The orange sun peeked from behind the empty hills and found two sets of furrowed brows. On the driver seat, Michael lowered the sun visor, and his frown dissolved. On the passenger seat, his son did the same, and his frown didn’t move. Kevin’s eyes were lost beyond the hills, his arms crossed, his hands fiddling with the cord of the headphones. “I hate this time of day,” Michael said. There was no response from the passenger seat. The orange hangover sun was flooding the dashboard. The hills came and went lazily on the horizon. They said hi and goodbye and kept going, slowly, on an infinite dance up and down, like sound waves. Michael sipped from a large coffee to go and pushed the oversized cup back into the small cup holder, struggling to make it fit. “The sunrise, I mean,” he tried again. Kevin kept his eyes on the hills. The car was silent except for the droning of the wheels. Michael prayed for the radio to come back to life. He should have fixed it months ago but he never really listened to the radio. He enjoyed having the silence as his passenger. There had been enough opportunities to get the radio fixed, but they had come and gone, and it was still broken. Now he realized this had been a mistake. He pushed the buttons on the radio, hoping it would magically start playing a song or the news. God, he hated the radio news, but even that would be better than this silence, better than the hum of the tires on the road, singing the most tedious song in the history of humanity. White noise, static from the dead radio. The screaming sound of having nothing to say. “Why?” Kevin asked. “What’s that?” Kevin sighed. “Why do you hate the sunrise?” “Oh,” Michael gathered his thoughts and answered. “Bad memories.” The humming kept strong, the blaring of nothingness. He could hear the granularity of the asphalt in the sound, feel the silence vibrating in his chest. “From when I was just a bit older than you are,” he said. “I used to go out. To parties, that is. In my twenties. And get drunk.” A new patch of asphalt came in the distance and found the wheels with a different texture of sound, as bland as the one before. “The time to end a fun night is before sunrise,” Michael said. “If you started drinking the night before and you’re still drinking the next morning, you’re doing it wrong. When the hot sun touches your face in the morning, it’s like you’re getting licked by a dog that’s just licked itself. It’s warm and disgusting. You feel like trash. You’re thirsty, and you’re hungry, and you just want to go to bed and sleep in your clothes, which are all sticky from people bumping on you all night and spilling beer.” He sipped the coffee while the hills came and went. Hi, they said over the static of the silent radio. Then, goodbye. And the dull humming proceeded. “God, getting drunk sucks.” “Michael, that’s lame.” Kevin’s frown was directed at his father now. The furrowed brows were the same Michael could see on his bathroom mirror every morning. “What?” “This little rant of yours is a lame attempt at keeping me away from drinking,” Kevin said. “Wha- No! Not at all.” “Right.” A smirk and back to the frown. The drab droning kept unaltered except for the changes of the asphalt. A different shade of white noise here and there, a new radio station playing a new song, as monotonous and hypnotic as the one before. “I mean, you shouldn’t drink,” Michael said. “Well, you can. You’re going to college. God knows you will. I’m just saying, don’t drink too much. It’s bad. At least in my experience.” Kevin’s eyes were on the horizon again, riding the empty sound waves of the traveling hills. Hi. Goodbye. Up and down. Michael took another sip from the coffee, another struggle to make the cup fit. “Well, do you even drink?” “I’m seventeen,” Kevin said. “Seventeen. Right.” Kevin raised the sun visor. The sun had already thanked the hills for letting it crash on their couch and was now on its journey through the vivid blue sky. Michael raised his sun visor as well. “And what about that old friend of yours? Do you go out with him?” “I don’t go out. I spend most of my free time on the computer.” “Yeah, but do you talk to him?” “Who?” “That friend of yours,” Michael said. “The one from school.” “There were at least two hundred kids at my school.” “Jesus, seriously? I mean the small kid. The one with the glasses. I think his name was Timmy.” “You mean Tommy,” Kevin said. “Michael, that was in third grade.” The static sang its dull song in Michael’s ears. “Third grade. Right.” He tried another sip but there was no more coffee in the wrinkled cup. “Hey,” Michael said, “do you remember grandpa's and grandma’s lake house? We used to go there when you were young.” “Yeah. I guess.” “It’s only a half-an-hour drive from your college. We should go there sometime and hang out. I still go there every couple of weeks or so, to take a look if everything is in order. The place is kind of abandoned since your grandpa died. So I go up there, clean up, and just hang out for a while, drink a beer with my feet in the lake. It’s peaceful. Silent. It’s nice.” Michael waited but there was no answer from Kevin. There was just the never-ending droning of the wheels. “Do you remember the swing on the yard?” he insisted. “It’s still there. God, you used to love that swing! You kept asking me to push you higher and higher and I would do it and you’d never get afraid. Your mom was so pissed! She would say I wasn’t careful with you, that I was a bad… father.” “So you go to the lake house every couple of weeks and just hang out?” “Yeah!” “So how come you never come to visit?” Michael’s heart was as wrinkled as his coffee cup, pressed against the tight walls of his chest. There was a surge of pain and nausea, but he kept his eyes fixed on the road and his face as blank as the song in the silent radio. Kevin’s eyes were lost on the hills again, and Michael’s mind was drowning in the sound of the dull sound. “You didn’t have to do this, you know?” Kevin said. “What?” “Give me a ride. You didn’t have to.” “Yeah, well, your mom had a shift at the hospital.” “I know,” Kevin said, his eyes had now left the hills and were on the screen of his phone, his right hand flipping through a list of songs while the left hand untangled his headphones. “But Bob could’ve taken me.” Another moment of deafening silence. Another sip from the empty cup. Another shade of white noise. “Yeah, no,” Michael said. “I wanted to. When was the last time we’ve spent time together?” “I don’t know,” Kevin said, putting on his headphones. “I don’t remember.” Michael looked at the horizon, at the up and down of the hills. “Right.” Hi. Goodbye. “I don’t remember either.” The hills came and went, and then there were only plains of cornfields. And then buildings, and a town, and another. But there was no silence. # “Do you need a hand with that?” “No, I got it.” Kevin took the microwave from the trunk. He was carrying a backpack, and another bag was strapped across his chest. Michael closed the trunk of the car and pulled up the handle of the wheeled suitcase. They walked to the brick residence hall and he biped the car in the distance. “Let me get that for you,” Michael said, rushing for the glass door. “No need to.” Kevin pushed the door with his back. He let the door go and Michael held it with his foot. They walked to the stairs, their steps echoing through the empty hall. “Are you sure you don’t need any help?” “I’m sure.” They crawled upstairs, one step at a time. Kevin leading the way, Michael following, on and on up the endless staircase. “Do you know where it is?” Michael asked when they got to the second floor. “Yeah, it should be at the end of this hallway.” “And you’ve got the key?” “Yup.” Michael followed Kevin through the hallway, the doors all closed, the walls empty, the fluorescent lights buzzing above their heads, a lonely window in the end wall. Kevin stopped in front of the last door and shifted the microwave on his arms. “Could you knock, please?” “This one?” “Yeah.” Michael settled the suitcase on the floor and raised his hand, but before he touched the door, it flung open. A kid with a headset on was standing inside. “May I help you?” the boy asked. Michael stared blankly. “Hey, Li,” Kevin said. “It’s me. Help me put this microwave somewhere.” He shouldered his way past Michael and into the room and rushed for a table to put the microwave. “Oh, hey, K.G.,” Li said, “you’re finally here!” Michael stood outside for a second and then stepped into the room, rolling the suitcase. “Where do you want me to…” He trailed off, his voice drowned by Li’s and Kevin’s greetings. “It’s nice to finally see you in person, bro,” Kevin told Li while they hugged. Michael looked around. Two beds, one empty, the other one with an open laptop. A small clothes cabinet, a lonely, worn-out desk with the microwave, a minifridge, a window overlooking the parking lot. On the wall above Li’s bed, there was a poster of what Michael assumed to be either a video-game or a movie. The phone rang in his pocket. “Hey, it’s your mom,” Michael said. “She probably wants to know if we got here in one piece. I’m gonna take this outside.” He left the suitcase where it was and stepped into the hallway, taking the phone to his ear. “Hey, Linda.” “Are you there yet?” the voice on the phone asked. “Well, hi to you too.” Inside the room, Li and Kevin were talking, and Michael’s ear turned the volume down on Linda. “We gotta find a place to plug that microwave,” Li said. “And who’s that guy? Your uncle?” “Nah, that’s Michael. He’s my absent father, trying to compensate for his absence I guess.” Michael’s eyes died in a stare as blank as the walls in the hallway. The only sound in his ears was his heart pumping, and in between pumps, the buzz of the fluorescent lights. The dead radio was still playing the white noise song, but it had been thrown underwater, the static distorted into a low frequency. His chest hurt with every beat of his heart and so did his ears, and he couldn’t turn that damn radio off. From far away came a voice on the radio. “Hello? Michael, are you there? Michael, answer me! Hello?” He blinked a hundred times and shook his head. “Yeah, yeah. Yes! I’m here.” He walked to the stairs. He needed air. “What happened?” Linda asked. “Sorry, I zoned out for a second. What was the question?” He could hear her rolling her eyes in the brief silence of the phone. “Are you there yet? Did you get there fine?” “Yes. We’re here.” He tried pushing the glass door a couple of times before pulling it open. “He’s settling in, his roommate is already there.” “Oh, he mentioned Li would be there,” Linda said. “Good.” “You already knew his roommate?” “Well, they’ve been talking online for a couple of weeks now.” “Right,” Michael said while he kicked a pebble in the parking lot. “Linda, listen. Don’t take this the wrong way, but did you tell him bad things about me through all these years?” “What? Michael, why would I? Of course not! What are you talking about?” “It’s just… that kid hates me.” Her sigh on the phone carried an emotion he didn’t want to take, but it was the only one she had to offer. “I’m sorry to hear that, Michael. I truly am. But you didn’t exactly help all these years.” “I know,” he said, “but I’m trying to help now and he won’t let me.” “I was talking about helping yourself.” “Right,” he kicked another pebble. “He is a grown man now, he doesn’t need your help. He doesn’t need a father now.” “Yeah. No, I know.” For a second there was nothing but silence and a cool breeze caressed Michael’s face. “But maybe he could have a friend?” he said. # “Are you sure you didn’t forget anything?” Michael asked Kevin from inside the car, Li was standing at the glass door of the residence hall. “Yeah, I’m sure,” Kevin answered. “Thanks for the ride, Michael.” “Don’t mention it. I…” He fumbled for words but nothing came. The setting sun hit Kevin’s face the same way it had in the morning and he furrowed his brows to look at Michael. Everything was silent, and Michael’s crumpled up heart was hurting inside his tiny chest. “Listen, son. I… I know I haven’t been around much and the only thing I can tell you now is I’m sorry. I can’t go back in time. I can’t go back to when you were that kid I was pushing on the swing on the lake house. I can’t go back to the birthdays I missed, to the hospital when you broke your arm, to Disneyland when you met Pluto, to when you found out you had been accepted in college. I can’t pretend I’ve been a part of your life, and I have no excuses. I used to have them, I used to have a bunch of them. At first, it was weird because of the divorce. And then I moved out of town. And then there was Bob, and I missed a birthday because of that. And then I missed another and another, and it would be just too awkward to show up there out of the blue. “Life, it’s weird. It’s like a highway in some ways. You get an exit and if you miss it you sometimes have to drive for miles to get another one. And until you get to the next one you’re asking yourself ‘Why the hell didn’t I take the last one?’ And you hate yourself for not having taken it. And you have to keep driving and driving and asking and hating. “But I finally took the exit, and I’m here now. Because I kept driving and driving and at some point, I noticed I was driving by myself. My mistakes were my only passengers. I don’t want it to be this way anymore. I want to have a son! And you’re really unlucky because I do have a son, and it’s you. But it’s a son who doesn’t even know me. A son who doesn’t feel comfortable enough to call me dad. A son who hates me.” The lazy breeze swept the parking lot while a small tear washed Michael’s eyes. “That hurts,” his voice cracked. “That hurts so much, you have no idea. I want to change that. So, if you ever feel like having a beer with your old man, give me a call. I mean, you can’t drink but… you know. We can go to the lake house, you can bring Li with you. We can… go fishing. I’d have to talk to Li’s parents and I don’t even know if there are fish in that lake but, I mean… just call me. Ok?” Kevin’s frown had a twinge of sadness now. “Geez, Michael,” he said, “What am I supposed to say?” “I know, it was too much to drop on you. I’m sorry. I just had to take it out of my chest. So, just… you know.” He extended his arm and touched his son’s. Kevin awkwardly grabbed his father’s hand and Michael pressed it. A hug for hands. He enjoyed it for a second before bringing his hand back inside the car and turning on the engine. “Take care, son.” “Yeah, don’t worry.” “Bye, Li,” Michael shouted. “Bye, Mr. G,” Li waved back. # Michael sat with a beer on the small dock of the lake house, his feet in the water, the big white moon reflecting off the lake. The crickets and the frogs were screaming in a constant buzz and the sound danced on the ripples of the lake. He took a sip from the beer and looked at his feet. His phone rang. “Hello?” “Hey, Michael,” Kevin said. “Hey! Did you forget something in the car?” “No, no. It’s just… I was thinking about what you’ve said, about having a beer with you. Li is very interested.” Michael laughed. “So, you know,” Kevin continued, “if you wanna pick us up next weekend, I think it could be fun.” “Yeah, sure buddy! I’m not sure about that beer though. And I’d have to talk to Li’s parents.” “Yeah, no problem. I think it could be fun anyway,” Kevin said. “Sure thing. I’ll pick you boys up next weekend.” “Cool! Thanks… dad. Bye.” Michael held the phone in his hand and kept looking at it for a few seconds with the stupidest smile. He slipped the phone back into his pocket and drank from the beer. There was not a single sound in the entire world, only the deepest of silences hovering over the moon-kissed lake. Michael floated on that sweet song.


