The table was cold. No padding on it- no need for padding under my body, they said, when my consciousness, all forms of sensation, would be in an entirely different place. That stood to reason. There I was lain, upon my back across that slab, as the team began attaching the wired headset. Nearly delirious with nerves, I resisted the urge to burst into inane laughter at its comical resemblance to VR headgear. The reality I was headed for was anything but virtual, though. “You still want to go through with this, Christine?” Came a voice, one that belonged to the flurry of arms, which had since been replaced by darkness- thank you, visor. It sounded like Dr. Simms. He and his husband Dr. Cotton were some of our top researchers; just palpably, I relaxed. “Your body will be in complete stasis, unharmed by any-” “Yeah,” I muttered, frustration billowing in my chest to cloud the fear, the feeling of my heart pounding wildly against its bony cage, “I’ve seen *Avatar*, and you have too judging by you attempting this consciousness-transfer bull.” A laugh. “No second body needed, though- you aren’t inhabiting a host, your mind alone is simply exploring the m-” “Y- yeah,” I stuttered, failing miserably at biting confidence but nailing bitterness at minimum, “I want to explore. No hostiles anticipated, right?” “Right. Nothing should be where I send you first- this is just a test.” A reassuring voice, but I wished I could see it smile. If it even did. I wished I could be sure it was Simms, sure of *something,* as a loud *clunk* sounded at my left. “Bon voyage, dear.” And with that, a sharp tingle arced across my temples, seeming to rest itself in the center like a nasal headache. Instinctually I made to scrunch my nose, but found the motion impossible, opting instead to just sit in the pain, the darkness… …until I bolted upright, gasping for breath in an atmosphere that felt no different than the one I left, save for a curious absence of accompanying sensation, no familiar collapse within my ribcage I tended to take for granted. Maybe it was just a coincidence. Rising shakily to my feet, I grasped for my bearings, drinking in the surrounding purple sea I stood in. A field of lavender? No, these were no flowers, they were more like…anemones? Corals. Gasping, I jumped back, but no pain, no blood, followed, just harmless waving in the wind. Still I ran through them, wondering if they truly were simple life forms or if the gorgeous purple sea was built from the bones of hapless creatures like me. I didn’t get far before I struck what felt like a body, having made one too many haphazard glances over my shoulder at the silent field. How I missed another person *and* what appeared to be a small hill of dirt interrupting the still scene before was beyond me, but I was more concerned with the ground suddenly giving way, my field of vision overtaken by the bluish-grey sky. “Oh, you must be a visitor,” came an eager, faintly accented- though I couldn’t put my finger on any particular one- voice, before a face and body popped into my line of vision. The figure was tall, but not unnaturally so, and topped with a neat swoop of violently crimson hair as bright as his clothes, the style of which lie strangely between a tunic and a suit. Shining, nearly pitch-black eyes stared at me, making me want to jerk my head just to see when his eyes followed me if he had any sort of pupils. At least I assumed it was a he. Definitely a masculine build: quite slender, but with broad shoulders sharply contrasting a narrow waist. The eerie elegance of his elevated cheekbones was cut by an almost boyish, prominently dimpled grin, one that utterly failed to mask excitement. I almost smiled back at the sight of it. “Yeah,” I breathed, eyes roaming over the figure again and again, “how did you know, the hair?” Before *whoever had found me* spoke again, though, he’d taken my hand in his, skin tone and temperature surprisingly quite warmer than mine, to pull me to my feet, a part of my own body appearing in my line of vision for the first time since I’d…er, landed? My body- my skin, my clothes, seemingly *all of it*\- was drained of color, bathed in dull grey tones of my fair skin and plum blouse as if I was a sepia character stepping into modern-day entertainment for a crossover that was likely to royally suck. I gasped, jumping back and nearly falling onto my butt again. “Oh, I guess *that’s* how you knew. So you live here, then? And you’ve seen, er, someone like me before?” “Yes, a man,” the…humanoid? replied, “though after some visits he said he must go. Something of his body, he- he must have been unwell. But what is your name? You can call me Keyu.” “Christine,” I blurted out without thinking, nerves swimming beneath my skin as I bit back a “what the heck are you?”- you know, just in case I didn’t want to see whatever it was get mad. “Well, Christine, very nice to meet you. Very nice,” Keyu repeated, warm hand still gripping mine as he led me forward toward the dirt mound, “as soon as the next storm hits, we will show you our hospitality.” *We?* *How many of them are there?* *What the heck sort of world is this?* All I asked, though, was “Storm?” “Gravity storm,” Keyu said with a nod as if that cleared anything up, “it’s coming very soon.” “Yeah, ok, we *visitors* don’t have those. That sounds dangerous- should- shouldn’t we go now?” “Worry not, this is how we get home.” Sweeping aside some crimson hair, Keyu helped me onto the mound, where I knelt like he did, eyes still searching him. I wanted to fold up, to brace myself for whatever flies at you in a *gravity storm*, but he fixed me with such an intently, joyously anticipatory grin that I remained seated, asking him *what* until he burst into melodious laughter, laugher that only increased when I jumped at the new sensation. It was like the oddest cross of wind and an earthquake, an almost electric, shaking jolt of air that cut through my bones as the mound began to rise. With one final giggle, my odd guide gripped the sides of what I now realized was essentially a small chunk of land, broken from the ground as if by some massive piece of construction equipment. We drifted higher still until our makeshift vessel bobbed about twenty or thirty feet in the air. Glancing over the edge of it, I saw the ground bobbing too, rising pebbles, roots, and even some of the strange lavender, closer and further from my line of vision and far enough down that a fall would do some serious damage. There was no leaving, not then. *If I die, I just wake up*, I told myself. “Ready?” “No, I don’t think am- *whoa!”* Mid-sentence I was thrust forward, almost slamming into Keyu, who released an arm to wrap around my waist as we sailed forward through the sky, strange static-electric wind running through our short hair. Gliding like that was surprisingly smooth, a lot like a roller coaster on a track, one that slingshots you from zero to sixty in ten seconds and maintains you on the straight, momentous path. I laughed in spite of myself, an insane rush crashing over me as I waved a hand. There was nothing to crash into at least. “Fun, right?” Keyu called into the wind. “Yeah, ok, you win, it’s fun!” I shouted back through my adrenaline high. “I thought we were getting rained on by asteroids or something!” “Asteroids?” “Big rocks.” “Ah!” We sailed over the field, Keyu promising he wouldn’t do any crazy turns or loops *this time*, and I narrowly resisted the urge to just close my eyes, surrendering to the lack of control, and breathe in the possibility of my faded self existing- or, well, half-existing- in a world where I could ride the wind, deathless. The structure that shot onto the horizon, rising beyond the lavender fields near the face of an expansive cliff, was a carven stone metropolis, a quaint yet elegant haven of crimson-haired, black-eyed beings like Keyu, all of them thin, some leanly toned like him and others practically bony. They gave me a red dress, a gorgeous, shining piece that registered somewhere in my mind between a long jacket and a saree. They ate fruit from trees that abundantly lined streets and courtyards. A group of black-eyed kids spun little discs on the street, squealing at the figures that popped up and even letting me try it. Just about everyone was interested in *the visitor,* at least enough for their dark eyes to follow me. Or as far as I could tell- it turned out they did not have pupils. I kept waiting for them to try and throw me into the soup at dinner, grin and chant *one of us*, tell me their beloved trees were watered with blood or tie me up for a sacrifice. Maybe Governor Brainwash would step his way out of his YA novel palace and break up the party. Decapitate someone. Nothing like that happened. The weirdest thing was when I told them a funny story- something about a dream I had- they insisted they’d never heard of such things, none of them ever having a dream. It wasn’t taboo, though, they just acted like I was an alien. Which maybe I was. When they pulled the plug on me, sending me shooting up and gasping for breaths I never felt like I’d missed, I raised a hand before my eyes, flexing my fingers. They were still pale, but a healthy pink had returned to them. Even if it was faintly mottled. Most curious of all was the wave of disappointment I felt when my eyes met the calm ocean blue of Dr. Simms’s, which fixed me softly from behind his thin-rimmed, ovular glasses. “Christine,” he breathed, “you’re back.” “How long was I gone?” I muttered, blinking fluorescent light out of my eyes, which I’d assumed had been closed for a long time. *What’s he gonna say, a week or something?* “It’s nighttime,” he replied, “how do you feel?” “Fine,” I replied before motioning to the headset, which felt to be cutting a red line into my forehead, “may I?” “Oh, yes, yes! Of course.” Dr. Simms instantly shot up to untangle my head, helping me sit up further after the gear was finally lifted, a cool rush of air hitting my sticky forehead. “So you didn’t feel any complications? Nothing unusual about the world around you? Empty?” All I could do was shake my head. Nothing came to mind. “Your body was in complete stasis.” Our respected researcher repeated his earlier reassurance, tone strangely…impressed? Relieved? “Would you consider making a return journey?” “Yes,” I replied before a single gear in my head had even turned. My vitals seemingly at norm, I was let free shortly afterwards, free to cross the station’s institutional halls and take a meal alone like always. The soup I wordlessly spooned into my mouth seemed almost devoid of taste, drained like my color had been where Simms had sent me. Memories of the city, the gravity storm, Keyu’s smile as he sent our tiny two-person island racing through the sky, arm wrapped reassuringly around my waist, flickered across my mind as my eyes swept the rest of the cafeteria tables, all of which were inhabited by couples and laughing groups of three or four. The lavender wasn’t coral. It was a thick-leaved, almost frilled plant that fanned out a bit to catch the sun like one of those lizards that ran on their hind legs. When the field erupted in bloom, it lit up bright orange “just like the sea”. As the visitor in the scenario, I knew better than to argue with Keyu that the sea was not orange. I learned to use terms like “my sea” as if I owned all of planet Earth. Apparently, the other visitor, the man, had done that too. I started learning to ride gravity storms that day, claiming a chunk of stone that broke off the city and gripping its sides like it was an ATV, not someone’s old bedroom wall. I only hovered about four feet up, the electric breeze not nearly as strong down there, so as to keep my falls soft just in case. And fall I did, again and again, Keyu laughing at my “wobbling knees”, until I began to master keeping my weight distribution up, hovering straight ahead without dumping myself into the lizard flowers. A wave of triumph crashed over me, sending me whooping and leaping against Keyu in some weird half-embrace, half chest-bump, my own chest feeling light as a feather even through the faint vertigo. From over his shoulder I saw shadows in the sky, human shapes, limbs waving, striking, tugging. Starting, I jumped back, and that’s when I was yanked back into harsh fluorescent light, gasping and tightly gripping a wrist over its smooth, cold watch. “What the heck was that? You weren’t so violent last time!” I burst out incredulously, panting a bit and shaking a few beads of cold sweat off my forehead as I twisted as far to my right as I could. This turn met me with dark skin, a short beard, brown eyes laced with concern. Dr. Cotton. “Get Landon,” he commanded one of the masked attendants, who reluctantly loosened her grip on my arm. “But,” the woman protested, “he said-” “Get him.” This time, even harsher. “No, I’m sorry, I’m fine, I was… I was fine,” Numbly waving my hands, I made dizzy insistences until the doctor seemed to be assuaged, his eyes softening once more as they looked into mine. “Nothing in the forest with you?” *Nothing in the forest*. “No.” \~ My nails dug into Dr. Cotton’s flesh that time. The shapes had flailed much more violently, frantically, as I shot awake-or rather back to that particular consciousness-from Keyu telling me the next time I visited, he would take me to the shore, earnest, dimpled smile across his features as lightning pain arced across mine. My cheeks felt like they’d been hapless victims of less-than-nimble hands missing my hair with my three-hundred-degree straightener. Rather than blink slowly and plaintively, clearing sleep from my eyes, I winced, panting, as I glanced upward. Right into Dr. Cotton’s eyes. His very, *very* concerned eyes. “Why do you keep doing this? I was *fine*.” I bit out, annoyance blooming in my heaving chest. The last memory I had from the trip was sinking to my knees, Keyu narrowly catching hold of my hand as the shadows flailed above me, fighting for their lives in a silhouetted dance of death. Not fun. “Christine, I just- Your-” “Exploration of the forest *had been* quite enjoyable,” I shot back, frown deepening at the pain each stretch of my cheeks caused. He thought I was flitting between hollow rows of uninhabited trees, Snow White-ing my way through the flora or perhaps on an intrepid trek. So, trek I did. I didn’t want Keyu involved, didn’t want whatever pain and visions that befell my body, or perhaps my mind, to come to him at the hands of the wrong visitor. Just the mental image of him buckling like I had was enough to send a heavy jolt to my heart. Dr. Cotton’s bearded face buzzed with a multitude of bitten back words, lips parted and moving soundlessly as his eyebrows remained firmly and concernedly furrowed. “I’m sorry,” he sighed, “I’ve never travelled to any other worlds before. I don’t know what it feels like, what it-” he cut off with another sigh of sorts, this one more of a defeated exhale. He obviously knew more than he was letting on. “What are the other worlds like? Simms mentioned some of them already, said my forest there,” I questioned innocently, tilting my head and pointing diagonally off to the sky with a wistful ceiling-ward glance, “was one of the less dangerous ones.” Keyu’s world wasn’t dangerous. Not a single one of those black-eyed people so much as spoke a rough word to me, let alone being armed or starting cults or trying to cut out my mostly-white eyeballs. Gravity storms, for the most part, caught you, and if they didn’t? Well, that’s why you rode them on a vessel. Trying it skateboard-style was hard, but I was getting the hang of it. Laying down was the easiest until you got a nice bob like the one we’d used to picnic that one day. They could have sent me there deliberately- if they’d actually wanted to. Any hint at a non-plant life form and the researcher cowed. Worried as if I’d mess it up or something. “They can be dangerous, yes. We wouldn’t enact anything but a test journey with anyone outside of very select personnel,” Dr. Cotton thought he was reassuring me. “Like the ones you’re actually prepping for interplanetary excursions, not the people in perpetual training like me.” “Christine, you’re a *very valuable*-” “Guinea pig! I’m a valuable *guinea pig*.” “Christine, you are very strong and- And-” I was getting *really* tired of that preschool-teacher voice, those attendants’ furtive, fearful glances at me like I’d been pulled *from* Keyu’s world, not *back out of it*. “And what?” I finally sat upright, ignoring the sharp burn raising my voice ignited within my hapless face tissues. My vitals beeped a bit faster. “None of you trust me!” All I got was a wry smile and a disgustingly sympathetic hand upon my smarting shoulder. “We researchers are much more ignorant than you think, dear.” “And I’m not. Even when you ask me to study how many kinds of trees I see, to identify them. You don’t want a botanist. If you did, you’d send Maneet. But you’re *not* sending her, not once as far as I know. All I ever heard from you guys was that I was stubborn. So what do you *really* want from me?” Silence. Not a word about what happened to the first subject they’d sent to an inhabited world- the man Keyu mentioned, the one who’d aborted the mission, probably out of fear or anxiety…or one too many of those rude awakenings Simm’s husband favored. Not a word about any certain skill or gentleness or discernment or even simple *eagerness to travel* that impressed. Yet another middling grade chasing a profession that asked for astronomical numbers- literally. Heat pricked at my eyes, a warmth nothing like the hot, tender pain upon my cheeks, which had to be bright red by that point. Dr. Cotton’s consternation blurred before me, image shifting like it had been dropped into a pool. “I’m starting to think the reason you’re sending me is because I’m the only one no one would miss if something happened!” “Christine, I-” “I’m sick of it!” Tears flowed, saline I’d only previously allowed to soak my bunk on the worst solitary nights. “You do not have to continue with this project,” Dr. Cotton replied, firmly but with a new sort of smile in it, one far less insipid, perhaps more hopeful, “in fact, it may be better if we simply called it off now. Perhaps-” “No.” I blinked, my hands curling into white-knuckled fists as sparkling sunset seas lapped at the shores of my mind, swishing powerfully beneath the sound of mine and Keyu’s mingled laughter, not unlike what I heard from the others in the halls, in the cafeteria. The ones who stole judgmental glances so painfully obvious, it was like they wanted to be noticed. “Let me go one more time.” A pair of arched raven brows. It brought a tiny smirk to my face the way Dr. Cotton all but jumped back in his little swivel chair, wheels grinding faintly against the dull steel floor. “You *have* been viewing the reports, yes?” “Yes,” I lied, “and I’ll put a stop to everything going wrong next time. I want to take a walk there one more time-see the trees. They’re nothing like ours. The color of their leaves… If you really trusted me, you’d let me.” Ultimatums really scare people. He let me. I was bidden a good rest of my evening, released into grey halls, where I didn’t let myself stumble until Cotton and his pair of uneasy scrub-clad helpers couldn’t goggle at me. A shudder wracked my chest as my vision went in and out, flickering pitch-black then back to the station at intervals like a light switch had been installed behind my eyes. One hand, still mottled after twenty minutes, rose to my head, pinks and red splotches dancing before my eyes. I really hated when it did that. Vertigo was temporary; I thought maybe that was too, but getting worse over a week wasn’t the best sign. Not that Cotton needed to know that- I’d given him a chance to come clean, tell me about the first man they sent, the one a little crimson-haired kid had attempted to make a straw and fabric doll lookalike of, the one that had Keyu chiming in about our eye variants when I made a joke at the expense of my light green irises. The one who couldn’t push through it like stubborn, stubborn Christine, the one everyone whispered *just wouldn’t give up*. “You don’t have to do this, Christine.” Those were Dr. Cotton’s words as he stuck a diode to my forehead, eyes softening slightly at my wince-and-frown combo. “I need to,” I replied, voice hard at first until I sighed, giving into my fatigue as the face before me flashed into pitch, “you understand just feeling like you have to say goodbye, don’t you?” *Splat.* Another diode. “Of course.” “It’s beautiful over there,” I told him before slipping away one more time. Keyu smiled, poking at my cheek as he whispered my name. “You’re here.” Plush beneath my head. Thickly woven, yet somehow still soft, covers. All familiar-Keyu’s bedroom, the place I’d begun to wake up after the first few visits. “Of course I am. I said I’d come back, didn’t I?” His eyelashes, a softer red than his hair, fluttered briefly upon his angular cheeks as he drew back, hand leaving my face to rest under his chin, elbow settling upon the head of the backwards chair his lanky legs always straddled. “Yes. You did.” “You’ve got a much better bedside manner than the doctor back there,” I told him, propping up on my side. Keyu gaped, eyes falling widely open like I said I’d said his great-great-grandfather’s ghost was jigging behind him. “The blue-eyed man?” “No, Cotton. Simms is the blue-eyed-” Scrambling in my fabric cocoon, I shot vertical, sitting upright like I had after my very first journey, chest turning upside down just as fast. *No.* *No.* *There’s no way he wouldn’t have told me.* *He wouldn’t have said it was empty.* *He must not have known.* “Christine?” I hadn’t realized I’d spoken aloud, wrapping my faded hands around my knees, until Keyu shot me back to reality. “Are they pulling you from me already?” I shook my head, image of the masked attendant lady protesting bringing Dr. Simms into my room, to take one more look at my lovely little home slab flashing across my mind alongside Dr. Cotton’s face, the laboratory screens, even the peripheral little images of my nose that only bugged me when I chose to perceive them, fading into black as they sent me away one more time. “The blue-eyed man sent me here, but I don’t think he meant to. I think he wanted to stay away.” “Are you leaving?” Keyu repeated more urgently, his face fading from concern, expression falling away until he just looked *lost*. Never had I been looked at like that. It was enough to defibrillator me back into action, heart skipping an erratic beat before it calmed entirely, a smile shakily returning to my face as I shook my head once more. “I’m flying over the sea with you, if I’m not mistaken.” There went those deep dimples, those almost unnaturally straight, beautifully pearly teeth. “You are not, Christine.” Flickers didn’t happen there. Not physical ones, anyway. I didn’t lose sight of Keyu, nor the smooth stone walls of his home or the intricate, almost mandala-like chair head carving before me. “Good. I’m so sick of Earth’s BS today,” I announced, breathing a shaky laugh, “I think I need a beach escape or something.” “BS?” “Yeah, it’s short for-” I just shook my head, momentarily letting it fall back upon the plant-down-stuffed pillow it had been raised at a right angle from. “It’s a saying.” Weightless and free, I floated on my little six-by-six foot island of one, zooming along the glittery, faintly Himalayan-pink beach. Keyu piloted his at my side, dodging fallen rocks upon the sand with ease, having taken the inside lane and leaving me “the open, novice shore”. Stick my tongue out at him though I did, I’d laughed. Even harder still when the gesture went completely over his head, causing him to raise his bright red eyebrows and mutter that yes, my tongue was “quite a nice one” as we arced further past the shore. Seas were, in fact, bright orange there, looking and sparkling for all the world like an underwater sun was setting in their depths, tinting all but the white wave crests I skimmed merrily above. Whooping and shooting closer to shallow waters, I reached a hand out like they did in all the movies, spraying translucent orange droplets that caught the sun like fire diamonds and laughing as some water flicked my face, my nose instinctually wrinkling in response. Keyu laughed too, flicking more water at me until I did the same, earning a cover performance of my expression upon his much richer-toned face, those shining black eyes squinting tightly closed as he squeaked in surprise. We stayed above the water for what felt like nearly two hours, keeping by the shallows lest the water prematurely affect our reduced pull, forcing us into an early version of what I called the land land. We landed our lands near one of the jagged tidal rocks, Keyu jumping nimbly off as I tried to do, failing miserably in a comical stumble. Yet again, my guide was there to catch me, arms firmly grasping my waist, one hand traveling up, up to my shoulder… Another blackout, except this time a white flash, one that burned a distinct, moving afterimage like a vintage flip book. I gasped at the image of my body, soulless, eyes white as bone save for the veins creeping up their newly-rolled backs, writhing, Doctors Simms and Cotton’s assistants struggling to hold it down as its hands made clawing motions, fingers finding home base around their wrists. Just like I’d woken up practically palming Dr. Cotton’s expensive watch a couple weeks back. Two? Three? They tried to unplug my headset, electricity arcing above my reddening, unwilling head. A hand cupped my face, warm, grounding. “Christine?” Keyu’s eyes, complete and utter negatives of my thrashing body’s, searched mine as the image faded, their lids fluttering like they had when peering down at me in his bedroom. He’d reached with his right, I reached with my left, the gentle friction of warming skin beneath mine pulling me back from that sight, though my heartbeat didn’t slow in the least. Not when Keyu’s eyes opened back up, boring at me intently, pleadingly. Not when he adjusted his grip on me, pulling me a bit more onto my feet and against his broad chest. I yanked myself closer still, tilting my head slightly as I pulled his lips to mine. He responded immediately, hand on my waist traveling lightly on a little up-and-down circuit as his lips picked up the pace, quirking up in a smile at my faint inhale of surprise. Pleasant surprise. I’d like to say the kiss made me weak in the knees, but in reality I just dropped like a ragdoll the moment we pulled apart for air, sending Keyu calling out my name once more. Another white flash overtook my eyes like lightning, this time burning in the sight of Dr. Cotton weeping and shaking his head while his masked attendants shook my hands off and raised a pure white sheet, covering my utterly still, lifeless, burned-out face. Shuddering, I bent my knees, standing shakily up from a kneel with Keyu’s help. My hand, resting gingerly in his, had returned to its healthy pink. As he gave it a squeeze, my gaze travelled up to meet his eyes; wiggling his eyebrows, he smiled at me, *saw me*, as for the first time in that world I felt a full gust of crisp air rush into my lungs. I breathed in and out heavily, tasting the temperate sea breeze with a growing, relieved smile. My lavender fields and white city awaited. I have an eternity to make that colorful world my own, and Keyu says he wants to give it to me. His neighbors greet me warmly, regard me as a much more successful traveler than the blue-eyed stranger. I came to know that one little stone hollow, those woven indigo sheets, like the back of my hand, the one price I had to pay being faced with the sight of my own lifeless body staring back at me in my dreams every night. I can see why Keyu and the others didn’t talk about their dreams.


