Mama, I am doing my duty. For country and for our family. I am sorry for the pain I know will be caused by this, please offer my love to Amida, I know she would be pleased to hear it, especially with the loss of her brother, Mako. Did I forget to mention? Mako was sent out last night, he told us to eat his meal as he wouldn't be able to. It's mildly hard to ignore it all, as every day, another one of those faces that I see in my barracks is being sent out, never to be seen again. There was one fellow in specific that left a mark on me, I believe his name was Hachiro. The officers had to drag him out as he was crying too hard to stand. The suspense is heavy in the air, it feels like a blanket. I am sorry again, Mama. I feel you are the only one I can speak with. Kota got his Senninbari and composed a poem, so I imagine it won't be long before he is sent out as well. I met another pilot who's Mum has the same name as you! So that put a smile on my face. Also, please don't tell Papa just yet that I was listed, I am not ready for it. Love, Akatsuki March 29th, 1945 Dear Mama, Today is Thursday and it's rather Sunny. I've met a fellow airman, his name is Eiko and he's really nice. He tells me stories that his father told him, and it helps me take my mind off of things. Although tomorrow is my eighteenth birthday, do not worry about getting me anything. But if you really feel the need for a gift, I would love one of those little knittings you used to make for the kids at school. Could you make a tiger one? I've always loved tigers, and you told me I was your little tiger cub. I haven't asked in a while. But how are you? I hope the food poisoning didn't hurt Papa too bad, I know his immune system isn't the best. Also, please wait until Papa is fully recovered before you tell him about how I was listed on the paper. I don't want him to panic too badly. Me, Eiko, Genkei, and a few others held a small, personal moment of silence for Mako. Kota can't sleep as he's too scared. I too, am scared, Mama. I try to ignore it but I can't. I can't sleep either. All the thoughts just keep popping into my head. Somehow Eiko acts like he's thrilled for what's to come. I just can't grasp how. Akatsuki April 5th, 1945 Dear Mama, Today is a bad day. When I awoke, it was the officer announcing that Kota has been chosen for the next flight, and not long afterward Eiko had to go as well. Oh, Mama, I can't sleep, I can't stop crying anymore. What am I to do? All of my close friends are gone now. All I am left with is my own thoughts and this pen. My hands are shaking almost too badly to compose this letter. Mama, I just want to come home. I miss you, and I am scared. I am thinking of the old days again, remember how you used to sing me to sleep? What I would give to reexperience that again. Again, I love you, Mama. I miss you soo much. Love, Your son, Akatsuki April 6th, 1945 Dear Mama, Mama. This very likely might be the last letter you hear from me. But know that I love you and Papa very much. The officer came in and announced who is to go out next. Mama, it was my name he called out. Mine. Mama, I am soo scared. I am unsure if I can do this. I mentioned in an earlier letter, that I realized the weight of it all, but now I truly do. The Senninbari you made me has arrived. I also wrote my favorite haiku you made me on my scarf, I will be wearing it in flight. Mama, I love you. Tell Papa I love him too. I am sorry, sorry for the pain this causes. Know that I love you and Papa so very much. Your loving son, Akatsuki