My mother, brother, and I weren’t always family.

There was a time where we were strangers, just making our ways in our separate lives, not knowing one another, not knowing anything.

Why was this, you may ask? It was because I was adopted at the age of seven.

Yes, we weren’t just any family, we were a found family.

My mother, before she was my mother, was a writer. Sometimes an author in her spare time made a few bucks out of the books but that was about it. She never made much, just enough to buy a house in the suburban town she and my brother lived in.

Where was I when all this happened? Running through the rain. It was always easier to sneak out of the orphanage on rainy days.

Away from the orphanage, I ran, looking for a place to stay for a while. Just a little while.

Every other house had been mean to me. They wouldn’t acknowledge me or even let me stay for a bit. How rude. Then again, we can’t blame them now, can we? How well would you react if a child merely showed up at your doorstep asking to stay awhile?

I eventually had run too far from the small orphanage and found myself in the fields a bit further off the areas of our town. (I was always good with maps, so I wasn’t lost.) It was there that I spotted a house.

A quaint little home with lanterns on the outside and a carpet that said: “Welcome”. “Welcome, hm?” I asked myself out loud. “Then I must be welcomed too, right?” I had the courage, and audacity that any five-year-old had to knock upon strangers’ doors, and simply appear.

So I knocked.

“Get the door, boy.” I heard a woman shout after someone. “Could be a friend of yours.” The boy, clearly irritated as I heard from the other side of the door, talked back to his mother.

“Mom, you know very well that I have no friends.” “My point still stands. Answer the door.”

“Fine, but don’t expect it to be a friend of mine.” The boy said again.

Then, I stood and smiled, speaking once the door opened.

“Hiya there!” And so I said my name.

The boy looked shocked.

“Who exactly are you? I don’t think girl scouts are out this late offering cookies.” “What’s a girl scout?” I asked, my eyes widening in curiosity.

The boy had a moment of calm before shouting to his mother in a panic.

This household was different. They were funny.

“MA! THERE’S A LITTLE GIRL HERE, AND I DON’T KNOW WHAT TO DO!”

“Are you going to send me away?” I asked, pretending to have tears form in my eyes. Fake crying was my specialty.

“I won’t send you away but-” The boy began, but was soon stopped when his mother exclaimed a statement in my direction.

“She’s adorable! Now, look what you’ve made her do. You’ve made her cry.” This household was different, they don’t mind me.

“You won’t send me away, will you?” I whimpered as tears flowed freely from my eyes.

“We won’t send you away, but we will need to ask you where your parents-” I clapped my hands in glee, knowing that they wouldn’t send me away.

“Yehey! So you won’t send me away. Can I stay for dinner?”

“But your parents-” “Can I? Can I?” I insisted, avoiding the topic about my parents.

Because I didn’t have any.

Now, I won’t say what their answer was, but let me tell you, that I left their house with a full stomach and satisfied grin.

“Goodbye, nice lady! Goodbye, her son!” I said as I left their humble abode.