Rejection isn’t easy. Putting yourself out there isn't easy, and yet people do it everyday. Jamie was a man who was goal driven, straightforward, and knew what he wanted; and how to get it. When he saw her from across the parking lot he knew he felt some kind of attraction, and so, being the sort of man he was, he drove up to where she was rather ungracefully stuffing the pillows she had just bought in her car and rolled down his window. “Hi, I’m sorry to bother you, but -” She jumped a little at the sound of his voice and turned around. “Sorry, I’m just putting these in the car, I’m not leaving yet,” she interrupted, misinterpreting why he had stopped in the first place. “No, I just wanted to say that you’re beautiful” he replied, smiling at the way her face flushed a deep crimson, and not because of the sun that was beating down on the both of them in the middle of the perpetually full parking lot. “T-thank you,” she stuttered, a smile forming across her face. “Do you mind if I could get your number, and we could go out some time?” asked Jamie, as straightforward as ever. “I’m sorry, but I’m actually seeing someone at the moment.” The words came with a faltering smile, as if she was disappointed with the answer she was giving. The words that came out of her mouth felt like little pin pricks on Jamie’s face, and he could feel the redness warming his cheeks. “I’m sorry,” she added, as if she felt bad about seeing someone else, or perhaps she just saw the redness that Jamie now felt burning on his cheeks. “No worries, have a good day,” he said with a smile, before driving off and turning away from the mysterious girl with the long hair and green sweater, whom he had been taken with just moments before. Their thirty-second conversation rolled over in his mind as he aimlessly drove around in circles. He wondered what would have happened if she wasn’t seeing someone, and if they had exchanged numbers, perhaps gone on a few dates, fallen in love, gotten married, and lived out the rest of their lives together. He wondered if she was thinking the same thing, and the disappointment in her face was actually guilt from ‘hypothetically’ cheating in this fantasy that she might have also played out in her head. He wondered what her hair smelled like, what her voice sounded like in the morning, what her face looked like when she was deep in thought. He wondered what her faults were, as Jamie knew that we are all flawed, and he wondered if he would be able to look past them for the sake of staying with her. He was reminded of something he had read some time ago: you fall out of love with people for the same reasons you fall in love with them. At first he dismissed the statement as something that some 16 year old had written after a particularly dramatic breakup, but after thinking on it for a while he found it to be true. The sarcastic sense of humour that can be so charming turns into emotional unavailability. Their extroversion can become tiring, introversion becomes something that must be ‘put up with,' and fights become more frequent. Their endearing seemingly harmless petty jealousy that caused them to slip a hand around your waist when they caught strangers looking at you turned into vines, choking you and preventing you from having a personality outside of who you are with them. The flaws we once found so compelling about the people we love slowly transform into things that draw us apart, no matter how many times we try and convince ourselves that we once loved those same flaws.