I wish I could remember the first time I met you. The inciting incident of our relationship, so to speak. But the bitter truth is, I can't. People have told me how we met, two little girls barely out of toddlerhood screaming at the top of their lungs and chasing your escaped pet rabbit down the street. It must have been a sight to behold. I have no recollection of that, and neither have you, probably. As it stands, the earliest memory I have of you is a four year old girl with a smile that dimples her cheeks and makes the world light up, two dark, thick twin braids over your shoulders in a white, poofy dress. You were the only one of us kids who wore white clothes; the minute the rest of us stepped outside, we would be covered in dirt and grime. Not you, though, never you. When we were eight, we found a bird's nest at the base of an old tree, blown down and apart by the last night's storm, the eggs still inside, broken. And you cried. You mourned the unborn life once contained in those eggs, and the pain their parents must feel, and I stood by, debating with myself if pointing out the mangled bird-corpse by the bushes that was most likely the mother, struck down by the storm, would make you feel better or worse. I grew up on a farm, and you grew up in a nice one-family-home with a small garden. I saw death nearly every day, but I saw life, too. You were removed from those realities for a very long time, and only years later did I realise what had made you so upset that day; you were confronted, for the first time, with how powerless you were, and how unfair life was. A few months after that, our chicks started hatching, and I took you to see them, because while I was almost sure you had already forgotten about the day after the storm, I hadn't forgotten your puffy eyes and tear-stained cheeks, and I wanted to give you something to smile about. When we were eleven, my grandma died. She was out in the stables, tending to her favourite cow she so loved, when she just keeled over and wouldn't wake anymore; at least that's what Uncle had said. I think you were sadder than I was. My grandma was a tough lady, she raised three sons all on her own after grandad took a horse-hoove to the face when he was thirty-one, she survived two wars, one major heart-break when the uncle I never even knew decided he had had enough of the countryside and up and left, never to be seen again, and then survived the second heart-break when my Ma and Pa ran off the road in the curvy patch, leaving only me and Uncle and Grandma and the animals. But Grandma never gave up, she lived on, no matter what anyone threw at her. She would have wanted me to be strong, like her. It was a big funeral concession, despite our oh so small family. Half the village was crammed into the old church to pay their respects, and so were you and your family. You cried so hard when they put her in the ground, and your mother hugged you, and I stood there with dry eyes and took Uncle's hand when he started shaking, because that's what Grandma would have done. The next day when you came over, I got us some biscuits and sat us down on the sofa, and I showed you old photo-albums, big and clunky ones that covered both our laps. You put your head on my shoulder, and you smiled, just a little. When we were fifteen, Uncle got married. It was the party of the year, as any good wedding ought to be. Uncle and his wife were radiant, so happy, and Uncle's best friend and I were co-best-men, and he played the guitar while I sang at the reception, and Uncle cried, his new wife by his side, rubbing his arm. You cried too, because of course you were there, you in your beautiful, flowing red dress and your dark hair pinned back. An image of you in a white dress flashed before my eyes, and I took to drinking. I took two bottles of wine from the bar, grabbed you by the arm and went outside before my new aunt threw the bouquet, because I couldn't handle the thought of that. We sat, and we drank, and you looked beautiful in the moonlight, but I didn't tell you that. I walked you home hours later, in the early hours of a summer-morning, the kind where the first rays of the sun climbed the horizon when you weren't ready yet. You hugged me good-bye and I stumbled on home, off-balance now as your arm wasn't wrapped around mine anymore, and I laid down in the front-yard to watch the sun rise. I fell asleep there and woke up hours later to a group of kids from down the street poking me with a stick and loudly debating if I was dead. A fair question, I thought at the time, hungover and face down in a bushel of grass. When we were six-teen, I graduated, and you did not. I started working on the farm full-time, because that's what my family does, and you kept going to school. Around that time, your parents stopped liking me. At first, I was afraid they had caught me trying to make you smile, or the way my own smile tended to linger when I was around you, but then I realised they must have thought me a bad influence. A distraction, and one always covered in dirt at that. To them, a dirty child living on a farm must have been more acceptable than a dirty adult living on a farm, especially when that dirty adult liked to come over to spend time with their precious daughter, who would without a doubt go on to become a lawyer or an accountant when she played her cards right. They didn't think you were playing your cards right, spending time with me. I started seeing you less and less, but I also got a lot busier, with the calving and the chicks and the pigs giving birth and one of the farm-hands breaking his arm, so we quite literally were two hands short- and suddenly one year had passed, and then two, and you had graduated. I drove to the city in Uncle's old truck just to see your graduation, to watch you positively beam when they handed you your certificate; you, on that stage, in a beautiful violet dress with your hair up, even though I imagined it down. I wondered how you would wear your hair when your dress would be white, but at that point, your parents had been alerted to my being there, and your father frowned at me as if he heard my thoughts, so I left and took that image with me. That evening, you came by the farm dressed in a blue blouse and dark jeans, and your hair was finally down, and you told me your parents had said I was at the graduation, and I told you of course I was. You told me you had set your heart on a university already, in a city so, so far from home, so far from me, and I smiled and bore it. Then you asked me if I would stay here, always, and I told you yes, I would stay here, always. It's what my family does, after all. We sat in the front-yard and watched the stars and talked, quietly. I knew you were going to leave, I had always known, and yet it hurt. It would hurt me as much to watch you go as it had hurt Grandma to watch my unknown uncle go, it already hurt so much I could cry, but I didn't, I wouldn't, not as long as you were still here, and as long as I could take after you were gone. The street-lights turned off and we sat under just the starry sky when I said I didn't want you to go and you said you didn't want to leave me. I asked you if you would ever get married and you said yes, and you asked me the same, and I said no, and my heart cracked. A few months later, you were getting ready to move to the far away city you had told me about, and my heart grew heavier and heavier. The day you left, we stood in front of your father's car together, the moving-van had already driven off earlier. You told me to come visit you sometime, but both of us knew that wouldn't happen. The way was too far, and the farm too big. I told you I loved you, but you didn't understand, because you said it back. We hugged, and you cried, the tears still wet on your cheeks when you got into the car and your father started to drive. I stood there for a long time and only headed home when the air began to cool. I laid down in the front-yard and watched the sun set, my heart burning as though someone was putting their cigarette out on it, and my eyes watering from me refusing to blink and miss a moment of the sunset. I didn't see you for years. We talked on the phone every week, sometimes even twice, but it wasn't enough, never enough for my burning heart. When we were twenty-six, you told me you would be getting married. You had found a job in the city you went to university in, and you had found a man, and you were going to marry him and live in that cursed city with him and maybe have children with him and raise a family. Meanwhile, I would be on the farm with Uncle and his wife, raising calves and chicks and piglets. You asked me if I would come to your wedding, and I said I couldn't. I couldn't make the trip, and I wouldn't be able to bear seeing you in that white dress. Some time later I asked you if you would wear your hair up or down, and you said up, and with a sour taste on my tongue, I thought of course. When we were twenty-eight, you had your first baby, and when we were thirty-one, you had your second. You send me pictures and I didn't know what to do with them. When we were thirty-five, Uncle died. I inherited the farm and hired some more help, and I held my aunt's hand at the funeral. I told you over the phone and you cried, and I could hear your husband consoling you. You said you would have come down for the funeral, and I didn't know what to say to that. A week later, you pulled up in front of the farm and came rushing up the front steps to hug me, crush my heart between our chests and cling to me. I clung right back. We went inside and looked through old photos, and you told me stories about your children and your husband, and I told you that last year, one of the cows had triplets, and that was the big talk of the village for a good couple months. We had even gotten a proper party out of it. After you got back in your car, I didn't see you for a long time. Longer than before, a whole lifetime for some. When we were fifty-three, your children were grown and your husband had left. You didn't really tell me why, but I also didn't need to know. I was mucking out the stables when the wooden door squeaked open and you came in. I leaned on my pitch-fork and stared, the sun behind you catching on silver streaks in your dark hair, open around your shoulders. You were old, but not as old as me. That evening, we ended up in the front-yard with a couple of beers each, and you asked me why I never married. I said I had told you long ago, so long, the day you had left to never come back. »You mean when you said you loved me?« you say. »Yes,« I say. You don't say anything for a long time. »I always loved you,« you say, finally. I stare up at the dark, brightly dotted sky, and take a sip of beer. »I don't think it matters now.« »It could,« you say, insistent. I turn to look at you, the orange street-light painting valleys across your face, but my eyes water, so I close them. »Fine,« I say, »then stay.« Your hand covers mine, and I screw my eyes shut tighter, to keep the wetness from spilling. »I will,« you say, and hold my hand as my tears begin to fall.