“I have a name, you know?!’ The boy shouted after me before running up to me holding out a parasol.

“Make sure to take a bath when you get home okay? You might get sick. Here, use this umbrella.” “Thanks, big brother!” I said as I waved goodbye. These were nice people. I should visit them more often.

This was a very kind household. I liked them very much.

Just as I made my way away from their home, the boy whispered something in his mother’s ear. She whipped her head around to him once he had done so, and asked him a question.

“Do you really think?” “I’m as sure as can be.” Once I made my way back to the orphanage, the head caregiver spotted me and started thanking the Lord abundantly.

“Thank goodness, child! Where have you been?” “Away in the fields…” I said, making sure not to tell the full story, or else they might make sure I never go to that kind of household again.

“Thank god you didn’t get lost!” She exclaimed. “How did you find your way back home?” “A map.” “You can read those?” “It’s easy. After all, you already taught me about north, south, east, and west.” “Suppose we did, suppose we did.” I took a bath and jumped into my bed.

I hoped to meet those nice people again.

The next day was greeted with rain, and I was ecstatic! I could sneak out and meet the family again.

I ran through the fields, my boots wet from all the puddles. I walked through the tall cornfield, with a compass I had ‘borrowed’ from another child in the orphanage. I couldn’t see very well, but I remembered that as long as I kept going north, I would arrive at their small house.

I arrived a few feet near it, and I went to knock on the door.

“Hiya! It’s me again!” I said once the door had been answered.

“Ah! It’s you again!” The boy said once he had seen me. “Mom! She’s back!” “Let her in.” Said his mother while reading a book about astrology.

And so I visited them. It was every single rainy day without fail.

The woman’s son had soon developed a nickname for me, calling me kitty. He said it was because I was like a cat that kept coming back for food.

The mother grew a fondness for me.

I loved that family, even though it was just the two of them. They liked me, and I liked them. That mother and son had been the sun on my rainy days, and the warmth in my cold.

Eventually, the time came around when they asked me where I came from. My eyes cast downwards, and I tried to avert myself from the question and I began to cry.

For once in my life, I cried real tears.

“Look dear, we won’t send you away. We just need to know where you come from. You spend so much time here that your parents might-” “I have no parents.” Then from the kitchen, I heard a voice.

“I called it, kitty. You’d always take the direction back to the orphanage.”

“Now that you know I’m an orphan, will you send me away?” Then, there was a pause.

“We’ll bring you back to the orphanage and see what we can do, okay?” The mother said as she motioned her son to do something. So he picked me up, and I snuggled into his arms. And so we walked through the cornfields.

Once we arrived at the orphanage, the woman and her son had faced the head caregiver who had been taking care of me. The mother had stayed silent, simply looking at me. It was when her son spoke up that my tears resurfaced and I cried once more.

“I want this little girl to be a part of our family.” The caregiver composed herself before she asked one of the older kids to bring me upstairs.

In a room where the woman and her son were ushered, the caregiver called in my social worker.

“If you want to apply to adopt her, we would like to ask you a few questions.” I knew not about the details of the questions, but I know it went something along the lines of this: Home situation? Good.

Loving and caring relationship? Present.

A good financial situation?

Absent.

“Madame, I am sorry to inform you that if you wish to adopt this child, you will have to fix your financial situation. Though you aren’t in any debt, you can barely take care of you and your son. If you care so dearly about the girl, we can make sure that we update you when she is adopted so we can ask the adoptive parents if you can stay in touch.” “So, my financial situation is one of the biggest factors?” The woman asked.

“Yes, I am afraid so.”

“Then I will do something to fix it. I want the child.” Then, her son spoke up. “I too will help.” “Then you must hurry. She will be put up for intercountry adoption soon.”

As mother and son walked home that day, they made a promise once they reached the cornfields.

“Son, we are to work. We will improve everything that needs improvement, and she will be your younger sister. She will be my daughter.” “Yes, mother.” He said, as their eyes filled, burning with determination.

It wasn’t easy. I was kept under strict watch so that I couldn’t visit them, and they, they worked.

“Damn woman! Can’t you get my simple order right?” A comment the woman got when she took up a job as a waitress.

“I apologize.” “You delivered me the wrong newspaper subscription, boy.” A comment her son got while working as a newspaper boy.

There were some days when- Crash. A glass was broken right in front of the woman, for not only had she worked in a restaurant, but she also took up a job in a pub where she had to serve most of the drunks.

“Hey! You work here, don’t you? Get to picking up those shards.” “Right away, sir. I’ll grab a broom and dustpan and get to work.” Those days were the toughest.

“Here is your order sir.” The woman said one day while serving a customer.

“You forgot the ashtray that I asked for.” Then, he dug his cigarette into her palm. She calmly put down the plate before rushing off to the kitchen to get some cold water on her hand.

It wasn’t any easier for her son.

“Drop everything you have boy.” A man one day pointed a gun at her son.

That day, he gave all the money he had, all the profit that he had earned to the man, just so he wouldn’t be killed.

When he returned to his boss, he was called an idiot.

An idiot for wanting to live? What kind of cruel world do we live in? Forced to sell his bike to make up for his lost profit, he would walk along his kilometer-long routes every day since he lost all his money at gunpoint.

They were struggling without a doubt, but I wasn’t any better.

“Can’t I stay in this small town?” “No, but aren’t you excited? You’ll get to travel the world.” “NO! I don’t want to travel if it’s without them!” The caregivers knew better than to shatter my hopes further.

One night as it rained, I decided to sneak out to meet the family again. Coming up with a clever plan, I went on my way.

I ran and ran through the cornfields going north. I would see them again.

Knock. Knock.

The woman’s son answered the door and began to cry when he saw me. I suppose you could say that I did the same.

“Do you realize what you’re making us do?” He asked in an angered tone after he wiped the tears away.

“Huh?” “You’re so stupid, kitty.” He said sobbing again. “Do you know how many burns mom has gotten from her new job? Do you know how many cuts she now has from picking up broken glass when there wasn’t any broom and dustpan?” “I’m sorry… I didn’t mean to bring you this much trouble I just-” But he continued. “Do you realize how many times I’ve walked over a kilometer just to deliver newspapers for very little money? Do you realize that I was once held at gunpoint?” “I’m sorry!” I shouted, full-on crying.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I didn’t want to be a burden. I just wanted to escape from time to time. I didn’t realize-” “Don’t apologize, my kitty. We do it all because we love you.” And so I spent half the night sobbing in his arms.

Just as problems are solved over time, my sixth birthday was drawing near, and I had a special birthday present.

I was led down the stairs blindfolded, and into the dining hall.

When I took off the blindfold I was surprised to see the mother and son whom I loved so dearly in front of me. “I thought that you… what… how? I thought I would be put up for intercountry adoption?” “Well,” The woman began, “We wanted to keep it a secret from you for a while until your sixth birthday, but today is your court hearing. Today is the day we hear if you are to be a part of our family or not!” I was overjoyed! How could I not be? The family I always wanted to be a part of, almost in my grasp.

I remember everything, from the big room to the testimonies. I remember the scary look on the face of the judge. I remember sitting next to the woman’s son. I remember how his arm wrapped tightly around my shoulders.

I remember the rain pelting the outside world, and I remembered the judge’s softened face as if almost touched when being told about our story.

Then, I will never forget the words that left his mouth. Until now, it sends shivers down my spine and makes me want to jump up in objection.

“Denied.” The woman did just as I wished to do. She jumped up from her seat.

“But why?! I’ve fixed my financial issues, and I’ve made a caring environment for both me and my son. I’ve loved this child since the day she showed up at our doorstep! Why can’t we become a family?” “I simply do not think you’re ready.” I jumped from my seat and ran through the court’s doors.

It was at that moment that all my feelings burst, and had melted down. The rainy days that had once been my happiness, were now my gloom. I cried and sobbed. Anything that one would do when being in the state beyond upset.

I know not of what happened, the last thing I heard before being ushered away was,

“I appeal for another court trial! Please!” “Very well, the court shall grant you one.” The judge said.

“But don’t expect my answer to change.” The second trial took place a few weeks after the first.

Now, I remember everything as clearly as I remember my first court trial. The only thing that changed?

The judge.

“Hello, I will be your judge for today. The one who had handled your case previously had fallen ill today, therefore I will be taking his place.” She was a young woman with hair tied up into a ballet bun.

She looked scary.