This will ideally be a multi-part story dealing with the aftermath of a tragic event. Part 1 - Letters/The people we wish we knew A. She worked in an office where she made 12$ an hour and the coffee looked terrible. She punched numbers into a spreadsheet and wrote cash reports by hand, scrawled in pencil and she laughed at the jokes. The racist jokes, the sexist jokes, the jokes about menopause and children and shit. She read a book while she worked and brought a new one in every week. Jane Austen, Bukowski, and Dostoyevsky and Salinger and Aristotle. She listened to them talk about their husbands while she collected papers and added numbers up, she listened to them berate their boyfriends and butcher foreign politics while she made paper clip necklaces. It was the kind of job where you didn’t make much and the coffee was terrible and you still drank at least three cups every shift. She wore stockings with tears in them and sweater dresses and worn boots. She wore a leather jacket and big sunglasses and crooked half-smile. She chewed on her pens and her pencils and she got so lost in her own thoughts that the girls she worked with would call her half a dozen times before she heard them and her eyes would light up like fireworks when she came to. I didn't work in her office, I didn't know her name, but I felt like I knew her. I sat in security and the screens surrounding me were a blanket of black and grey and the images were a blur of bodies and movement, and there she was, sitting still as the the grainy world catapulted around her. B. He wore beat up runners and a three day stubble, I never quite caught his name. His uniform was too big on bony shoulders and he was intense looking; with eyes that made you feel naked and vulnerable. He had an easy smile and the kind of tan you get from working outdoors, he was always humming The Smiths under his breath. I thought about him when I got home and drank a glass of wine, pulled off my work clothes and washed off my face, touched myself as I lay on the couch: eyes closed, for a minute, I thought of him. Every few days I’d pick up a different bottle of wine and he’d be wearing the same stubble and the same stare as he packed my purchases into paper bags. Sometimes he would ask me how my day was, or what the weather was like outside. He noticed when I cut my hair and always told me to enjoy the book crooked under my arm. I liked him more than most people I worked with, that I saw every day, but I never quite caught his name. I imagined him going home to a girl with a cheap haircut and a part time job who loved him more than life itself. I imagined him going home to a ramshackle house, rented, with sunflowers growing in the front yard. I imagined him smoking a joint and strumming on an acoustic guitar, calling to the girl for a beer and thinking about not exactly anything when the bottle pressed against his lips. I wish I knew him, I still do. C. We rode the subway together every morning, sat in the same train, and read the same newspaper. He had a kid with him, two or three, pressed next to him and chattering away in that way that kids do: no purpose or drive, just words strung together and volume up and down. He always looked calm like he’d just finished a yoga class or something and I’m sure that cup he carried was filled with green tea and not the triple sweetened, whipped-cream-covered, diabetes-in-a-cup in my own travel mug. I always wondered he stayed that way, even when the train stalled and the kid screamed and spilled juice all over his paper, he stayed calm. When it was raining and snowing and it was hot as all hell, he was calm. I never said hello to him or even smiled at him and I don’t think I ever caught his eye but he was the kind of person that just made you feel better, just to be around him. I wish I had asked him how he stayed that calm, I wish I had known his girl’s name, I wish I had brought her candy on halloween. Her and her father dressed in matching costumes; Thing 1 and Thing 2 from Dr. Seuss . Sometimes he read to her, on halloween he read that to her and she was so quiet that for a moment she looked just like he did, eyes went placid and focused all at once. I wonder what happened it was like for her, after it had ended. I wonder if she ever found her daddy’s calm again. I wish I knew her, I wish I could tell her that I’m sorry.