I was told I shouldn’t go. Begged more like it. They told me he was crazy, that he was probably dangerous, but I still went. I had to know why he chose me. Three days ago, I received a letter from my grandfather, Layton Young. He requested me personally to come by his estate for a visit. The problem with that is no one had heard from him in over forty years. He secluded himself inside of his mansion and hadn’t left since, or so the stories say. I’d never met him, but that was about to change. I arrived at his estate the day after I received his letter. Besides the lights coming through his windows, the whole place looked abandoned. After knocking for several minutes to no avail, I let myself in. Following the main hallway, I reached two large oak doors. Peering inside, I jumped back at the sight. It was a large ballroom full of life sized puppets dangling from the ceiling. Dozens of them, all exquisitely made. Their swaying made them appear to be dancing: a marionette masquerade. As I searched for my grandfather, I saw more rooms full of these strange puppets. Each room was staged to show a different story: birth, loss, success, failure, happiness, and sadness. The farther I went, the more the puppets began to look damaged and the strings worn out, like they were constantly being used. “This way my boy,” a voice called out from down the hallway. Startled by the sound, I quickly turned to face it. At the very end of the hallway stood a door lit from the other side. Standing in the window was the silhouette of a man. “Come closer,” the shadow said. “It’s hard to see at my age.” He chuckled. “Grandpa?” I asked as I slowly walked towards the door. The shadow nodded, “It’s so good to finally meet you at last,” he replied. “What do you want with me? What’s with these puppets?” I asked skipping pleasantries, standing in front of the door. The faded glass made him hard to see. “My guests? They’re my memories, my story. I try to change them from time to time, but they always seem to return to the truth.” He moved to a desk near the back of the room and sat down. “Why did you ask me here?” I asked. “I needed someone to see them.” he replied grimly. I could hear him open a drawer. “I’m too old to care for them anymore.” I heard a click of a gun. “Grandpa?!” I screamed, trying to open the door. “Take care of them my boy. They’re your guests now.” I slammed myself into the door harder. “Please remember me,” he whispered. A loud gunshot boomed through the house. I finally broke the door down. To my surprise, behind the office desk was another puppet with a smoldering hole in its head. This puppet, however, didn’t have strings.


Whether she breathed in the water or not- it wouldn't matter. She only knew that she had to reach the firm land. A mountain called her. Radiating a power she wanted to touch. That was all. The being, beautiful to all, rose from the embrace of the waters.

Water droplets ran down her naked sides. Magnificent. -------- She was beautiful. She knew that. Aphrodite, they call her. All of them hung on her every word, holding their breath and waiting for her to shine her smile upon them. The fools.

She was older. She was made the moment a piece of heaven landed in the tremulous sea- quite literally. Uranus, the former god in charge was killed by his son (his blood and dismembered body hitting the sea)...it was almost romantic. The way destiny repeats itself.

Over and over and over. She was made of seafoam and new beginnings, she was the oldest. Oldest and godliest among Zeus and his brothers...so why? Why is it that she was still there? Goddess of Sexual Love and Beauty. They think that giving her a title would keep her quiet?

They were right. She was content watching others take charge of the serious aspects...but eventually being beautiful and loved lost its luster. There were times, now being one of them, where she was furious. With the world. Herself. Others. Everyone loved her because she's beautiful. But the mortal respected and revered Zeus because he was mighty.

Some even loved him too. Aphrodite watched, envy burning in her eyes, as Zeus and Hera stood. Godly and burning with heavenly light. Just like them but mightier. She wanted to be respected.

But no matter what...love was too infamous. Too messy to be anything short of disastrous or glorious.

And even the love Aphrodite receives was never truly certain, For mortals sometimes glow brightly, brighter than gods even, before disappearing. A shooting star.

And there were plenty of those. Myrrah- oh how Aphrodite loved when Hera shot her the disgusted look. And when others shrunk from her striding figure.

Akhilleus- oh, Poseidon shot her a wide-eyed look before disappearing into the sea. It was such power, instilling fear within others. Knowing that others were wary of you. And...the most infamous of her acts- the one that would have been legendary if it wasn't spoiled so… Psyche. Oh, how they marveled that mortal beauty. It was fair...but it's hardly competitive. None of them were. But they, even if briefly, loved another. Others dared to think themselves worthy to be her match. Oh! The horror in their faces when they saw just how magnificent she was.

Oh my, how they revered her power. How mortal groveled to get in her good graces. How even with fear in their faces they admired her.

Psyche would have been the same.

But Aphrodite let Eros do it for her… Aphrodite wanted to put the same fear in a god’s eyes. She let Eros do it, sure that stirring fear in a mortal was beneath her... And he ruined it. Instead, there were whispers of people outwitting her. Of Psyche becoming immortal. Which was terribly true. How she raged...the petals of intoxicating roses shook with her anger. And the gods steered clear of her… the mortals wrote more poems. To soothe anger they didn't know she had. Still… They loved her. Oh, yes they did. It infuriated her. Why won’t they fear her? Why is it that Zeus was feared more than her? Did she really have to be a brute like Artemis? Wasn’t her games enough? Instead of more acts of wrath, Aphrodite flaunted her power. Seducing many. Wrapping many around her perfectly slim finger. But of course, that display was to be reproached. Hera, who couldn’t stand to see others happier and freer than herself. (Aphrodite pitied the queen almost as much as she envied her. Almost.) Zeus sent Aphrodite, the most gorgeous and greatest, to be married to the recluse Hephaestus. She reared with anger. Hephaestus was not who she loved. He was plain and meek. She wanted the power and blood and salt of loving another. The passion of loving Ares. Why shouldn't it be Ares? Her arguments were dismissed easily- the way only a king could dismiss her. A godly king with power. Oh, how, she wanted that power. And Ares gave it to her. No- he fought her for it. Hepahsutus treated her with gloves but Ares treated her with force. Kissing her so hard her lips broke and his did too. So, that they may taste the ichor of each other's existence. Ares looked at her like she was sin personified. With reverence and fear. Unsure of what she’d do next. It was a drug. Her drug. In all her years, more than even Zues or Hades or Poseidon. No one has ever watched her with fear. No one that mattered anyway. No Olympian that inspired fear ever feared her. But he did. She longed for it. So much. But just as soon as she grew more dependent on the taste of their ichor, sweat, and words combined she was shamed for it.