The hours passed on, as the woman, who I hoped to call my mother, stated her case. The judge seemed to listen more intently than the other, taking into consideration everything she heard.

‘It’s over for me. I’ll be put up for intercountry adoption and that will be the end of me and this family.’ I don’t remember what the judge said, but the next thing I had seen after the two grueling hours was the judge smiling contently, the woman who I hoped to call mom, crying, and the boy who I hoped to call my brother, hugging me.

Then, I saw it. I saw what words the judge mouthed.

“Approved.” Once I recovered from my shock, the woman- no.

My mother ran out into the rain, beckoning for me and her son, my new brother to follow along.

And so we ran through the rain.

Our newfound family, running through the rain.

Epilogue: As soon as we rushed outside to enjoy the rain, the judge smiled, exiting from another corner.

“Mommy!” Her daughter said greeting her at the exit. “Did you approve of another adoption?” “Yes, my dear. Another happy family. I hope they make it in this world.”

“Did it remind you of when you adopted me?” “Yes.” Hey! Me too!” Her older son said, and the judge began to laugh.

“Yes, you too.” It was then that her husband appeared.

“Do you really think they’ll make it in this world? They’re not the richest…” “You don’t need abundant riches to make it in this world. All you need is the support of one another. All you need is patience and love. That’s it.”

“Ah, look. Why don’t we run through the rain too?” And so the other happy family was seen, running in the rain.


Running through the large open fields toward the great forest was like running through the shallow landing of water on a beach. Cosmo needed to get to the train, not just because of the need to survive; but also the need to protect his family and friends. If he could get to London in time, everyone might just survive. If he could make it, then Thistle could live a good life. Thistle is Cosmo's best friend. He was always there for Cosmo and he trusted Thistle with his life, not that there was much to live of it. With Cosmo being 15 and Thistle being 17, it was a bit hard for them to bond without people hating the relationship they had. One of the many reasons they were forced out of the town and into the Rimstone Fields. Nothing ever survived in those desolate Fields, so Cosmo needed to go to London for one reason; to find someone who would accept who he was, who his family was. Outcasts, Queers, and different from others. With hair as white as snow, and skin as pale pink as Clementi Flowers. Cosmo and Thistle had a less than normal relationship; always having a fluttering feeling in the depts of their stomachs. Or turning a dark rouge when first seeing each other. People of this time hated "abnormal" people. Ones with different colored skin, or no skin color at all. Ones with weird eyes or different emotional feelings, not that Cosmo had feeling for Thistle. Besides, even if he did, who knows if Thistle liked him back. That was a close to none possibility, wasn't it? Besides, they couldn't be together. Even if it was in secret...Not that Cosmo wanted to be in a relationship, because he doesn't like Thistle at all. But it still made him upset to think about it. Cosmo could hear the whistle of the train in the distance, snapping him back to reality, getting louder. He was almost there! Just a little farther and he could save the people he loves most. 1....2......3......4.......5........6..........whistles. Shit, the train is boarding. Cosmo ran as fast as he could, burning his lungs like never before. He could hear his heartbeat pounding in his ears. The need and the want to give up was so strong that he could've stopped and walked back to the tree his family was near. Or he could be the town hero, and help his family and friends live in luxury instead of in exile. The choice was almost made for him when he remembered that he would most likely die trying to save everyone from the discrimination. Maybe they would die before he could find someone to house them or support their unique differences. Right now, he couldn't think about those things. He had to stay focused and run faster then he was running, jumping over logs, and shooting the dirt up into oblivion behind every step. Snap.... What was that? Doesn't matter, Cosmo had to make it to the train before it left. 1.......2.......3........4........5.........6........7.........whistles. NO! He had to make it! Snap, rustle, crack.....Thump. Thump! THUMP! "HEY!!" A loud, booming, deep voice could be heard behind Cosmo, making him run faster. "Go Away! You can't stop me!" Cosmo shouted back in response. The footsteps became louder as the person gained on Cosmo. The final whistle could be heard so loud, Cosmo could almost touch it. The smell of burning oil and coal was so strong that it could've withered a bush with ease. Suddenly a hand grabbed Cosmo's wrist, making him stop abruptly. "Let me go! I'm almost there!" Cosmo started to cry, "I have to save them, I have to save them all before they get hur-" Cosmo's words were stolen by a heat on his mouth. He tried to pull away before he saw the smooth dark skin and the long eyelashes. When the kiss ended, Cosmo's voice became small and suppressed as he said, "Thistle?" The train was leaving, but nothing mattered in that moment. "Don't do this, you'll die!" Thistle put an arm around Cosmo's waist, pulling him in closer, "We don't need you to give us luxury and risk your life in the process." Thistle looked deeply into Cosmo's eyes, searching for a reply. But Cosmo was too flustered to think. The whistle of the train sounded one last time as it left. Bringing Cosmo back to his original goals. "No! I have to get to the train!" Cosmo wiggled out of Thistle's grasp and started to run towards the track. "You don't! Stay here with me!" Thistle said desperately while chasing after Cosmo. When Cosmo saw the train racing off on the track, he didn't bother to do anything. He plopped down on his knees on the side of the track, feeling nothing but guilt for not being able to catch it in time. Thistle came to Cosmo's side and helped him up. Having Cosmo stand directly in front of him. "We need you more then we need acceptance and luxury.." Thistle said in a soft voice that made Cosmo look at him. "Really?" Cosmo's voice was so surprised and precious that Thistle's face changed color to a dark, deep maroon. Cosmo raised on his tippy-toes to reach Thistle. Kissing him passionately with Thistle's large body supporting his own. Making Cosmo feel safe and secure, turning his stomach into a stew of butterflies; while they both melted together, neither of them wanting to let go. Knowing they would have to make they're way to their home, they let all their repressed feelings of fear of rejection and hidden admiration out affectionately. Eventually, they let go of each other, only to cling like magnets. Teeth-full smiles and moist lips, anticipating another loving embrace. Hand in hand, the boys made their way back to the run-down campsite they called home. Stealing kisses along the way, and enjoying the momentarily peace. Ready to fight against the towns people to accept unique personalities back into the community.


Simon could feel the rough bark of the massive tree biting into the bare skin of his back as he pushed with all his might against it. He wasn't foolish enough to believe his piddling efforts had any hope of toppling it. The enormous oak had supposedly been there for over a thousand years. It's gnarled and unyielding branches had easily borne the weight of all the many supposed witches, dissidents and pickpockets who had been most unceremoniously hung from them. Their piteous fates had been doled out by a long lineage of tyrants who had ruled these lands with an unwavering lack of mercy. It was this very macabre history that made Simon's efforts far more grand than sending a tree to crash against the earth. His undertaking was to bestir a forest sprite who had long ago claimed the ancient oak as her home. The root of Simon's endeavors (pun intended) took place on a very tragic day in the boy's life, a day that would haunt his family for many years to come. He had just turned seven and was capering around the village square with all the exuberance of a child who had never known a single day of sadness. In his hands was a flute painstakingly crafted by his father, a birthday present young Simon thought to be the greatest gift anyone could ever receive. Well doted upon by his neighbors, they looked out of their windows, came out to stand upon their stoops, some even being so bold as to take a momentary break from their labors, all to watch this boy so completely given over to joy. They deeply treasured being given this rare opportunity to witness a child whose life had yet to be touched by cruelty, especially the near unrelenting cruelty so casually doled out by the despot whose castle could distantly be seen at the other end of the vale. It certainly didn't hurt that the boy seemed to somehow have mastered the instrument within a few hours of ownership. With pinpoint accuracy, he entertained his captivated audience with one well known ditty after another. Many chose to lend their voices to the familiar songs. Some even chose to caper with abandon. It was as if the child was wielding some sort of magic charm that had the power to exorcise any trace of grief or sorrow that lived in the hearts of all who listened. Just as the day was reluctantly giving way to a perfect pearlescent dusk, a maelstrom of pounding hooves could be heard galloping in their direction. Hooves had forever been the harbinger of doom to the inhabitants of the simple village, and this time was to be no exception. Mothers frantically tried to summon their children and brusquely order them to hide quietly in the cellars. Field workers quickly ascended their ladders so as to once again take up the task of filling up their already heavy baskets with nuts and apples, and most especially the tart, ruby red pears that their overlord so greatly favored. The blacksmith himself, a man as proud as he was mountainous, reluctantly took up his hammer and returned to pounding out a sword that would one day be used as a means of striking terror into the hearts of his neighbors. The well-armed squadron of guards came hurtling through the cobbled streets, the constant cracking of their whips urging on their steeds to an ever quickening pace. Occasionally one of their number would lash out at one of the cowering bystanders, taking heady delight in the cry of whosever cheek lost a thin, delicate strip of flesh. After moments that seemed like hours, they finally came to a halt at the well that marked the town's center. They leapt from their weary mounts with well practiced bravado, forming one perfect circle. Their captain, an especially crude and callous fellow, pulled out his cock and pissed into their precious water supply, laughing with as much gusto as he had the first time he had thought to do so, After he had shaken the very last drop from his member and buttoned up his breeches, he stepped forth to address the crowd that was loath to hear his words. "Peasants and simpletons all, know ye that I have come to you this day with the happiest of tidings. My fellows and I have come to take particular notice of one of you worthless chattel, and have decided that you might have what it takes to be of special service to your master. Beauty, you see, is quite the rare commodity among you toad faced lot. As such, we could not help but notice that this one budding lass has somehow managed to escape the litany of defects that plague the rest of you. So it is that I call forth one Rosie Cobbles. If the fortunate young maiden in question is not kneeling before me in a matter of seconds, I will be forced to burn down your precious mill. If I am not mistaken, without said precious mill, winter shall carry many of you off to your graves for want of sustenance. Come, come, my patience is already flagging and my men are just itching to light their torches........ Alrighty men, light em up and let the acrid smell of smoke envelop this sorry hamlet in a sweet caress." Just as the first of the guards lit up his torch and began his slow and arrogant strut towards the mill, a young maiden of unparalleled beauty arose from behind a cord of wood. In a calm and steely voice she addressed the posturing captain, "No need for flames or burning my good Sir. You and your brave men, with all your spears and axes, shall have to quench your barbaric need for amusement at another time. It simply isn't in the cards for you today." She then strode toward the captain with an unmistakable dignity, not so much as a single tremble to belie her fears. With a cutting, sarcastic grace she knelt before the man, a man whose hand had gone quiveringly to the hilt of his sword, Rather than demurely bow her head, as was custom with this oaf, she chose to meet his eye with a brazen look of derision.