“Hi Dad,” I whispered in my father’s ear. His eyes opened. He blinked a couple times, turned his head weakly towards mine, and gave a slight smile. “Hi Michael,” he replied, and started coughing. After the coughing fit subsided, he looked up at the hospital ceiling. There was silence for a while, which I eventually broke. “How have the nurses been treating you?” I asked, hoping it would start a conversation. He turned his eyes back towards me. His pale blue eyes had little life in them, and no longer had a sparkle like they did when he was younger. “They’ve been good,” he said. Silence again. I knew what was on his mind, because it was on mine, too. He was going to die. I was all the family he had left. My mother had died a couple years earlier, and I was his only child. We were close many years ago, but as time passed, we talked less and less, and we had reunited only when he became very sick. I visited him every day since he was admitted to the hospital, but our conversations and visits were very brief. I wanted to be closer to my father, but I felt like I didn’t have the time. Which I knew was a stupid reason; I could always make time for my father. I just didn’t. Nurses tended to my father while we both sat in silence. It was awkward for both of us, but I knew my father needed company, so I stayed. After the nurses left, I got up from my chair to leave. “Michael,” my father feebly said from his bed. I turned around. My father had tears in his eyes, and they were falling down his cheeks. I quickly rushed over to him. “What is it, Dad?” I asked, concerned that something was seriously wrong. My father continued to cry. I wiped away his tears. “I love you,” he said. I felt as though I had been hit with a ton of bricks. I realized just how dumb I had been to ignore my father, how dumb I had been to never have the courage to say what he said. I could feel the tears well up in my eyes, and our eyes met. “I love you too, Dad,” I whispered. My father smiled, and I smiled too. Suddenly, my father’s breathing became irregular. He clutched at his chest, and his eyes grew wide. I understood exactly what was happening, despite him not saying a word. I ran outside the room, screaming for a nurse. Nurses rushed into his room, frantically trying to assist him. I dropped to my knees outside the room, crying, begging God to let my dad live. The beeping of his heart monitor grew faster and faster, until eventually it flatlined. I wanted to scream, but nothing came out. There was only silence except for the heart monitor. I fainted. Despite seeing my father die, I feel at peace. I got to finally unite with him, even if it was only for a few minutes. There’s still a part of me that feels guilt for not spending more time with him, and I fear I’ll feel that for a very long time. But at least I got to see him one last time.


“Are you sure we should sleep outside? It’s gonna be an awful lot of work to get the kids out there…” Nessa stood in front of the sliding glass door overlooking a damp lawn, with plants poking out of the shadows like a dangerous Amazonian jungle. The end of the yard narrowed into an over grown path which lead to a worn gate holding back blackness beyond. The house around her was dark and cold. She pulled her oversized gray cardigan tighter around her body and hunched down. “Pffft. The kids are gonna love it Nessa. You’re the one who is worried about being out there. It’s a nice warm night. Besides, the fresh air will do you some good. You look exhausted, it’ll help you sleep.” Beside Nessa stood her older sister Lindsey. She stood about a foot taller than Nessa with her hands firmly planted on the waist of her lulus. “Ugh thanks for the diagnosis Dr. Carry.” She rolled her eyes. “You don’t have to bring my appearance into it, I already told you I’m feeling just fine.” Nessa sighed and hugging herself. Her hands almost reached right around her back. “So is everything ready to go girls? You have the tent Linds? And the sleeping mats Nessa?” Their mother’s voice boomed down the creaking stairs as she joined them in the living room. She was Nessa’s height and just as slim, but stood up straighter and had a hair pulled back in a tight bun. She wore red cat eye glasses and a bright printed blouse with cream linen pants. “Yeah mom, everything is right here.” Nessa indicated to the large pile of camping supplies beside her. “Where’s Alli?” There mother had moved beside them in the room and was waving the flashlight around the room as if her other daughter would come melting out of the darkness.

“She went to get the boys.”

 “Of course.” Nessa smiled. Her youngest sister Alli was an elementary school teacher and baseball coach. The boys loved her. “Well let’s get out there and set up the tent then!” Linds picked up the tent with one hand and pulled open the sliding glass door with the other. Nessa’s phone began vibrating and glowing. She pulled the phone out of her pocket and glanced at the screen. Callie, again. “Who’s calling you. I can go get started, you take the call.” “No. It’s not important right now. Let’s go.” The two women went out the door into the warm night. The stars were bright and a gentle breeze rustled the bushes. “So where’s Matt his weekend? Working?” “Yeah. As usual.” “I’m surprised Callie let you have a weekend off.” “Yeah.” Nessa worked as a personal assistant to the demanding and intense Callie Stevens—a top magazine editor and fashion personality. She never had weekends off. “Hey Nessa.” Linds had put down the tent and was watching her as she deleted her notifications on her phone. “are you sure everything is okay? You’ve barely put your phone away all evening. I know you love the fashion industry, but I’m worried it’s starting to wear on you…” Nessa shoved her phone back into her pocket. “It’s nothing Linds. Look, I even got a weekend off, progress, right?” “Yeah. I guess.” “Hey! What’re you two gabbing about out here?” Alli bounced across the lawn. She was also small, dwarfed by oversized sweats she wore but her face bright and open with her hair in a messy ponytail.

“Where are the boys?” “Oh mom is with them. Getting together some supplies for a special surprise. She bought a fire pit for this weekend. They’re gonna love it.” She pumped her fist at the end of the sentence. “So how’s the set up going?” “Alright. We haven’t started yet.” “Ooookayyy. So I’m feeling a vibe that somethings going on. You two wanna spill? Nessa?” “Why do you assume it’s me?” “It’s always you.” Both sisters said together. “Soooooo who are you complaining about this time? Matt or Callie? Or both.” Nessa sighed. “Neither.”

“Liar. I saw how you only picked at dinner. Somethings going on and you’re gonna tell us about it.” “Alli…” “What? If she doesn’t fess up it’ll just eat at her all night and she’ll be miserable.” “She’s right Nessa… It can’t be that bad. Just give us the bare bones and you’ll feel better…” Nessa sank down into the nearest lawn chair. “I took all our money!” She threw her hands up in the air and began crying. “What?” “Well that wasn’t what I was expecting you to say…”

“And I caught them together.” “Who?” “Matt and Callie.” “Well there’s no surprise.” “Together together ?!” “Yeah. Together together . Last Sunday. Matt went away on a business trip Monday morning so we didn’t talk about it. Then I came here…. I was already planning to anyway. And I took it. I took it all. All our money, all our investment papers, the jewellery. All of it.” Nessa stood up again and began pacing and wringing her hands. “What about work?” Nessa didn’t respond. In her pocket her phone buzzed again, but she ignored it. “Does that woman ever stop calling you? You kept working, didn’t you!? Ugh Nessa that woman has you wrapped around her little finger.”  Alli ripped the phone out of her pocket and finger posed to answer “I’ll give her a piece of my mind...” “NO!” Nessa grabbed the phone from her sister. “Was it at home?” Linds put her arm around Nessa’s shoulder and hugged her. “No, Callie’s place. She forgot I was coming by.”

“HA! The heck she did! She probably planned it so you would catch them in the act. What a bitch.” “I just, I just don’t know what to do with all the money… There was so much money.” “You should’ve called…we can help you.” “I know… I didn’t want to bother you. You’re always so busy with work…always with a patient.” “Ah Nessa. You can always bother me.” “Ugh I can’t believe you kept working. For her. I wanna—” “That’s enough Alli. Let’s get this camping stuff set up.” The next 20 minutes were spent in silence as the three women finished erecting the tent and setting up the beds. “How much money was it anyway?” “A lot.” “What are you going to do now… divorce him?” “I don’t know…. I don’t want the boys to—“ As they stood back admiring their hard work the screech of the sliding door filled the yard. “Look Grandma! A real tent! “I’m gonna get a bed under the window so I can watch the stars.” There mother had returned with two boys in tow both were wearing PJs. One was about 8 and the other 6. She was also carrying a bag of marshmallows. “Be careful with that tray Eddie. We don’t want to water the grass with hot chocolate.” Nessa turned to her sisters and whispered. “To what?” Alli poked her sister in the shoulder. “Shhhhh I haven’t told them yet.” She gestured to the boys. “Ohhh Nessa…” “Oh my god Nessa! What?” “Mommy, mommy! Look at the stars! They’re so bright!” Rigel ran up the Nessa dragging his blanket in his wake and clutching a box of celebration cookies and a stuffed cat. Nessa reached for him and pulled him to her in a hug. “Yes, sweetie, it’s beautiful out here.” She kissed the top of Rigel’s head and then gave both her sisters a death stare. “Ah man. I wish dad were here! He would know all the names of the constellations! Maybe when we get home we can go star gazing with him too.” Eddie’s eyes glinted at the prospect. Alli rolled her eyes and snorted. “Well luckily your auntie Linds knows plenty of constellations.” Linds got down on the ground next to Eddie and began pointing out constellations and giving them silly names. “Now that we’re all here I have a surprise! Everyone grab a chair and wait here.” Their mother disappeared around the side of the house as everyone settled into chairs. Linds, Eddie, and Allie all sat together on one side of a semi circle while Nessa and Rigel cuddle up on a sofa on the other. “What’s grandma doing mom?” Rigel’s voice carried around the circle. “It’s a surprise sweetie.” “I can’t believe you actually haven’t told them.” Alli seethed cross the circle. “Told us what?” Eddie looked from his mother to his aunt. “Surprise!” their mother had returned with an around black circular object in her arms in a canvas case. In the crook of her elbow she had a small propane tank balanced. “It’s a fire pit! I bought it at Costco. Thought we could use it to roast marshmallows.” “Told them that their father is lying cheating scum!” Alli jumped up from her seat and pointed around at the boys. “What she’s talking about mommy.” Rigel looked up at Nessa with round eyes. “Shut up Alli.” “Alli, that’s enough. Nessa will deal with it in her own time.” “You knew?” Alli shouted “I could hardly not know when she’s moved in with the boys!” “Why are we moving into grandma’s mom?” “Mommy what’s going on. What’s wrong with daddy?” Both boys stared at their mother now. Eyes wide and mouths open. “That’s enough you two.” Linds stood up and grabbed the fire pit from her mother. “Mom’s right this isn’t the time. Let’s have a nice marshmallow roast.