Closing her eyes she remembered the day, Hephaestus looked at her. She searched his expression, it was cold yet fiery still. He nodded at her, his gaze on the door, “I will be gone. Do not expect me to be back until overmorrow.” Excitement sparked in her veins. “Very well. Enjoy your trip.” The god, who so very rarely smiled, smiled then. It was cold and not the least bit lovely. Hardly any of his smiles were. But this one was dark and hungry.

“Oh, I will.” Aphrodite sat there, staring at her own reflection. Not quite sure what to do. Should she call another? Ares? Should she visit the mortal realm?

Interfere once more…? It was curious. How the mortals had such limited time. Always something they wanted to accomplish before they burned out. Before their string of life was shorn. Here, with all the time in the world and he hasn't done anything. A knock sounded. The door opened.

She lifted her head from its perch on her hands. Was it Hephaestus? Did he forget something? And they say he's intelligent- oh, Aphrodite felt her smile grow, “Ares. To what do I owe this pleasure?” “More pleasure, of course.” Ares strode forward, crushing her soft body to his. Aphrodite leaned into the touch, razor-sharp and coated with danger. He pulled her into the bedroom. Already accustomed to where and how she likes their love. Their consumption. Their intimacy.

Stumbling they didn’t notice the glint of gold on the covers. Until they were both in the sheets. Aphrodite untying her garments while helping him out of his. Until a sudden ring sounded and the corners pulled up. Drawing them together, half nude, and trapped. Then came the gods. Hera and Zues. (Hera had a bitter expression on her face and Zues looked offended- before they both laughed. Taking delight in their embarrassment.) Hephaestus (who wasn’t quite happy and not quite sad, his thundery expression still allowing proud laughter). Apollo and Artemis (hands intertwined as they leaned on each other, bonding over the amusement of seeing the god of war and goddess of love struggle in their binds). Smaller lesser gods. She cannot remember their faces- but how she wished she focused on them. Aphrodite couldn’t get valuable revenge on the Olympians but she could on the lesser ones. She could regain her respect that way. Alas... Zeus made it rule that she and Ares were to separate. But it was too late. She was addicted to the taste of danger and war. Of blood and ichor. The feel of blades and anger. And from their love came a god. Eros. The god of romantic love. Her sweet little god.

Hera admonished Aphrodite. Telling her off for hurting Hephaestus. The same son the goddess that threw him off a cliff for being lame and deformed. Aphrodite didn’t mention this. After all, Hera was a queen and Aphrodite was not. But as she shared a bed with her husband who could no longer look at her with any mellowness she wondered… Did Hephaestus really love her?

Mortals expected Aphrodite to understand love. She did not. She was the goddess of sexual love. She understands the brief awe of loving a mortal. And the exquisite power of loving danger. But she did not understand or know love. Not the way others seemed to. Was love the way Persephone ran to the dark? The way Zues always returned to Hera? Was love really that good and terrible? What about the way she loved the beautiful Nerites? Who refused her company? The same sea-god she turned to shellfish.

Tilting her head back she studied the stars. Still clear and bright.

She found the constellations she is looking for; Big bear, little bear. An affair- lives ruined by Zues… turned to monsters. Killed terribly. Haunted by loss before being immortalized across the sky. She probably knew about the incident. The Queen was probably looking at the stars herself, reminded that the husband who always returned to her never stayed. She was fine like this. She was thriving like this. She did not need love. Nor to know it or understand it. But, how she would have loved the power. Of being a Queen. Of being feared. Of having mortals wince with fear every time the slightest slander reached their ears. Power couldn't be negated.

She watched as a shooting star streaked across the sky. If she were Queen- she’d have power.

Power.