"Let us not take the usual tedious route today shall we' she intoned. "No tiresome and prattling speech detailing the horrific fate that summons me, most especially not from the syphilitic lips of vermin like yourself. Instead, be so good as to save us all from this most unnecessary boredom and take me to the swineherd you answer to without delay!" The seething captain would have ordinarily never tolerated such blatant insolence, and instead, rewarded such impertinent words with a few teeth sent scattering across the cobblestones. He knew; however, that she was to be taken unharmed. Were she to be seen with even so much a bruise defiling her lovely face, it very might end up in his beheading. He, therefore, had to make do with gripping a generous fistful of her lustrous russet hair, hoisting her roughly to her feet, and throwing her into the waiting arms of his leering comrades. The cowering crowd of assembled peasants finally began to squawk in dismay at this point, squawks most vehemently felt, but ever so softly voiced. Her father, whether coward or hero, finally limped forth on a gimpy leg. The outrage that had perhaps fueled his bravery was seeing his precious daughter, well silenced with a mouthful of hay, tossed over the back end of a mule. "I beg of you good sir, she is but a child, my first born daughter. Twasn't but a month ago that we celebrated her fifteenth name day. Please, please, if you only knew how kind she is, how sweet and..." The 'couldn't care less' captain cut him off with a hearty laugh and a swift arc of his sword that opened up the front of the father's neck as easily as a wheel of cheese. The unfeeling brute then leisurely sauntered over to the mother, a red faced cow who had foolishly given herself away with her unfettered screams. "My, my" intoned the captain. "what a truly hideous thing you are to have whelped such a prize. May I suggest you put an end to you keening before you meet the same fate as your poor and quickly dying beloved." This was quite enough to silence her. She had four other children to look after. That, she thought, had to take precedence over the abject horror she just had the great misfortune to witness, It was then that the newly seven Simon ran up to stand bravely in front of his mother, somehow managing not to slip upon the copious blood of his father along the way. In a terribly devastated and futile rush of breath, he attempted to beg, threaten and cajole the captain into releasing his sister. He stomped his dirty bare feet upon the ground in syncopation with his words, hoping to sway the man with some small level of intimidation. Needless to say, the captain was far from cowed.

"Supposed I failed to do as you bid" he said as he lowered his face to meet the boy's. "Shall you beat me with your flute? Perhaps go on wetting your threadbare shirt with your wretched tears as thoroughly as you've apparently wet your trousers. Then again, fingers crossed, perchance you'll throw yourself to the bottom of the well and deliver us from your infernal bleating." Little Simon, though admirably bold for a boy his age, could no longer withstand the nightmare that had so recently unfolded. His spindly shoulders slumped and he turned to bury his face into the comforting woolen folds of his mother's skirts. "There now," said the captain. "The child seems to have come to his senses and wisely conceded that reality is not his to bend or shape. Now he has the luxury of a future, as meagre as that may be in this hovel of huts. Until. of course, he makes the dire mistake of crossing me again. Then he may lay blame at no one's feet but his own." With that, he caressed the boy's cheeks with an unseemly tenderness and then turned to jump and mount his steed. His men knew to do the same in short order, and so off they rode to what may has well have been the other side of the moon. The last despairing vision they had of poor, dear Rosie Cobbles was the useless and most heartbreaking pounding of her fists against the the hind of the beast of burden who carried her. Later that evening, as the moon made it's nightly ascension into a sky that had need of it's light, the population of the town stumbled around in the familiar haze of despair. Many rightly wondered if they would one day be able to heal from one calamity, before another one crashed down upon them like the insouciant waves of an angry tide. Some took to their beds, willing themselves to sleep, a sleep not fraught with the events of the day. Others chose to drink, emptying one flagon of ale after another, if only to soften the edges of what had befallen them. Simon; however, unable to deal with the unceasing poorly stifled sobs of his mother, sought something resembling peace at the feet of the oak that towered over the roofs of the town. He was playing his flute, sounding out the notes of every maudlin ballad he had ever heard. It was just as he was about to begin his fifth rendition of the gloomiest one of all, that he heard the sultry voice of a woman sitting on a branch a good fifty feet above his head.

"Dear boy, you do play so beautifully. I won't begrudgingly give you the praise you well deserve. That said, must you put me at my wit's end with one depressing dirge after another. It makes me want to leap from the highest branch and put a dramatic end to it all. Alas, I am immortal and unable to find escape so easily. Is there nothing that can be done to lift your spirits or somehow compel you to play something a bit more cheerful?" "Who are you and why must you interfere in my attempts to dispel some small measure of sorrow?" "I am known as Leafy. Yes, I realize it's not the grand name you might have been expecting. That's what comes of having a mother who has given birth to far too many children. One runs out of imagination and options. So it is that I chose to live alone and thus evade those who would wish me to bear one of their offspring. The males of my kind make a sport of it. No matter how many times they have proven how virile they are, it is somehow never enough. Ah well, that is my own sad tale. Tell me a bit of yours. Clearly there is one and perhaps I can help you in some way. My woman's intuition is telling me you crave some sort of revenge. Has someone wronged you? Would you like to see them punished? I do have powers at my disposal to lend to such an endeavor. Besides, I'm bored and find myself in need of something to do." Young Simon recounted to the forest sprite the heinous events of the day, earnestly hoping that she would be able to give life to her boasting. "Ahhhh, yes, i can quite understand your need for vengeance. Who wouldn't want to make such villains pay! Know this though boy, if you seek my help in the righting of wrongs, you too must pay a price. I don't just do such things, no matter how much such evil men may deserve it. I will make it a simple bargain though young one. I do feel a pang of pity for you after all, and there is something I know that is within your power to offer me. Every night, when sister moon is half way in her journey across the heavens, I want you to sit right where you are now and play me a score of lullabies. With your gifts, perhaps I can put insomnia in my past. You must do this every night for a thousand nights. When you have dutifully marked down the nights of your servitude to zero, I will abet you in a revenge that will be the stuff of legends. Do we have a deal?"