“You’re staying here?!” Where am I suppose to stay? Did you forgot I live here too?” Alli waved towards the house. Her face was bright red and her eyes flashing. “Mommmy.” Rigel started crying. Eddie got up to comfort his brother. Just then Nessa’s phone began to buzz again. “Oh and I bet I know who that is. Are you just going to answer it like nothing’s wrong? Are you just going to gloss over that too?” Nessa pulled the phone out of her pocket and looked at the screen. “Hello? Why are you calling me?” She strode to the gate and went through. The darkness looked inviting now, away from her family. “Nessa! It’s Callie. I’m so sorry, I had to call. Matt, he’s gone crazy. He’s ranting about money and how he has to get it back and then he keeps repeating the boys’ names again and again.” “So? You expect me to listen to you, after everything you’ve done to our family.” “Do not take that tone with me. I could fire you in a second.” “Oh? And what if you did? I couldn’t look you in the eye again anyway, know what you did to me family.” “Oh dare you!” “Mommy, is that daddy? Can I talk to him.” Rigel had followed her into the orchard. “I’m sorry Callie. I need to go. My family needs me.” “B-b-but I need! Matt needs you!” “No. Matt made his choice. And you should have thought of that before sleeping with my husband.” “Mommy?” “Daddy won’t be joining us here again, ever.”


The train bellows in the distance- running through the mountain pass like a dragon in the clouds. Smoke releases from the stack and rushes through the air. A man in the forest hears the sound of the technical beast- afraid due to his limited exposure to the advances of neighboring cities. Everytime a train passes, the vibrations channel through the dirt. Sensitive to the nature surrounding him, the man feels each wheel rushing across the track. The vibrations that dissipate as distance increases still present the man with an earthquake sensation. Unnerved, the recluse curses under his breath when the train approaches his forest home. Living alone in solitude can either make or break a soul. Since the man decided to reside in nature, he has felt a gracious tinge of relief. There are no neighbors in sight who may pass judgement or ridicule of the man. His way of life in the woods has brought him fresh air and plenty of provisions. He can fish from the nearby river or scavenge for berries. With a small home, the man doesn't need many logs to keep warm. His fireplace is suited for the entire flat. Oh yes! Residing amongst the singing birds and the deer who share drinking water is living with good company. The man smiles as a squirrel scatters across his boot. Despite being from different species, the animals have seemed to not care about the man's presence. He is one of them- a forest dweller doing what he needs to stay alive. Yet, what damage could this train bring? To both, the man and the animals, the train is a monstrous force. Where clear blue once existed, now black fog permeates through the sky. The disturbance is monumental. Only one decision could be made: move. The man sighs with regret as he lays a hand on his home. Perhaps someday, another human would be able to withstand the noice of the technical beast and enjoy the house he crafted. Another human- another soul- who loves nature as much as the forest man. With that thought in mind, the man readies himself for a relocation. The journey begins in spring, a comfortable time to begin building a home from nothing. With his supplies prepared, the man carries onward. He already knows that a new home would sit well by the riverfront. The trip to the river is about five miles through a tight forest. Care is crucial when walking, an unlucky encounter with a poisonous snake would put the man's journey to an end. Regardless, he is confident trailing through the forest. As birds dart through turn brush, the man smiles- they are playful creatures. To the lone forest man, the birds remind him of children. After all, they are always flying to and fro with cheerful vigor. Honestly, the birds prove to be his favorite neighbors. Once he reaches the river, the man continues to follow the water. He grabs a few pieces of dried meat from his pouch while searching for a place to craft his new home. After another few several miles, a clearing in the forest comes into view. The man laughs happily as he envisions a fresh log cabin- still very much alike to his old home- with a great view of the wild river. Night ensues shortly so the man makes haste. For now, he must utilize a tent. The structure entails large branches and a rawhide cloth that the man brought. After the tent is set, the man builds a small campfire. Although he loves the wildlife, the man understands how dangerous nature can be at night. Fire wards away potential predators like bears of cougars. The flames are as lively as the sound of the surrounding forest. The man sits around the fire and watches the flickers shoot up towards the stars. The contrast of the vibrant fire against a dark night overwhelms the man with sentiment. Life is beautiful and better when all is calm. The man stands up and cracks his back. Tomorrow will be the beginning of hard but exciting labor. He lays inside his tent and thinks about how wonderful it will he to have a peaceful home again. There will neither be devilish trains to shake the earth nor black smog to disturb the balance. With beautiful thoughts in mind, the man quickly drifts into sleep. The sun rises at dawn, painting the earth in light hues of red and pink. Once the morning birds begin their trill, the man finds himself awake. He opens his provision pouch and takes meat for breakfast. The campfire is low but at no cause for alarm. The man can safely leave without fear of causing a wild fire. Another good reason why working in the spring is beneficial- no summer heat to cause distress. The man clutches onto a handmade axe. He finds a section of trees and begins to chop. Slowly but surely, he will have lumber to begin the foundation of the house. The process will last days and weeks. Fortunately, building a home in solitary is not new to the forest man. He understands the difficulties and bas the determination to prevail. Time passes and the man stands in front of his new home. The cabin work is complete in midsummer. A feeling of relief warrants celebration. The man runs to the river and takes off his clothes. Cool water greats the man as he flops into the river. His swimming startles some fish who dart away. The man cannot help but to laughs- there's no need to be afraid especially since he isn't hunting. Of course, fish don't understand the difference between playing and preying. After a good swim, the man returns to his cabin. He dries off and begins to cook some rabbit. Food always tastes better inside a home. There is no need to be afraid of bears coming through a solid door. Finally! Peace is achieved! At least that's what the man thought until several years later... The sound of machinery begins to haunt the forest man. In the distance, trees have fallen to manmade construction in progress. As with the train, the vibrations of various trucks and tree cutting mechanics travel through the ground. The man's heart drops- not again! Despite his age, the recluse decides to take action. He wants to know why the hell outsiders are causing destruction. The walk must take about half a day's journey, but is a necessary toll for this old man. Quickly, he gathers some provisions and a cane. With a bag over shoulder, the man begins to confront the disturbance. He reaches the site before the workers pause for lunch. Surely, they were not expecting an angry old man walking to to them from the forest. The old man stumbles to catch his breathe. Once he found his ground, the man confronts a worker. The cane slams against the ground to draw attention: "What do you all think you're doing!?" The worker looks perplexed but unfazed: "Sorry old man, but you have to leave here. We're busy." Outraged by the lack of decency, the old man continues to uproar: "How dare you all coming in here and destroying this beautiful forest! All of these trees have been here longer than you or me. They deserve to remain standing!" The worker yells back annoyed and aggravated: "We're only doing our job! This trees are coming down. We will be working on fresh roads and a bridge. Look, this property all belongs to the state, and everyone has agreed to connect two cities together. That's how it's going to be and no old mountain man can stop production!" The old man holds back bitter tears: "They have trains don't they? They don't need more roads! Already the trains have brought unrest. Now, with this project, more animals will be driven out of their homes!" "Understand this," the worker harshly replies; "No one cares! When the work must be done, it will be done. Should more trees be chopped down, then they will be chopped down. The progression of towns and cities does not rely on trains alone. We need roads, we need construction! Now, go home old man and let me do my job." The worker leaves with a hand shooing the old man away. To see how little respect the workers have for the life that they are destroying hurts the old man's heart. Feeling defeated, the old man returns to his cabin. As night falls, so does the sound of construction. The old man opens his door weakly- the day's journey has been more difficult than he had thought. He lays in bed without eating dinner. Looking up at the ceiling, the old man replays the scene of the construction site. Tears roll down his cheeks. He had believed that moving from his first home to a new location would bring him away from human interference. Yet, the contrary has been proven true- humans will continue to leave their mark. Regardless of the needs of nature, technology grows at a deadly pace. Why can't there be balance? The phrase crosses the old man's mind. He concludes that those workers were not people, but machines. After all, a human's role on this planet was designed to help support nature- not damage the life around them. Mulling over what was and what could be only creates more discomfort. The old man's love of nature is simply not shared by all. Alas with the oncoming days of mechanical work, the old man understands that he has lost. In the morning, the old man feels ill. He sits up in bed and coughs violently. Unfortunately, yesterday's journey left him weakened. The old man scrambles to get his cane. Walking slowly, he reaches the door. The beautiful river greats him as he steps outside. On the other hand, he begins to hear the construction take place. More trees fall to the earth and the old man feels their vibrations.


My life was going well. I have a great family, an occasionally annoying younger brother and I lived in an average house (picket fence and all). I didn’t think there was more out there, or that maybe it was a little boring until I met the stranger. To tell you about her, I need to back up quite a bit. To a Tuesday night in late September.