I love my tin snail. 29 horsepower, full length roll back sunroof, four gears, fun suspension. She may date back to 1971 but the front inboard mounted brakes are the same technology used in formula one cars. I have to say, I feel more like a rally driver as I throw her round the corners. Speaking of corners, there’s a guy with his thumb up at the bend, heading out of Talby. I’d love the company, I wonder if he’ll accept a lift from a 2CV? Some consider these old Citroens unsafe but, with their built-in crumple zones, almost vertical steering shaft, and practically no blind spots, they measure up pretty well to more modern vehicles. Only one way to find out if he shares my enthusiasm. I apply those formula one brakes and pull in to the verge just past the hitch hiker. He runs up alongside my flipped-open passenger window in his hi top Converse All Stars. He can’t be much younger than me but he’s somehow getting away with skinny jeans. I’ve never liked them on guys, but each to their own. I'm sure people don't expect a 2CV driver to be wearing a well-pressed trouser suit and stilettos either. ‘Hi! Thanks for stopping. Where are you headed?’ His ponytail, about the same length as mine, catches the wind as he ducks to talk to me. ‘Pandel Lakes. On your way?’ ‘Perfect! I’m going to Anacant.’ ‘Ah, You’re on My way! Get in. Sling your rucksack in the back.’ ‘Cool, thanks. I’m Danny. Danny Grant.’ ‘Hi Danny.’ I smile. ‘I’m a Danny too, Danny Roke. Danielle, but only my mother calls me that. Nice to meet you.’ He deposits his bag in the back and slams the door before climbing into the front. I wait while he sorts his seatbelt and then we’re off. ‘So what takes you to Anacant?’ ‘Adventure I suppose. I’ve got friends there planning a party at a cabin, but the public transport is terrible up that way and I had to sell my car last month.’ His face falls a little. ‘What kind of car was it?’ ‘A grey 1971 VW beetle.’ ‘A man after my own heart! Can’t beat the classics.’ I tap my steering wheel. ‘Got just over six grand for it. Much needed cash but I’ll miss that car.’ Danny rubs his chin. ‘Tell me about your Citroen. I’ve always wanted to try one of these gear sticks. Maybe you can talk me through it?' ‘She’s 1971 as well. I’ve had a few problems with rust but she’s in good nick at the moment, aren’t you Red?’ I pat the dash board a couple of times. ‘Red? That’s original.’ Danny has a charming and infectious laugh. ‘Yeah, but it’s not just because of her colour. Red was my favourite Fraggle when I was a kid. Do you have any favourite TV characters from back in the day?’ ‘I was more into cartoons than puppets. I quite liked He Man and that tiger he rode…’ ‘Battlecat!’ we both say in unison and giggle. ‘Yeah, I quite fancied taming wild animals and going on adventures with them. There was something attractive about a magic sword too, and leading a secret double life.’ ‘You'd have had to run around in a silver breastplate and red furry knickers though.’ ‘I think you have paid altogether too much attention to cartoon underwear!’ Danny sniggers. ‘Does it still count as underwear if it’s all you’ve got on?’ ‘Good question.’ There are rabbits on the grass at the side of the road. They seem unperturbed by the country traffic and continue to graze as we pass them. We’re soon entering the woods. Huge pines and firs on either side block out much of the sun and substantially cool the air. ‘So what takes you to the lakes?’ Danny asks. ‘Family history. I’m going to find my great aunt before she kicks the bucket.’ ‘Find her? Was she lost?’ ‘Sort of. A rift in the family before I was born meant that I never met her. Dad told me about her on his death bed and made me promise to make amends. She never had kids and she’s been isolated from us. Then her husband died, so she's basically on her own. It’s a shame to leave things that way.’ ‘Does she know you’re coming?’ ‘Yes, but she may assume I’m a boy. We exchanged a few letters and I just signed them “Danny”. It didn’t occur to me until this morning that she may be surprised when I show up. In her car!’ ‘Her car?’ ‘Apparently so. She loaned it to my grandad who loaned it to my uncle without her permission. That was the start of the feud. Things got out of hand. Just to spite her my uncle left it to my mother in his will, my mother kept it and that was the final straw. By the time I was born Aunt Lucy was never spoken of. I’m sure my grandad had his reasons but really it doesn’t sound like it was her fault.’ ‘And I thought my family were weird.’ ‘Yeah. My mum gave the car to me without ever telling me where it came from. She was furious when my dad spilled the beans. But he died two days later so what could she do?’ ‘Does your mum know you’re going?’ ‘No. You’re the first person I've told. I figured I’d get to know Aunt Lucy a bit, then try to reintroduce them before anyone else dies.’ I let out a long, slow breath. ‘I figure returning the car is step one in mending the family.’ ‘And she lives up at Pandel Lakes? If she can afford one of those mansions she might not want a 1971 Citroen. No offense meant.’ Danny pulls down the passenger sun visor, even though we are still in the tree shadow. He uses the mirror to check on his bag. ‘None taken. I assumed the same thing, but it’s the thought that counts. Maybe the car has sentimental value.’ ‘Maybe, perhaps she’ll reward you.’ ‘All I want is to get her and my mum back together and not have Aunt Lucy die alone. She can leave her fortunes to the RSPCA for all I care. It sounds like she might too, she’s got nine cats!’ ‘Nine cats! I hope you’re not allergic?’ ‘Fortunately not. I’m just glad it’s not dogs. I can’t stand dogs. Terrifying.’ ‘Did she say much else in her letters? Do you know what to expect when you meet her?’ ‘Well, her late husband invested in a few inventions and companies that did remarkably well after the war. Not least of all Velcro. He was a shrewd businessman and Lucy listened to him when he warned her that her family would only take advantage of their good fortune. I’m hoping I can prove him wrong.’ ‘And it starts with returning the car?’ ‘Exactly.’ We both fall silent as we come out of the cool shade and back into the blazing sun. The tall dark trees are replaced by open fields of corn and rapeseed, green and yellow as far as I can see. My nose starts to stream from the pollen. ‘Could you pass me the tissues from the glove shelf?’ Danny reaches out and finds a pack of Handy Andies. He removes two and hands them to me. ‘That’s something I have in common with her.' I wipe my nose. 'She gets terrible hay fever too. I was going to bring her flowers, but I’ll opt for chocolate instead. I’ll stop in Anacant when I drop you off and see if I can find some. Apparently she likes ginger.’ ‘There’s a really nice chocolate shop in the arcade. I can show you if you like?’ ‘That would be great.’ I shift down into third as we come to a winding hill. ‘So, about that gear box? Does it take a lot of getting used to?’ ‘Not really, it’s pretty easy when you have a bit of practise.’ I talk him through the gear positions and show him as I change up and down them. It's good to find someone interested in the car, usually people take the Mick a bit. After all, the design brief was literally to build an "umbrella on wheels". ‘So, who is it you’re visiting in Anacant? Old school friends?’ ‘Uni mates. We get together once a year at Joe’s cabin and get plastered. There’s more beer than gear in my pack.’ Danny laughs. ‘But an annual blow out is fine. And this year it’s everyone’s 40ths.’ ‘Ah, wives and kids invited?’ ‘Nope. Just the lads, no girls allowed. And we’re big enough kids without having a group of actual toddlers running around.’ ‘Makes sense. I guess no one based near Talby? No one to pick you up?’ ‘Nah, everyone spread far and wide after graduation. I promised them I'd get there. I'm really grateful you stopped.’ ‘No problem. Maybe I can pick you up on the way back too? I'll hire a car in Anacant if Aunt Lucy keeps the flying dustbin.’ ‘That’s very kind. When are you heading back through?’ ‘Probably Sunday night but I’ll see how it goes. I’m booked into a hotel at the lake for the whole weekend, but fully prepared to leave early if I'm not well received.’ ‘Which hotel? Have you gone budget with the Owl or luxury with the Cross Keys?’ ‘Oh, you know it?’ ‘Yeah, we stayed at the Owl a few times before Joe bought the cabin. Did some fishing, hiking. It’s nice up there, but there’s more night life in the town.’ ‘I’ve actually taken the middle ground and gone for the Green Room B&B. It’s closer to Lucy’s place and she’s agreed to meet me in the café next door. I’m hoping she’ll recognise me. All I really said was that I have a long brown ponytail, and frankly that would describe you just as well!’ We see the first sign for Anacant. I’m almost sad to be close to dropping Danny off. It’s been so nice to chat and I have no idea how frosty a reception I might get at the lakes. The heavy stink of manure hits us from an adjacent field. ‘Phew! Closing the windows won’t help I’m afraid. Red is naturally well ventilated.’ Danny grins at me. ‘No problem. I'm used to farm aromas.’ I indicate left off the next roundabout in all its floral glory, and we’re there. Anacant. "Three times winner of Britain in Bloom" crows the sign. The copious amounts of hanging baskets and colourful borders clashing along the sleepy roadsides don’t scream party time for a bunch of uni mates. But it’s true, there are pubs, more night life than at the lakes. ‘So, where’s this chocolate shop and where should I drop you off?’ ‘You can drop me at the arcade, I’m happy to walk to rest of the way. Take the next left onto the high street and pull up outside the bank if you can.’ I manage to park two spaces down from Barclays. Sure enough there’s a little shopping arcade. ‘I’ll come with you, might pick something up from the off licence next door.’ We get out of the car and walk under the archway into the tiny shopping centre. The shops are closed down. Probably victims of the covid pandemic. ‘Is it still going to be open?’ ‘I don’t know, let’s find out, it’s right at the end.’ The passageway turns a corner between more closed shops. Such a shame that so many independent businesses have been lost. There’s a vape place, a deli, a sandwich shop, a jeweller, a key cutter, a couple of gifty looking places, all shut down. There’s no one around and we're out of sight of the high street. It’s eerily quiet. The passageway opens up into a little courtyard and there at the far side is the off licence "Paul's Wines" and the chocolate shop “Sweet Dreams”, very quaint. Both closed. … Danny dropped a few blood-stained Handy Andy tissues into a litter bin before he emerged back onto Anacant High Street. Alone. He knew how backwards this little town was, he knew there was no CCTV in the Victorian arcade, or even on the High Street. It would be a while before anyone found anything amiss. He took the keys to the 2CV out of his pocket and hoped that the car wasn’t conspicuous enough for the locals to notice. Half of them drove old beetles and original minis anyway so it wasn’t all that out of place. He sat in the driver's seat with the clutch depressed for just long enough to try out the gear positions. It was true, they were quick to get used to. He drove up to Pandel Lakes, via a petrol station where he bought some cheap chocolate covered ginger. He checked in to the Green Room B&B as “Danny Roke”. After removing the luggage from the car boot and dropping it off with his own rucksack, he took a quick shower. Then he sat himself down, the only customer in the Lionhead Café next door. It was three lattes and a piece of chocolate cake before an elderly woman with a cardigan covered in cat hair let herself in. ‘Danny?’ she said, peering at him over her glasses. ‘Yes! Aunt Lucy?’ Danny stood up and offered her his hand. ‘You’re just how I imagined you!’ Lucy’s eyes lit up and she hugged him.