After months of lock-down, the virus-ravaged earth has finally re-opened and the people attempted to go back to normal. Unfortunately, the prolonged absence of human interaction has turned humans into maniacs. Those who have been going outside at least occasionally managed to escape these effects, but they did not escape the manic attacks of the rest of the zombies. For one hundred days people were slaughtering each other on the streets until no one was left except for one miserable soul: myself. I have no idea how I managed to escape but somehow, I did and was not harmed, at least physically, emotionally I have been scarred without any hope of future repair. So, although my survival might seem like a great achievement, I am beyond feeling victorious. Frankly, being the only human around is not that great. Perhaps it’s my karmic punishment for something terrible I have done in my past life because there is something entirely sinister about being the only person alive on earth while retaining all the memories of a past life that no longer exists with every single one of my  loved ones being gone forever and all at once. My mom died of the virus and my sister was brutally beaten to death by some people outside. I was not even able to help her because I was out trying to make some shopping. I could handle my mom’s death, this was before the reopening, but my sister’s death was the greatest shock. I was in bed for one week only getting up for light snacks and the bowl necessities. After a week, I took another two to recover and then made a run for it to the forest, to a place I discovered long ago. I did not even bother looking for my best friend Jay or the only love of my life, my ex girlfriend Rita. We broke up when the virus started because of her pneumonic mom who was obviously paranoid for her daughter’s health. I proposed to run away together but she chose her sick mother over me, which is understandable, and somehow I don’t judge her and on the contrary I admire this kind of strong feeling for one’s mother.  I probably would have done the same in her place. Of course, I was heartbroken over realizing that I will probably never see her again but she made her choice and who was I to demand anything from a person, even a girlfriend, to sacrifice what she held most dear? This is how, one very foggy Thursday I made a decision to get off the grid- so the forest. My forest days were pretty glum and mostly uneventful. I already had a hiding place in mind, the abandoned little cave which Rita and I found long ago on one of our adventures. It was terribly hard to not think of her as I was on my way there, especially because I took the longer and safer route in order to avoid zombie contact. It took me about five days instead of the normal three hours, and not, reader, I did not get lost. I have been a forest maniac since childhood and knew this place in and out. Perhaps maniac is not the best word, considering the whole zombie apocalypse. On the first night in the cave I had a terrible nightmare. Rita and I were in our wedding clothes and were running through this same forest as the zombies were chasing us and spitting dragon-like fire which was leaving a blazing trail. Rita fell and was consumed by the fire and the zombies trampled all over her as though she was dirt and not a bride-to be. Then Rita transformed into a monster which had the body of a wolf and the head of a dragon. Her piercing dark green eyes stared at me as she flew towards me. I felt her breath on my face and was burning alive. Trying to catch a last breath, I woke up screaming in pain. My screaming must have resonated because I heard voices that were getting closer. There was secret narrow passage in the depths of the cave which was my only hope. I managed to make it there before the zombies reached the cave. Luckily, the passage was not discovered, and I was safe for the moment. The next couple of weeks I spent making my way as deep into the forest as possible. I slept for two-three hours a day. Not the best for health, but at least I had no more nightmares and was able to focus on moving forward and escaping the nightmare that turned into a reality. Reader, your next question is quite logical, and I sense it coming. Yes, I did eat, and no I did not starve. I planned this escape of course and had enough supplies to last me a few months. My ration was basically a mixture of different sorts of canned meat and occasionally some berries which I found on the way. Oh yes, how long was I in there? About three months, give or take. Time became a thing of the past, and does it really matter? It’s not like my story will be all over the news or I would somehow become the infamous zombie apocalypse survivor- as the saying goes, “if a tree falls in an empty forest is it still heard if no one is there to hear it?” When I came out of my hiding spot out in the woods, I walked into a town on the other end filled with dead corpses scattered all over and open stores filled with plenty of now useless things. Well, perhaps not so useless as I put them to good use- especially the food! After months of being in hideout, I was finally able to get proper nourishment and even get new clothes- all for no cash. I am saying no cash and not free because the price is priceless- the price of these necessities has been paid in blood by the ex inhabitants of this world. What a tragedy, but one that makes no difference to a hungry soul who just wanted to eat normal food after months of surviving on the human processed meat of dead animals. I walked around and found some empty apartments. I chose the most luxurious penthouse in the middle of downtown- in normal times it would cost me my two month’s paycheques but now it was there up for grabs for the only human around.  Rent has never been cheaper! Of course, I would rather it cost money but have everything back to normal, but I decided not to think about it and just take advantage of the moment. There was no point in mourning and my emotions have long ago died and been buried in the deepest corners of my soul with no proper funeral and no one reading a eulogy as last remembrance. The apartment was very bright and cozy. It belonged to a rich family with a very pretty young girl about five years younger than me based on the giant family portrait on the wall in the living room. I made a decision to not go through their things to find out what they were like, so to not awaken the dead emotions and risk any more soul wreckage. The luxury was nice: the apartment was very spacious with lots of natural sunlight. It had multiple bedrooms. I chose the master bedroom. The sheets were made of very expensive silk and felt nice on my body as I finally was able to lay on something other than first for the first time in what seemed like centuries. I fell asleep and beat my own personal record: twenty hours. I dreamed I was floating in the sky on a fluffy cloud. The sky was a baby soft pastel blue with streaks of soft pink and red from the sun. I looked down and realized I was on a cloud-train and beneath me were cloud-made tracks that seemed to be never ending. I was floating and singing children’s nursery rhymes. Suddenly the train reached a stop and I saw my mom. She looked much younger and was wearing my favourite dress of hers from childhood- a long hippy dress the colour of freshly cut grass and streaks of purple and pink. She did not say anything: just looked at me and smiled. I began to cry, which as I found out was not the right thing to do. As my tears fell down, they erased the pretty scene and from the beautiful baby blue pastel sky with a train track it turned into a dark forest. Then zombies started getting into the scene as though going through an invisible curtain. Suddenly I was back in the forest with human zombies spitting fire and Rita- dragon which fast approached me. I ran and ran and fell into a giant cave which spiraled downward. Dirt was falling on me- I was being buried alive. I jumped out of bed but was not able to produce any noise, just my mouth was wide open and my body hot as fire. Suddenly I felt numb and fell to the ground. My brain decided it could not handle this and declared a state of emergency by shutting down. Dear reader, this was terrifying, but remember this was just a dream. The reality was much scarier- that should scare you much more. I spent the next couple of months like a free wind, or a gypsy, or a bird, whatever metaphor you think best fits, going through one shelter to the next. I must have seen thousands of rotting bodies that the sight became a thing of normality.  I had to keep moving in order to keep myself at least a little bit sane, although I am convinced my sanity died long ago after seeing chopped off parts of the body of ex humans of all sizes on the dead silent streets of this new world. Did you like that metaphor, “dead silent?” I find it absurd too, but humor is really one of the ways to deal with trauma. On one especially sunny day I walked into yet another town. It must have been hundreds of kilometres away from my distant and long forgotten hometown. I was getting exhausted and was starting to have thoughts of joining the rest of the humans in their after-life party. They were probably eagerly waiting for my arrival. I wondered if they would be disappointed with me for being about a year or so late. There is a record for lateness! As these creepy thoughts were overtaking my mind I did not see where I was heading as my eyes were clearly set inwards into all this suicidal paradise. Suddenly, my walking was rudely interrupted by a very strange object. It took about five seconds for my eyes to come back to reality and notice that I just bumped into a giant piece of metal. I took a quick tour to find out what it was. What do you think it is? Should we play guess what? I haven’t played that in so long. Oh, maybe we can play twenty questions: is it big? Is it man-made? Lack of human interaction is not so fun after all, no one to play guessing games with boohoo. Anyways, you did not guess correctly and lost. The giant metal is a freaking fighter jet. That’s right! I must have walked into a town with an army base. Reader, I was a pilot in the past world, did you think it was one of those Hollywood movies where the character magically learns how to fly a plane? Like the man in my favourite childhood story “The Little Prince”, I took off with this plane and went on a trip around the world. The difference is that the world really was as lonely now as in the book. I wondered if I would meet my “little prince” with his golden hair and pet sheep. As I was flying, I tried my hardest to recall the plot of that book and imagine myself in this story. I was so deep into my own fantasy, I completely lost track of time as I was flying from one zombie-ravaged-land to the next. I liked my rose-coloured glasses on this post-post world trip. I made some stops in some iconic long-forgotten places which I always wanted to see but never had the chance to when the world was still alive. I don’t want to go through them here, let’s just say I was acting almost like a typical tourist, minus overspending on shelter, transportation, nourishment, remembrance object; yes, I guess I was not so typical of a tourist after all- just me and my plane. But reader, remember that being out of touch with reality does not end well- and so on one especially hot morning as I was passing over what looked like a very familiar place, my plane ran out of food and crashed. It was quite a sight to see- I wish you were there to witness this magnificent landing! The landing the was not the most crashy, but it did shatter my pink-rose glasses. I looked around and saw a familiar monument. As I walked around some more it finally hit me- I was back at square zero- the place I once called home in some distant past that now seemed like it never existed. The cycle was complete- what is next? Of course this is a big big foreshadowing clue to you reader that this tale is nearly coming to its end, just hold tight. Fixing my plane proved to be a very useless task. After a couple or dozen of time I gave up any hope completely. As I was about to abandon this world for good and finally come to the after-life party, my mind painted a familiar talking creature which was making an attempt at communicating to me in a tongue I have not used since forever. “Are you a dream?” said hallucination “No, I am not a dream, are you?” Reader, how do you think it ends? My fate is in your hands!