~September~ I had my hands stuffed deep into my pockets. To say that Midwest winters are cold is a drastic understatement. Midwest winters are brutal. It’s so cold that when I stepped outside the wind made me cough and it whipped across my face. The snow crunched beneath my feet, icicles were hanging from porches and roofs. Even though it’s only 5:30 p.m. it’s already dark outside. The early nights make the world seem unfriendly. It’s on this night that a flash of red flits across the corner of my eye, so quickly that I thought perhaps I had imagined it. I turned and noticed a woman in a coat so long and billowing that it looked almost like a cape. She turned around a corner and was gone. Something about her stuck in my mind. Or at least, I think it did. It’s hard to say if I just remember it that way now because of all that came after. It wasn’t until February that I saw her again. I’d had a craving for brownies and stopped at the store to pick up a mix. Like last time, I again caught a flash of red. When I looked around I saw the same majestic coat as it fluttered around the corner of an aisle. The hair on the back of my neck went up and I had goosebumps. I wasn’t sure why my subconscious was reacting this way but I had to find out. I followed her quickly down the aisle. She was moving fast and besides her coat, all I could see was her long brunette hair. She turned right and I kept going but when I walked around the corner I saw tons of shoppers (more than normally frequented this store) and the mysterious woman had disappeared. As I stood there perplexed a chill went through me. But I was being paranoid, Chicago is a big city and it probably wasn’t the same person. I definitely wasn’t being followed. More likely, it was someone with a similar coat. I shook it off and walked out of the store. It wasn’t until I arrived at home that I realized I had completely forgotten my cart and the brownies. After that it was hard to shake the feeling that I was being watched. Every time I would check (surreptitiously looking over my shoulder) there was no one there. I tried to tell myself that I was imagining things, that it was just a coincidence or someone who lived in my neighborhood. But deep down I knew that something was up, I just wasn’t sure what. When I saw her again, it was months later. School had let out for the summer and between hanging out with my friends and working a part time job at a local restaurant I was training for a half marathon. It was an August day, hot and brutally humid. I had to do a ten mile run and was kicking myself for not dragging myself out of bed earlier to beat the heat. All I could picture was an ice cold glass of water (and I was only three miles into my run). That’s when I saw a flash of red ahead of me. I had been seeing red out of the corner of my eye for months and had been trying to dismiss it. Every time I turned or tried to focus on it there was nothing there. I was beginning to worry that I was imagining things. So it wasn’t until I got closer that I realized this was real and I truly believed my eyes. It was the woman with the flowing cape and long brown hair! This time I caught up with her quickly, it felt as though she was waiting for me. I stopped by her and she turned toward me, in that moment I wasn’t sure what to say. I’ve dreamt of this moment but it’s dawning on me that I’ve never thought past seeing her face. She’s looking at me intently, so deep in my eyes and there’s something familiar about her but I just can’t place it. It seems as though she's come to some sort of conclusion because she shakes her head slightly nad says, “No, you’re not quite ready.”

“What do you mean?” I ask but at that moment there’s a screech and a loud honk behind me. I whip around and see that a car has ran a red light, another car has stopped just in time - narrowly avoiding a collision. I look around towards the woman, to ask again what she means and why she’s following me. But she’s gone. I have chills again and I’m beginning to think that this is very, very real.

I’m not sure what to do now. The woman hasn’t been dangerous, or at least she hasn’t been threatening me. I’m not sure what, exactly, I would report to the police or my family. I keep running into a weird woman in a red cape/jacket (even though it was 80 degrees out) and she said something cryptic. I do mention it to my best friend who agrees that it’s a little strange but that there are types of people in this world. Although she’ll also keep an eye out for the lady. I become obsessed with finding her again, I need to know what she meant. A few months later I’m passing by an intersection and someone flags me down to help them cross the street. They link their arm through mine and we head across. When we’re almost to the curb there’s a commotion, some irritated driver is honking at the car in front of them. As we step over the curb I turn back to the person whose arm is linked in mine only to see that it’s the woman in the red coat. She’s peering at me closely and, speechless, I return her gaze. “Now,” she says, “you’re ready. You’ve done enough good deeds to come back to the realm.” And then she disappears. I blinked one second she was there and the next she was gone. At this stage I thought about going to the police but wasn’t entirely sure what I would say. She didn’t seem like she was going to harm me, if anything it was like she wanted to give me a message but just couldn’t quite get the meaning across. I was flummoxed. What was the realm? When was I a part of that? Why don’t I have any memory of it? When I went to bed that night I had a really vivid dream. It was a technicolor whorl, it felt familiar but I couldn't recall what any of it was the next morning. This went on for months with nothing changing. Each night I would have the same dream, there was an intense feeling of deja vu, but nothing was clear enough in it for me to know what any of it meant. But then, one night, I had the same dream. However, this team (while the main details were the same) the angle was different. In this dream, I was floating above the whirling multicolored mass. It slowly came into focus, it became clearly more of an oval. I squinted and realized that it was the pond in my backyard. I gasped awake. No wonder it had felt familiar this whole time! It was close to me all along! Of course, the version in my backyard is a drab shallow pool. It isn’t deep enough for fish or any fun plants. It’s a small water feature, really just for decoration. It’s 3am but I have too much energy to fall back asleep. Quietly, I pad down the stairs in PJs and socks. I slip out the door and into the yard. The pond looks the same to me as it has always looked. Frankly, I don’t understand my subconscious’ obsession. I head back to my room hoping that I’ll get a few more hours of sleep before I have to get up for school.

I find that I’m exhausted the next day. In class my mind wanders back to the dream, the pond and what it all means. I find myself obsessing, drawing images from the dream in my notebook, daydreaming when I should be studying. This isn’t like me! I have goals, big ones. I want to go to an Ivy league (preferably Brown), study international law and then go on to become a human rights attorney. For that, the groundwork starts here, in high school. So I need to be focused. And yet, today I can’t seem to make myself listen to any of the lectures. I’m drifting back to the dream (both awake and asleep - I doze off in history class). At the end of the day I decide to end this once and for all, I’ll explore every inch of the pond so that I’ll be satisfied there’s nothing there and it will stop haunting every second of my life. As soon as I get home I make a beeline for it. I walk around it quickly, which only takes a couple of minutes. Then I go around again, studying every detail. At my next pass around I’m crawling, hoping that being on the ground will help me to catch things that I might’ve missed form higher up. I’ve been around it three times and have still found nothing. I’m completely baffled. Hands on my hips I spend a full twenty minutes staring at it. Wind ripples the water and the light dances across as the sun sinks lower in the sky. I’m at my wits end, there must be an answer here, a reason that I’ve dreamt of this pond for months. Yet I can find nothing here. Out of ideas and options, I put one foot in and then the other. I don’t think I’ll find anything but I’ll try anything at this point. Step after step the cool water seeps into my clothes, weighing me down. It’s not a deep pond and, with the water only at my waist, I’m almost in the middle. It’s when I take the last step, when I’m directly in the middle, that things seem to shift and change. The water whooshes up like a fountain and then I’m falling down through a tunnel. A tunnel that I know for a fact doesn’t exist and yet here I am, falling. Panicking, I hold my breath for as long as possible but then I simply can’t anymore and gasp a mouthful of water in what I assume are my last moments. But I don’t die, I’m breathing normally even though I’m far underwater, below the Earth’s surface, below the bottom of the pond. I’m slowing down, falling less precipitously, and then I’m floating down. My feet find purchase on solid ground and I look around. It’s a gorgeous, technicolor world. It’s not earth but I’m not sure where or what it is either. Where I should be scared I instead find that I’m feeling as though I’ve landed in a long lost place - comfortable and familiar. I turn and there’s the woman in the red coat walking up to me. She greets me by simply saying, “Welcome home.”


It all started with a handshake. 11 years ago, I had found him at the corner of our middle school cafeteria in 6th grade, staring at the ground and glumly chewing on a sour gummy worm. I felt like I’d seen him before, but a distant memory wasn’t enough for me to remember his name. But I sat with him anyway. “You wanna sit with *him*? Eww, why?” One of my prissy friends had asked. The peer pressure almost got me, but I’d hung around the lot of them long enough to know that all they ever did was talk bad about other people. I didn’t like it, but I wasn’t about to tell them that either. “...He got the last pack of sour gummy worms.” I replied before sauntering off towards his table as my friends looked on helplessly. It didn’t take them long to decide that I wasn’t worth anything to them anymore, but I didn’t care. I slammed my lunch tray onto the table he was sitting at and plopped myself down in the seat across from him. He looked startled at first, staring up at me as if he was unsure if I was really there or not. “Hey.” I said. “Where’d your friends go?” He shrugged and refused to meet my eyes. “Let me know when you find me one.” “Found one.” I replied, pointing at myself. I was quite proud for coming up that one, but he didn’t seem convinced. “Yeah, right...you’re just sitting here cause you feel sorry for me.” “Hey. That’s not true.” He looked at me skeptically. I found myself unable to lie. “Okay, maybe it’s a little true. But so far, you’d make a better friend than the people I usually hang around with.” Uncertainty crossed his face. “...You think so?” I smiled. “It’s been at least a minute and you haven’t said anything bad about anyone else’s sense of fashion. I know so. And to prove it...” I stuck out my hand. He knit his eyebrows in confusion. “You want me to hold your hand?” “It’s a handshake, genius.” “O-oh. Right.” He reached out to shake my hand, but I pulled it away at the last second. “A *secret* handshake.” Confusion reached his eyebrows again. “Uhh...what?” “You heard me. Something only the both of us know. That way there’ll be no doubt in anyone’s mind that we’re friends. *Especially* yours.” We spent the rest of that lunch working out the first steps. Front hand high five, backhand high five, fist bump, followed by a twirl and a double snap into finger guns. It was a little awkward at first, and we got some weird looks from people at other tables, but before long he was finally smiling, and I found myself doing the same. “You know...you’re pretty cool.” “Cool enough to be your friend?” I asked with a shrug. He nodded. “Yeah. Friends it is.” The rest of middle school was a blur, but from that moment on we were always there when we needed each other. When his parents wouldn’t let him hang out with me after school just because I was a girl, when I almost failed math, and especially when we both needed someone to sit with at lunch. The handshake went with us, too. As our friendship developed, it became more complicated. We spent tons of time revising it and adding more steps. Elbow jabs, vertical high fives, and even a few rounds of patty cake. We didn’t even know why. Something about it was just really special to both of us. High school rolled around, and we both started to drift in other directions. We made friends who didn’t care about the fact that I’d been alienated by the gossip squad three years ago, or that his only friend prior to meeting them was the girl who’d been alienated by the gossip squad three years ago. None of that mattered anymore. It was the best. What wasn’t the best was the new form of peer pressure that was running rampant through the school; dating. All of a sudden everyone was getting snatched up, and before long he and I were left at odds. “Y’all are so cute, you should totally go out!” They said. And as much as I hate to admit, the pressure got to me that time around. It was awkward at first, suddenly declaring ourselves a couple. But over time, I came to realize that he was a lot more than that shy kid I sat with one day in middle school. He was sweet, and charming, and smart enough to explain trigonometry to someone who had avoided math like the plague ever since bombing her 8th grade algebra final. I denied it for a while, but the feelings I had for him were very real, and one fateful Valentine’s day, he worked up the courage to tell me that he felt the same way. A relationship had blossomed between us, and with it, our secret handshake got more complicated. Before I knew it, we’d added step-kicks, jazz hands and a ballroom twirl as per inspiration from when we took musical theater. It might have seemed childish and silly, but it was special. Every time we did that handshake, it reminded me how much he meant to me, and how much I meant to him. High school and college went by in what felt like no time at all. We’d both been accepted into different universities, but somehow we made it work long distance, so long as we talked every day and met in person at least once a month. At the end of my final year of school, I threw a grad party. Lots of people came, but I was especially excited to see my boyfriend. He’d even taken the liberty to dress up a bit for once, which I found extraordinarily sweet. At the end of the night, he was the last person to head out. We’d spent the evening talking and laughing like old times...just like we used to in 6th grade. He’d just told me a really stupid joke about lyrics to an Amy Winehouse song, and I playfully pushed him. “Alright, dude. You better get outta here before I actually have to fight you.” He shrugged. “Yeah, yeah, okay.” However, right as he stepped through the doorway, he held out his hand and flashed a smile. “Handshake?” I smiled back. “Totally.” We went through the whole routine with practiced ease; Front hand high five, backhand high five, fist bump, vertical high five, elbow jab, swivel, patty cake, hand grasp, turn, step kick, pivot to the left, high five, pivot to the right, fist bump, ballroom twirl, double fist bump blow-up(with sound effects), followed by a turn and a double snap into finger guns. I moved to do the turn, but when I turned back around to do the finger guns...he wasn’t there, gunning me back, like he had been for the past eleven years. He was on one knee. With a tiny box in his hands. And a ring in that tiny box. And a smile on his face that told him, and me, that he was absolutely certain of what he was about to do. “...Will you marry me?” For a moment, I was dumbstruck. But my answer was short, simple, and straight to the point. Blinking back tears, I smiled back and laced the ring into its proper spot on my left hand finger. “...Absolutely.