Andira looked on at the house from the road as she, and her brothers, always had done. It was mostly out of curiosity. None of her friends knew who lived in the house, nor had they ever seen him, yet it was always in pristine condition, there was a constant fresh stream of wood, lights were always on at night, and the garden was always well maintained. “C’mon,” Andira said to her siblings, “whoever lives there isn’t coming out, let’s go home.” After years of waiting, Andira knew she shouldn’t be disappointed. After all, why is now any different to any day before now? She still was though. Maybe it was just bad luck that they never saw whoever lived there, after all they only had a few hours each day before their parents expected them to be home. Maybe if she had waited just a few more minutes they would have seen whoever it was. Or maybe whoever it was didn’t want to be seen and was waiting for her and her brothers to leave, and if she walked back the way she came she’d catch a glimpse of him. The possibilities raced in her head of why she’d never seen the owner of the house, though she felt as if every possibility was equally, well, possible. “Who do you think it is?” Her little brother Rind asked. “I think it’s a ghost! He protects the house from people who want to take his stuff!” Her other little brother, Siloa replied with his expected glee. They were still little, Andira knew that, but it was still irritating for Rind to ask. “You ask that every time we come out here, Rind.” She said, “You already know what I’m going to-” Andira said, trying to sound as bored as possible in the hopes that Rind would stop asking “‘-Just some nobody.’” Siloa interrupted “But, if you think that, why do you take us out when mum says we shouldn’t be pestering him.” Andira was taken aback for a moment, not sure how to respond. “Because...” she stopped, trying to think of a reason, “...because you two are always asking me to!” Both of her brothers stopped and looked at her in confusion. “But-” “Let’s just go home.” Andira sighed. For what felt like the first time in years, her brothers didn’t talk to her for the entire walk home, instead quietly whispering among themselves. This left Andira to think to herself for the remainder of the walk, though like whenever she thought to herself she never could come up with any good answers for her questions. When the trio got home, her brothers rushed to their room as they always did. Andira was instead greeted by her mother, preparing to give her the same lecture he’d always give her. “What are you doing out so late spying on someone?!” Her mother barked at her. “When you were as old as your brothers, it was okay for you to not understand why this was wrong. BUT NOW?!” “Yes, I know mum, I know.” Andira said “I don’t think you do.” Her father said, walking into the dining room. “Go check on the other two, I’ll give her the talk for once.” Hugging each other, her mother nodded and left the room down the hallway. “What are you doing going out and spying on Utari? You know you shouldn’t.” He sternly said “Yes dad I know I shouldn’t but-” “But what?” “I don’t know why I shouldn’t. You and mum just tell me that he’s bad news but you’ve never told me why we shouldn’t.” Her father paused for a moment, looking down, “Fine, I suppose you’re old enough to know who he is.” The energy Andira had lost on the walk home immediately came back to her. “Really?!” She joyfully said, nearly throwing herself onto a chair to listen. “Utari was… well, he was an emperor of Hiradil.” “What.” Andira’s jaw dropped. In all her life, all the theories she had crafted, she never expected him to be an emperor! Living in the same town as her! Thoughts raced through her mind and she felt an excitement not felt in a long time. Her father chuckled, “I knew you’d have that reaction.” “What- did he abdicate? Was he overthrown?” “It’s… complicated. He tried to conquer the world.” “WHAT!” Andira immediately felt the urge to leap out of her seat and go back to wait there until he came out, she urged herself to stay as still as she could. “Uh- uhm- how did- what happened to him?” “He lost.” “Well, duh, but why’s he here?” Her father again paused, “...nowhere else would let him stay.” he somberly said. “People wanted his head across most of the planet, we were one of the few places that forgave him. We gave him a house and he’s lived here ever since.” “How long ago was this?” “I was your age.” A long silence was followed. “Can I… Can I go see him?” “You really are just like me when I was your age.” her father laughed. “You’re going to go out either way aren’t you?” “...Yeah.” Andira smirked. “Fine. But on the condition you don’t bring your brothers. Go out in the morning before your work on the farm, you’ll probably see him around then.” The next few hours were a blur, immediately after she’d eaten, Andira was getting as much sleep as she could, hoping to wake up as early as possible to go out and find him. To nearly take over the world? What kind of man was he to be able to do that? Clearly he had to be strong, tall, he had to be covered in jewels, maybe he still even had his old crown. Hell, maybe he was fully clad in his shining golden armour. Or maybe it was dark. She’d never left her village let alone been to Hiradil, maybe Hiradil was a group of zombies and he was a lich king, and that’s why everyone wanted to kill him. She’d only seen a lich once and it nearly killed her, so maybe he wanted to kill everything. She made sure she woke up as early as possible. Making sure no-one in the house was asleep, she quietly crept out her house, then began sprinting across town to see him. Once she got there, she had a realisation. If he was hiding from her and her brothers, maybe she wouldn’t be able to see him if she was just waiting outside. Luckily for her, there were bushes around his garden, so she decided she’d hide in them. Once she got there, she leapt into one of the bushes and waited for him. She was expecting to wait all morning, however she could hear the back door opening after only what felt like a few minutes. She wasn’t sure if it’d actually been a few minutes, or if the excitement made it only feel like a few minutes. She could hear the back door of the house open, and so she moved back there. As quietly - and quickly - as possible. As she moved around the back, she could hear the sounds of someone chopping wood. It was a near thundering sound, and the images in her head of a great and powerful figure only grew. When she got to the backyard, she only grew confused. All she saw was a normal old man, struggling to pull an axe out of a tree stump. He looked up to see her, seeing her confused and shocked face. The old man simply took the wood he cut and went back inside.