“Just press that button there and it all restarts.” A man dressed in shimmering white robes appeared in the distance. He smiled. A crooked halo sat on top of a head of fluffy brown hair.

He raised his hands in the air and a beautiful world came to life. A forest of trees sprouted to the skies, their leaves dripping with god-like power. Streams of crystal blue water flowed to the right, and to the left stood white-tipped mountain ranges. Beyond the conjured horizon, the arms of lively flames moved with the breeze. All the elements in one place. Earth, wind, fire, water; they were all entwined together, like a painted canvas.

In the middle of it all, sat a large box.

Wren blinked, studying the mysterious item in front of him. Vines of green, pink, and yellow danced in the air as they untangled themselves. A pulsing button at the center of the box emerged and the vines fell limp at his feet.

“Is this a joke?” “No…” The man cocked his head back, his bottom lip puffed out. “What is this? Who are you?” Wren squinted at the strange world before him. The oddly dressed man. The box.

“This is your chance, Wren, to start over. To do it again.” “Do what again, exactly?” “Life.”

The haze of confusion began to lift. This wasn’t some weird dream and he wasn’t lost in a magical world. Visions of those last few moments flooded Wren’s mind.

Shattered glass.

A phone; half of a text message. Honking.

The screeching of metal-on-metal.

Crash. His eyebrows folded inward as the truth settled in his gut. “I—” He ran a hand over his face and steadied himself. “So this is like a reincarnation thing.” The man in white raised his hands over the box. A smile slowly spread across his face as he shifted his weight from one foot to the other, eagerly. “By pressing this button, you can go back. Before it happened. And all those little moments you wished you could relive? You can.”

“No.” “No?” The man jerked his head back. “You don’t wanna take a minute to at least think about it?” “What about my life says I’d wanna do it all over again? Taking care of my drunken mother while still learning to tie my shoes? No, don’t think I’d wanna do that again. Maybe the months I spent strapped to a hospital bed after deployment? Nope, not that, either. Oh!

Maybe I could relive the years my daughter wouldn’t talk to me. The years I spent down a bottle after…” Wren hung his head and swallowed the lump sitting in the back of his throat. “After my wife died.” His eyes widened and he met the robed man’s gaze. “After you took her from me!” “Woah! A simple ‘no, thank you’ would be fine. You don’t need to be rude.” No. This wasn’t happening. Wren shook his head and stepped backward. “This is ridiculous!” He whipped around, ready to walk away. But where would he go? It was all just some twisted play on his imagination. Conjured by a strange man in a robe. He slumped his shoulders, and turned, facing the man. The deep lines in Wren’s face softened. “So…do people actually choose to do it again?” “Well, of course. No one wants to, you know, die.”

“The…same life?” “Look, I can see you’re having some trouble with this.” The man walked across the field of overgrown grass and stopped. In one swift motion of his hand, an old stone gateway appeared.

It looked like an ancient, forgotten ruin. The nature that teemed with life in the rest of the world, lay dead among the broken pillars and cobblestone. Perfectly constructed archways were stained with mold. Bones of long-gone animals littered the ground.

The robed man passed through the archway, pausing in front of a grey door. “You just gonna stand there? Come on.” Wren pushed his hands to his temples and reluctantly followed. "Just a little ‘trouble’ is all. Is that what this is?” An exasperated sigh escaped his throat. He stared at the two stone bats that sat on either side of the door. There was something different about them, something ominous. He shook it off and moved towards the robed man. “Is there another life behind that door? A good one?” A light erupted from beneath it. Shadows paced back and forth on the other side, clawing at the door’s edges.

The man stood tall in front of the two door guards. A viscous sound erupted from his throat. Both stone sculptures shook and crumbled, shaking the ground beneath them. From their broken shells, emerged two bats the size of mammoths, eyes as yellow as the sun.

A single flap of their wings and the door flew open.

The smell of rot and burnt flesh hit Wren like a punch to the gut. He stumbled backwards. Shrill cries pierced his eardrums. Emotion coursed through him like a Tidal wave. Pain. Regret. Angst. Guilt and shame that was strong enough to split open a grown man. Was this Hell? “Something like that.”

“What?” “You asked if it was Hell.” “Not out loud.” “C’mon. You’re dead. You saw me create trees and fire. You’re standing in front of a literal Hell. And you doubt that I know what you’re thinking?” He rubbed his hands together. “So what’s it gonna be?” “I don’t wanna live that life again. I know how bad it is.” Wren crossed his arms and turned away.

“You wouldn’t be living the same life.” Wren considered the man’s words. “So I’d be someone else?” “Well no, you’d still be you.” Wren clenched his fists, his face twisted in frustration. He sighed.

The man in white stifled a laugh. “You don’t have to make the same decisions or take the same paths. Be someone else. Anyone you want. Someone powerful? Here, I’ll make you a deal.” He pulled a large, spinning ball into his hands. Bright white tendrils tinged with pink and orange flowed through it. Their frayed ends danced as the two men stared into the ball.

Another world began to bloom.

The conjured trees reaching for the skies slipped into darkness. The distant flames dwindled into ash. In its place stood a high rise office building, much like those that lined the city of New York. And much like the skyscraper office Wren had dreamed of being working in. Being able to see the glowing city as he worked late, knowing it would all be his one day.

An image of Wren appeared. He was dressed in a fancy, Italian suit. Confidence oozed from the firm smile plastered on his face. True success, Wren thought, watching the alternate version of himself live the life that should have been his.

Adjusting his crooked halo, the white robed man nodded. “That’s the man you always wanted to be. Strong. Sure of himself. The man lesser men strived to be. The one women melted for.”

Wren watched the unfolding images intently. Moment after moment. Powerful Wren. Rich Wren. Casanova Wren.

“It all boils down to one decision. Well, two. The first is to say yes and push the button.” “And the second?” “It's about the day you met Vivian.” “My wife? What does she have to do with this?” “Well… in this version of Wren’s life, she doesn’t make it.” Wren frowned. “She didn’t make it in the old Wren’s life, either.” “Right. But you still had a life with her. This Wren doesn't. It's not possible here.” “I…No.” Wren shook his head, swallowed, and stepped back. “This is a mistake.” “Are you sure?” The white-robed man pulled the next image into view. “While you can’t be a part of her life, your presence that day changes everything.” A small coffee shop comes into focus. Wren knew it well: Eighty-Second street, best

pumpkin muffins in the whole city. And the place he met her . A young Vivian enters the picture, rushing through the door of the coffee shop. Clearly in a hurry—late for an audition. (Wren knew that part well.) But this time, its different. There is no Wren in the doorway. There is no dropped cup, no shattered pieces littering the ground. And so she runs uninterrupted out of the shop. “Seems like maybe she’s better off. I don’t see the problem.” “Keep watching. That thirty seconds makes all the difference.” Thunder cracks in the sky. A storm is coming. Vivian continues to run down the street and the traffic rushes past her. Her teeth clench as she tries to will her legs to run faster. She can't miss that audition! The sky darkens and the clouds open. Heavy rain pours down on the bustling city street. It's a frantic blur as everyone beelines for the nearest shelter: in a car, beneath an awning, inside a nearby store. But not Vivian. It's just a little storm, after all. And her future is at stake. Vivian approaches the curb and steps out into the road without another thought. A car zooms past her, sending a puddle of water flying. She's soaked. “Hey!” she yells after the car, but it's already gone.

Stumbling backwards, her ankle rolls. The heel of her shoe breaks. She falls to the ground, knees stained red. Another car roars through the scene. Quickly approaching. They, too, must be in a hurry. But Vivian isn't looking. And the driver never sees her. Wren tore his eyes from the heart-wrenching scene. The moment faded from view, replaced briefly with darkness. One by one, the trees sprouted to the sky once more. He fell to his knees, dry heaving. This was not what Wren wanted. None of it. He grabbed his stomach and screamed out into the void.