There was a flash of light, and Ginevra glanced up from her desk. In her doorway was a young girl, in her late twenties at most, in flashy makeup and a sequined black dress. She scanned the room in a daze, her distant eyes scanning the room—the porcelain walls, the soft cream couch in the corner, the three paintings of running water—until finally settling on Ginevra and her white desk. “Have a seat,” Ginevra said, gesturing to the chair across from her. Slowly, the girl shuffled forward, pulling the chair out with a quiet creeak , then sitting down. Nodding, Ginevra leaned to the side and pulled out one of the cabinets next to her, flipping through until she found the proper file. “Here,” she said to the girl, who lifted her eyes from Ginevra’s alabaster suit and back up to her face. She opened her mouth to say something as Ginevra pushed a single form towards her. “Fill this out.” “Where am I?” The girl whispered, glancing around the room a second time. Sighing, Ginevra pulled out the pen and ink from her top drawer, placing them next to the form, then she tapped the desk to get the girl’s attention. Frowning, she brought the paper to her face and squinted at it. “I’m sorry,” the girl said after a moment, “I don’t remember- “ “That’s alright,” Ginevra said. “Just put what you do know. We can’t get started until you do.” The girl nodded, still a bit out of it, dipped the pen in the golden ink and started to fill in the blanks in large, rounded letters. When the girl handed the paper back, Ginevra lifted in and tilted it back and forth, letting the light reflect off of the shinning ink. There was a slight scarlet tint to the “I” the girl had written in Daina Washington . Misspelling her name—the girl must have hit her head hard. Still, there were no large swaths of red, which was a good sign. Lying on the form rarely worked out well. Setting the paper back down, Ginevra opened her computer: a floating square of light that Dana squinted at in a way that indicated she knew it was odd, but she didn’t know why.  Ginevra entered the information Dana hadn’t left blank, which, admittedly, left something to be desired. But Dana’s full name was unique enough for Ginevra to find her profile with relative ease. Dana Washington , it read. Born: 2/14/95 3:36am Died: 12/31/20 11:58pm Car crash Dana leaned forward, trying to get a peek at Ginevra’s screen, but she pushed it down before she could. “What’s the most recent thing you remember, Dana?” “Uh,” Dana closed her eyes, her hand returning to her temple. “I was at Matt’s New Year’s Party. We had a fight, so I left early, took my car home.” “And then what?” Ginevra coaxed. “Well, I-I don’t actually remember getting home,” Dana muttered. “Actually, the last thing I remember, I was turning right at an intersection, but the sun was too bright…” She paused, frowning. “Wait. It was night, I’m sure of it.” Dana went quiet, and Ginevra waited. After a moment, Dana fell back against her chair, eyes going wide. Then she started pulling on her clothes, checking her arms. For injuries , Ginevra thought, with a touch of pity. When Dana finally looked back up, her eyes were no longer lost, but desperately clinging. “Am I dead?” “I am sorry for your loss,” Ginevra said. As she always had said, for thousands and thousands of years. Dana went still, and Ginevra continued to offer comforting words as she grabbed Dana’s recourse packet from her desk. Muscle memory meant Ginevra wasn’t really listening to the words she was saying, but, then again, neither was Dana, not really. It was the tone that mattered, more than anything. She handed the recourse packet to Dana. “What the hell is this?” She muttered. “You lived a very fulfilling life, Dana,” Ginevra said carefully. Dana snorted at that. “You opened a lot of options for yourself.” Dana, who had been staring at the packet unwaveringly, looked up in surprise. “You can choose any of the ones on that list.” “Any of these?” Dana repeated, flipping through the pages and pages the packet provided. Ginevra nodded. “I understand it can be a bit overwhelming,” Ginevra said. Though it really doesn’t need to be she thought privately. Most people were satisfied with the first few options. “You can exit and enter this room as you please.” “But your secretary said I had to make this quick,” Dana said, then snorted derisively at herself. “I can’t believe that’s what I choose to say.” “Wait,” Ginevra said, her eyebrow twitching. “My what?” Dana frowned. “Your secretary?” “…Give me a moment.” Dana looked up in surprise as Ginevra hurried out of her seat, muttering something about waiting on the couch when Dana called for her to wait. The hallway outside of Ginevra’s room was as colorless as the inside. Or, it should have been, but it wasn’t today. Directly across from Ginevra’s door, like a bloodstain in the snow, was a scarlet executive desk. Rested atop of it were the legs of a woman in a red leather jacket and ripped black jeans. “Ginny!” Lilly cried, wide grin on her face. “What brings you here?” “Oh, get up .” “Hey, you should be thanking me,” she said, lifting her feet off of the desk. “That girl was standing around for ages before I told her to go in.” “ That’s- “Ginny started. Then she took a deep breath, and let it out. “That’s the point. They’re supposed to take their time. You know that, Lillian. And what’s this?” Ginny gestured at the desk. “Neutral stimuli only, you know that.” Lilly shrugged, unbothered. “So, how’s it going?” Ginny turned her head to the side, staring at the walls. “Who’s the girl?” Lilly continued, nodding her head at the door. When Ginny continued to ignore her, she folded her arms and frowned, like a petulant child. “Come on, I know you get bored.” Ginevra looked away silently, the statement getting on her nerves the way Lilly had known it would. “I don’t get bored.” “Oh, come on, if that was true, you wouldn’t have transferred departments,” Lilly’s eyes shown with mischief. “What do you think makes this girl a special case , anyway?” “I have no idea,” Ginny admitted after a moment, her tense shoulders dropping. “Everything she’s done seems normal so far.” Lillian smirked. “So, no trying to attack you with your own portrait frames?” Ginny clenched her teeth. “No.”  “Ha! You totally would’ve been toast if it wasn’t for me.” “Right,” Ginny muttered, and it got quiet. “Hey, Ginny?” Lilly said after a long moment. She was staring at the door now. It was a shade of white, like everything else in sight, with the only color coming from the gold 333 nailed to the door. “What do you think she’ll do?” Ginny sighed, settling her arms across her chest. “Reincarnate, maybe?” she guessed. “Those her age rarely choose to relocate. She seems too restless for it, anyway.” Those were the first two options in the packet. People never choose anything that went past the first few pages. “Maybe she’ll ascend,” Lilly mused thoughtfully. Ginny snorted. “Yeah, right. We haven’t had a new guy in centuries, Lillian. And I know for a fact, neither have you.” Lilly’s eyebrows drew together. “Well, you never know,” she said, defensively. “We could use one.” Lilly’s eyes were still fixed to the door, when she tensed suddenly and her eyes shot up to Ginny. “I mean,” she added quickly, “so it’s not as much work.” “…Lilly- “Ginny began. “I’m done.” Both Ginevra and Lillian jolted in surprise. The door was open now, Dana Washington standing in the doorway, holding the recourse packet out in front of her. “Oh!” Ginevra said, and hurriedly brushed herself off. “Thank you.” Dana nodded and took her seat. Not back inside, where she was meant to, but at Lilly’s obnoxious desk. Lilly gave Ginevra a smug look, and she fought the unprofessional urge to roll her eyes. But Ginny’s carefully controlled expression morphed more and more into a frown as she flipped past page after page of inkless papers, right down until the very last box on the very last page. Other Lilly, who had been looking over Ginevra’s shoulder, burst out laughing. Ginny spared a moment to glare at her before continuing to read Dana’s writing. It was a long, vindictive and clever description. “So,” Dana said, when Ginevra had finished. “Can you do that?” Ginevra bit her lip, thinking. There were limits to what she could do, of course. Limits that differed depending on the person and their deeds in life. But the rules pertaining to write-ins had been repeated to her so long ago, they had almost completely washed away. And Lilly and Dana were waiting. After a moment, in that hallway of lace and bone, with no color save for the numbers on a door and a desk like the wax seal on a love letter, Ginny said “I’ll try.”