Tom and Gabby were drunk, swaying back and forth into one another as the train car bounced along the rails to the stadium. They made a handsome couple. Gabby was lithe and graceful, usually that is, with a slim build beneath long, blonde hair. Tom was tall and spry, and while he wasn’t particularly stocky, his muscles pushed outward on all sides of his t-shirt. Together they looked like they belonged on the cover of Getting Married, if there was ever such a thing.

The train was old and thoroughly worn out, as evidenced by the flickering lights and the faint smell of vomit that permeated the air. Just standing in the car was enough to give one the sensation of grime that slithered onto the skin from all angles. Oblivious to this was Gabby.

She was bubbly and radiant, decked out in all red, the color of the home team they were on their way to see. As the train car sputtered and shimmied, protesting loudly with metallic groans, she abruptly grabbed hold of the front of Tom’s shirt and kissed him. Before she pulled away, she whispered in his ear.

“Can’t wait to see the show, Gingerbread Man.”

It had long been a joke between them. The old children’s rhyme from their youths, repeated endlessly by caregivers and movies alike, elicited in them the childish glee of flight mixed with the almost universal love between a child and a well-baked cookie. It frequently entered the banter of their weekend mornings together. With the sun’s light sharply streaking through the breaks in the curtains, Gabby could often be seen coming in from the living room and jumping on the bed, fully naked, to holler ‘You can’t catch ME!’ Somehow, Tom always did.

At this moment, however, they were in Athens. A long and winding road had led them there, from the Eiffel Tower in Paris to the uproarious party of Oktoberfest, down through Italy, and then finally, across the Ionian Sea to Greece. This was the final stop on their vacation and they had planned it well. After two weeks on the smaller, lesser-known islands of the archipelago, Tom had booked an apartment in the city center of the ancient capital, where they had seen everything there was to see, eating and drinking as much as they could stand along the way. There were three days left before the couple headed home, so they decided to end their trip with a bang by going to see the biggest soccer team in Greece play its rival.

With a disarrayed symphony of squeaks, the train came to a stop outside the stadium. Thousands of the Olympiacos faithful streamed toward the massive structure of the stadium, all swathed in the same red colors as Gabby. Tom felt somewhat out of place in his black tearaway pants and cheap gray hoodie but he put the thought out of his mind. The couple entered the fray and headed straight for the concession stands.

No alcohol was allowed in the actual stadium itself, presumably to stop fighting and rioting, so Tom had to console himself by guzzling cheap beer as fast as possible before the game started. Gabby watched him with a bemused smile. He chugged away, belching frequently, which elicited small giggles of delight from his girlfriend. When he couldn’t take anymore, he tossed the can he was holding behind him and tottered backward toward a nearby railing. Gabby grabbed his arm then, directing them through the press of people entering Karaiskakis Stadium.

As a small miracle, the pair somehow made it past the alcohol monitors and security, then to their seats. These had been chosen carefully. Tom had wanted to be ‘part of the show,’ as he had put it, which meant sitting in the most raucous section of fans, and right near the field to boot. He had gotten exactly what he wished for.

It was ten minutes to kick off and the noise was deafening. The stadium was packed to the brim with wildly cheering people. Confetti flew upwards from seats all around them, some of the small pieces of paper catching on the humid air currents and lifting upwards towards the partially domed roof. Vuvuzelas blared their merry and triumphant tones. People of all ages screamed in Greek, waving their arms and jumping up and down while they did so. Both Tom and Gabby enthusiastically joined in. But they were waiting for something more than just the bellowing of the crowd. There was a ritual… The players were on the field now, set up in their respective rows, with the referee pointing here and there. From their close-up seats, Tom could make out the individual faces of the players. He watched as their bright smiles dampened, rapidly transitioning to the stern fierceness of competition. The noise had somehow grown even greater, almost overpowering any other sense one could have. The reverberations were so strong that Tom could feel them in his clenched teeth. And then, just as the first second of play began, their section popped the flares.

It is an old tradition that is popular around the world. A section of fans will pop road flares in a carefully laid out pattern that either spells out a word, a letter, or some kind of pattern. In this case, it was an ‘O’ for Olympiacos. But that didn’t matter to Tom. What was relevant to him was that now there was a ton of smoke, all of it concentrating to form a cohesive screen, through which anything might appear.

And today, ‘anything’ meant The Gingerbread Man.

Only a minute of the game had been played and Tom was already heading down the handful of steps that it took to get to the field. He briefly looked over his shoulder to see Gabby, smiling from ear to ear, with her phone out, no doubt recording the action. But then she was gone, blurred by the thick smoke wafting in all directions. He could feel the pulse of the crowd. At some point, he bumped against someone rising from their seat but resolutely kept moving downward. When he got to the rail he didn’t hesitate. Tom didn’t care one bit about soccer, or futbol, or whatever it was they called this silly sport. You couldn’t even tackle anyone, for Pete’s sake. No, what Tom cared about was making sure that everyone in the stadium was going to see his ass, especially Gabby. And he was going to show it for as long as he could. Maybe forever, really, because they could run as fast as they could, but they’d never catch him.

As soon as Tom hit the turf he ripped off his sweatshirt, tore off his breakaway pants, and started to run. A lot of people will never truly run . Sure, we go for jogs, we sprint after our dogs on the beach, and maybe even some lighthearted chasing with our kids in the backyard. But there is a great difference between those lighthearted runs and running for what feels like your life. When you are being chased, hounded by someone who intends to tackle you in the rudest way possible, there is the adrenaline of The Hunt. You are the prey and you have to outpace and outdistance your opponent. In that state, you are capable of speed and endurance you didn’t think was possible.

Tom burst through the wisps of smoke that made it to the field and reached top speed as he crossed into the field of play. It took the players a few moments to realize that there was a fool streaking naked across the field, but when they did, the man who had the ball at his feet kicked it straight toward Tom. In an amazing display of the abilities of these professional athletes, the ball came very close to pegging him right in the side of his head as he crossed in flight. Some of the players laughed, some scowled. The crowd noise hadn’t abated one bit. It was impossible to tell whether people were cheering or jeering him, but Tom assumed the former.

The first security guard came from in front of him and slightly to the right. Luckily, security was easy to spot because of the bright yellow jackets they wore. This man’s running days were well behind him, maybe they had never been at all, as evidenced by his flopping arms and bouncing gut. He had exhausted himself simply getting to Tom and his winded attempt to grab the streaker’s arm met nothing but air. Tom took a hard left, jab stepped, then cut even harder left, almost back in the direction he had come. He could feel his breath, ragged but hearty, alongside his wildly pumping heart. He ran.

As he passed, a player from the opposing team reached out his foot daintily, trying to trip the naked interloper. But Tom saw it coming and leapt high into the air without breaking stride. He could see security all around him now, yellow jackets buzzing in, all of their arms flailing, trying to grab him. He zigged, then zagged, cutting through the maze of attacking guards, much to the delight of the crowd. There was an impressive sense of focus that permeated him, possible only because of how many eyes were on him. There must be at least thirty thousand people around him. He looked up at the stands and tried… As if he had been hit by a bus, Tom’s body went from rapid motion in a vertical stance to complete stillness on the horizontal plane. It took just under three seconds. His head hit the turf and bounced once, twice, then rested roughly on the plastic turf. The pressing weight was unbearable, as at least two security guards were putting their entire weight on top of him. He felt himself being abruptly and unceremoniously tugged upwards, then dragged toward the sidelines. The noise became oppressive again, with screams of joy and derision cascading down around him along with the last wisps of smoke from the faded flares.

And with that, Tom looked up one more time to see Gabby, still seated, laughing uproariously. Her blonde hair tussled with the wind, leaving her face a bright spot in the sea of red. The entire section was laughing, thrusting their phones towards him. A few others were commenting to Gabby, although she wasn’t listening. Her phone was still up in the air, definitely recording the action. He wanted to wave to her but that was impossible with the hands clutching his arms. Instead, he smiled. It occurred to him that something momentous had occurred.

Someone had, indeed, caught the Gingerbread Man.