(I submitted a story on /r/writingprompts where I had to include the phrase, "She was laying in the bed with the window open and she couldn't stop staring at the moon." Wondering if you guys could offer any feedback.) None of it was my fault. It might've been my ex-wife's fault. I wouldn't have needed the money if she hadn't gotten the house, the kid, and the dog in the divorce. Hell, I bought the goddamn dog before I met her. It might've been my brother's fault. It was his idea that I could make some money on the side by breaking into houses. Mom always said he was trouble. It might've been my boss's fault. The guy get's a 30% cut of what I steal in exchange for security codes and info on when the owners are out of town. 30% of the profit while accepting 0% of the risk. What a prick. He got the codes right but he was wrong about the couple being out of the house. They were there. Maybe it was the husband's fault for coming after me with a baseball bat. I understand that you have to investigate a strange noise in your house but he didn't have to attack me. I didn't want to hurt anyone. But he could've killed me if I hadn't acted. It might've been my girlfriend's fault for insisting I take a knife with me for protection. If I hadn't had the knife, who knows how things would have turned out. That husband might still be alive today. None of it was my fault. Who could blame me for doing what I did? I couldn't just let the man beat me to death with a baseball bat, could I? And I couldn't risk going to jail, could I? I have children to think about. When I went upstairs, I saw the wife. **She was laying in bed with the window open and she couldn't stop staring at the moon.** She knew what had happened downstairs and she knew what was going to happen to her. She knew I couldn't just leave and let her call the cops. If she didn't judge me, then how could you? None of it was my fault.


Right after college, I took up woodworking.

Sanding wood, building birdhouses, learning how to use a saw. My hands flexed in new leather gloves as I started power tools and crafted little lopsided wooden walls. I read books about woodworking, scoured websites, and went out drinking with my fellow woodworkers every Saturday at 9pm.

I walked with a swagger in my step, digging my heels into the floor wherever I went. Thud-thud-thud whenever I walked into a room. You could hear me coming. I led meetings with my fellow interns at work and rapped my knuckles on the dark wooden mahogany tables of our boardrooms. Some good mahogany, I’d say with a boom of authority in my voice. Solid.

I joined Habitat for Humanity and helped them build houses, putting some of my skills to good use. We crafted frames alongside future homeowners and old retired construction workers who chewed gum and told stories with their Adam’s apples wobbling. Their stories always started with “in my day” and ended with “and then I ran home with the sun in my eyes!”

I developed a perpetual squint from staring down the ends of tools. I had a set of construction and woodworking clothes that always had some dust caught in them, making me sneeze. I began to loathe the sight of those clothes, out of place in my wardrobe of clean business suits.

One day, my boss came up to me and complimented me on my hard work. “Just make sure you tone down that walk, kid, and try not to talk down to people. But you’re doing great. You’ll be a top executive in no time.”

That night, I came home and ripped those woodworking clothes out of my closet, crumpling them up into a little ball and throwing them under my bed. The words “top executive” beat to the rhythm of the blood pounding in my skull.

Three days later, I took up painting.

I wore flowing smocks and always had paint stains on my hands. I painted flowers on small canvases and fruit on bigger ones. I painted peacocks and trees, meadows and valleys, and my old home in my hometown.

I began to walk lightly, my feet barely touching the Earth so that I’d flow as I moved, softly, smoothly, no jagged kick of my heels. I visited local art museums and examined the paintings in minute detail, jotting notes in a new musty leather notebook. Nearly every weekday night, my new art friends and I would sit in a smoke-filled room of someone’s apartment and drink dark red wine from coffee cups. I bought dozens of wooden paintbrushes and watched the bristles wear down as I kept painting. Every night as I brushed my teeth, I would listen to Vivaldi and picture bridges covered in blossoms.

At work, I nodded with an arch to my eyebrows, my face expressive even when I didn’t care. My dark eye makeup caught some glances, but no one mentioned anything. My colleagues only sometimes asked me questions about what I was painting, and I would tell them, hands waving, about my newest painting or art idea.

One day, my boss complimented me on my ability to boost morale and connect with others. “Who knew,” he said, “that art could really open people’s eyes?” He laughed his little heh-heh laugh. “Just don’t forget about what’s important. You’re not going to be any professional painter. All that painting stuff, kid, it’s got your head in the clouds and no top executive has his head in the clouds without his feet planted firmly on the floor.”

That night, I pulled out my newest work in progress, a painting of a bridge, and ripped it to shreds. I carefully packed up my paintbrushes and threw them into the darkest corner of my most inaccessible drawer, shoving it shut with a thrust of my hips. At the sink, before I brushed my teeth, I spent half an hour scraping paint off of my fingernails, nearly scraping off my own nails in my struggle.

Two days later, I took up dance.

I joined a studio where they taught beginner classes for adults, studying modern dance. I couldn’t perform the stretches with the grace of the other dancers, and I sweated and grunted my way through the first class. As we exited the dance studio, the teacher stopped me with a wave of his arm. “Wait,” he said.

I waited, his hand still on my arm.

“No one is born knowing how to stretch. It takes practice, and I can tell that you’ve got drive and skill. It takes a strong person to step out of their comfort zone and try something new, and you never gave up. You gave it all you got, and I want you to know: I’m proud of you. I hope to see you again next week.”

After he finished speaking, I nodded with a smile and ducked out of his grip, making a beeline for the door. The words “I’m proud of you” thrummed in my toes. I walked up to the tired receptionist at the front desk to the studio and added two more classes to my schedule.

I learned how to stand on one leg and shift my weight between my feet. I learned how to hold my spine, not too high or low, no slumping or arching of the back. I learned how to walk, feet placed evenly on the ground. I learned how to leap and turn, floating by focusing on everything else but gravity itself. I felt graceful, even as I panted with exertion every class.

I wore jeans and sweaters and dress shirts and soft worn boots, a sweep of woolen scarf completing every ensemble. I gave presentations quickly, short and sweet. I felt the weight of my words just as I felt the weight of my body – heavy and even, slow and smooth, only held exactly as necessary. My coworkers noticed the change gradually, and one asked me about how I’d learned my posture. More people began to gravitate to me slowly, as if I were a small magnet, even those I didn’t speak to. Co-workers joined me at dance classes, and we grabbed drinks together sometimes after class, discussing work and posture and home.

One day, I saw the boss speaking with his boss in the corridor after a meeting at which I had spoken, and I wondered what they were talking about.

The very next day, however, as I pushed open the heavy glass door to the office, the receptionist intercepted my path to my desk.

“Wait,” she said.

I waited.

“Boss wants to see you,” she finished. I nodded with a smile and walked to his office. After rapping on the door with one firm knock, I stepped back, eyes fixed on the plaque next to his door.

The door opened seconds later, the boss’s beaming face greeting me.

“Kid, come in, come in!” he said with a smile. I came in and sat down, accepting a glass of water from him, my spine straight. He settled into the leather chair across from me and clasped his hands on his desk, his shoulders twitching uncomfortably beneath his thick suit jacket.

“Well, let’s get right down to it. Kid, we’ve been noticing some really great work from you, and we were wondering if you’d like to level up and become manager. Great position, great pay. Whaddya say?”

“What changed?”

“Excuse me?” he asked, eyebrows raised.

I cleared throat. “Excuse my forthrightness, but you said earlier that I was too condescending, and then that my head was in the clouds, but now you want to promote me so soon? I’m sorry; I just want to know.”

He winced and waved a hand. “All in the past now, kid. You had some things you had to work on, and I just wanted to see you do better. But you have taken those comments to heart and improved tremendously—an almost unprecedented amount. I hope you see that growth in yourself,” he added, face suddenly stern. I tightened my muscles to keep myself from shifting in the chair. The room felt too hot, and I surreptitiously wiped my palms on my pants. “I do, and that answers my question, thank you, sir.” I took a deep breath. “So what would—”

“Just a moment,” he interrupted, holding up a finger. His eyes scrutinized my face. “Can I ask you something, kid?”

I nodded.

“You’ve been improving pretty steadily, already a lot for an intern, but these last few months, I’ve seen a great change come over you. What was different this last time?”

“I’ve always taken up hobbies, little human dreams, you know? I’ve done a lot of things,” I continued, tilting my head in thought. “But this last one, dance, really combined lots of my other interests. I don’t want to go pro,” I added, forestalling any concerns he might have. “But I wouldn’t want to stop.”

The boss chuckled, and I felt a foreboding shiver slide down my spine. “Well, you’re going to have to.”

I locked my eyes on his. “What—What do you mean?”

“You’re not going to have time for those frivolous things, kid,” he began, drumming his fingers on the desk. “You’re on the track to greatness, and silly little side activities aren’t going to get you anywhere.”

For the first time, I let out a laugh in his presence, a full-bellied laugh, and I saw him rear his head back in surprise. “I thought you might say that,” I said after a pause. “I really thought you might.”

He crossed his arms and leaned back in the chair. “Looks like you’ve got a choice to make then, kid. The company or—”

“—or myself,” I finished for him.

“Well, now, we’ve got tons of opportunities to take time for yourself. Work socials, group painting nights, all sorts of great stuff for you to kick back at.”

“That’s not for anyone, and everyone knows that. Last painting night, we all just got drunk and no one painted a damn thing.”

“We’ve all given up lots of little joys to keep this business going strong,” he replied, his tone even but severe, every word slow and enunciated. “This is a great opportunity for you. Don’t blow it.” He planted his elbows on the desk and leaned in. “One last chance: Give me your answer.”

The room went silent as I gathered my thoughts. Finally, swallowing hard, I smiled. “I went from top executive to thin ice pretty fast, huh?” I noted. “That’s how it works. Loyal intern to sad manager to drunk painter to top executive to ‘one last chance’.”

He stood up and stepped around his desk. “This conversation is over until you can screw your head back on right. Dismissed.”

I grabbed his arm and stood up, blocking his path to the door and planting my feet. “I could do your job.”

He resisted my grip. “Excu—”

“You know it,” I hissed. “I could do it in half the time it takes you, probably.” “You don’t know what you’re—”

“I don’t want your promotion. In fact, I quit. Effective immediately.” With a slow grin, I released his arm. He yanked away, shaking his head in disappointment.

Before he could send me out, I placed my knuckles ono the desktop and rapped on it twice. “Good solid table. Mahogany?”