“Just so you know, she doesn’t make—” “I’ll do it. I’ll press the button. I’ll go back.” He was on his knees, pleading.

The robed man stood tall, a twinge of amusement visible beneath his halo. His robes flapped against a gust of wind. “I knew you would. You see now.”

“Just send me back. I’ll do whatever you want.”

“Push the button. It’s what you want.”

With trembling legs, Wren stood and stepped forward. One single breath in. And one breath out. No time to think or contemplate. His hand slipped into the box and he pressed the button.

Wind swirled around them. An icy chill enveloped Wren. Frigid. So cold he couldn’t move. The ground beneath him shook violently.

The ever-changing paradise fell away. The trees crumbled. Their leaves, no longer full of power, transformed into blood-soaked teeth. The teeth of monsters. The crystal waters dried and in their place formed a graveyard of ivory bones. Human bones. Innocent bones.

Bones of people just like Wren.

Darkness enveloped Wren as a sinkhole opened at his feet. Red and orange flames swam circles around him, like ravenous sharks, until they engulfed him. Swallowed him whole. Not even his screams could be heard.

The robed man once again raised his arms and wiped it all away like a bad painting. He laughed, “Got another.”

He tossed the glowing ball to the ground as if it were an old toy, its tendrils still dancing. The ball bounced and rolled into the shadows. Quickened footsteps echoed behind him. A knot formed his gut. He forced it away and turned around. A beautiful woman in white walked into the room, hair of gold flowing down her back. A pained expression formed on her face as she searched the room. “Lucifer, you didn’t. Tell me you didn’t. You promised!” The man called Lucifer cackled as his white-robed disguise faded into black mist. Clumps of burnt flesh fell to his feet. His crooked halo vanished.

A bed of snakes slithered out from behind him, their red eyes glowing in delight. “The best part is that you believe me. Every. Damn. Time.” “It's not a game! These are human souls you’re playing with.” “Yes, Sister. You’d think you’d learn to not be late.”

The angel’s face reddened. She opened her mouth to speak, but Lucifer was already gone. Nothing but a colony of hungry bats in his wake.


It was here, and far earlier than it had come last year. There had been no warning despite the dozens of meteorologists and storm chasers that flocked to the ramshackle prairie town in order to study the extraordinarily vicious and long winded storms that plagued it. Last year, the storms had arrived in late May and had stayed swirling and rumbling until August, drenching the fields and annihilating any hope they’d had of having a harvest. Now, April had barely begun and the black clouds were already growling on the horizon.

Ivy stood bare and alone in the empty field, fixated on the raging storm that bore down upon her, rocketing closer by the second. Its progress was marked by the violent cracks of lightning that threatened to cleave the sky in two. Fear and adrenaline shot through her when she realized how far she was from the nearest shelter. She had gone out to collect dandelion greens, desperate for anything but the canned preserves that the aid organizations had generously donated to her family and the few others that remained in their soggy huts, stubborn to the last. “That storm won’t get the best of me!” they would shout, waving their arms angrily at the perpetually overcast sky. Ivy wasn’t so sure. Her heart jumped as a magnificent crash exploded across the sky. Ice cold dread wormed its way into her bones at

the sheer unforgiving, uncaring nature of the angry black clouds that swallowed her view. Maybe they would swallow her too. Ivy began to run. The seconds flew by at a crawl, the thrumming electricity in the air nipped at the hairs on her neck and the increasing pressure squirmed inside her head and pressed against her eardrums.

She had time. She had time. It only just got here, right? She had time. No lightning had struck close yet and the thunder still rumbled a ways off.

A threat. A promise. She had time. Another second crawled past, and her time was up.

The beast roared from directly above her, sounding its presence with a boom that rattled her skull. Every muscle in her body jolted, and her heart threatened to leap out of her chest and start running itself. The lightning which had seemed such a safe distance away now spit and crackled around her, blazing hot whips that lashed at the sparse trees on the edge of the field. In brilliant flashes of white light, she saw the wood splinter and go careening through the air, thrown by the wind that clawed at her, grasping for purchase on her clothes, her hair, her skin. It was ferocious and acted nothing like the storms she had grown up experiencing.

She was terrified, and the storm knew it. It enjoyed her fear. Then came the rain. She was drenched as soon as it hit. It slithered under her clothes and flooded her eyes, her ears, even defying gravity to stream up her nose until she was battling the waves for breath. She was drowning standing up and her tears soon joined the endless torrent. It was bitter cold, but she still threw off her coat to keep running. It could only slow her down now.

She saw headlights in the distance and whimpered in relief with what little breath she had to spare. A car couldn’t withstand the storm when it got up to speed, but it would at least get her back to town faster. Her desperate hope faltered when she realized who the vehicles belonged to. The jeeps and trucks were outfitted with a variety of antennae and sensors to read the storms that the meteorologists chased so hungrily. She could just see the pale glow of a few of their faces within the still watertight cabins, crouching over their steering wheels to see in the worsening rain.

A part of her knew it was pointless, but Ivy’s desperation won over and she began waving frantically with both arms trying to get one of them to stop. Maybe, just maybe they would take her back to town. Maybe, just maybe, they would listen to her before it was too late.

A red SUV rolled to a stop beside her and she didn’t hesitate to throw herself into the back seat, despite the clutter that consumed it. The driver, a dark haired man in his forties, tried to say something before Ivy cut him off. “Take me back to town.” The driver looked at her for a second before turning back around in his seat.

“I’m sorry you got wet,” he said. “But it’s my job to record data on this storm. I can turn up the heat if you’re cold-” “You’re not equipped to deal with this,” Ivy hissed. Her bitter tone had obviously startled the man, as he turned back around to look at her. He studied her for just a moment, trying to figure out whether or not she was serious. She was. He shook his head in disbelief. “It’s just-” “Just a storm?” she spat. “Like hell it is. If you drive in there like your buddies right now, you won’t be coming back. Either turn this car around, or I’m getting out and walking. I will not let you kill the both of us with your stupidity.” The man shook his head again and gestured towards the door with a shrug. Ivy took her cue and exited the car, once again shivering in the bitter rain. It welcomed her back with sharpened teeth.

Ivy refused to watch as the car’s tail lights disappeared into the gloom. She couldn’t have been that much farther from town, so she used what little energy she had regained to start running once again. The wind toyed with her, blowing her legs so she would trip over herself and scrape her hands on hidden rocks beneath the grass. Even once her knees were bloody and bruised, she kept running. It wouldn’t be long until the hail arrived.

She had only been running for a few minutes when she heard a car horn blaring. She turned around to see the red SUV rocketing towards her, skidding across the mud. It had barely stopped before she once more threw herself into the backseat, and they were off again, racing towards town. The dark haired man was considerably paler than when she had left him. His knuckles were white around the steering wheel and he sat fixated straight ahead of him, despite the zero visibility. Ivy looked at her hands. He’d had no reason to believe her, she couldn’t blame him for at least trying to do his job. “What made you turn around?” she asked, barely loud enough to be heard over the pounding rain. The man paled a bit further, but didn’t say anything. She had just begun to think he hadn’t heard her when he spoke. “It threw Allan’s car at me.” Ivy nodded grimly, but didn’t respond. “It landed on the roof. I don’t… I don’t think he’s still alive,” he gulped, and his voice broke. “I could see him through the windshield before it… fell.” Ivy shivered, knowing how close she had been to that fate being hers. It might still be, if they didn’t move fast enough. “I tried to get to him,” he continued. “But before I could, the storm dragged him back into itself. I’ve never seen anything like it.” He glanced at her in the rearview mirror.

“That’s when I turned around.” Ivy mustered a small smile. “Thank you,” she said. “I’m sorry.” They rode in silence until the first shadow of a house appeared. Ivy tapped the man on the shoulder and he nodded dully, parking the car in front of the door.

She gestured for him to turn the car off and follow her. She grabbed his sleeve and led him into her house where her parents sat huddled in the living room with deathly stillness. When they saw her, they began to weep and hold her despite the mud and water that clung to her clothes. They didn’t say it, but it was clear they hadn’t expected her to return. Ivy’s mother glanced at the man that stood unmoving in the doorway. “What are you called, dear?” “David,” he responded flatly. Her mother nodded and removed one hand from her daughter to rest on David’s shoulder. “Thank you, David. Come, sit down. Let’s get you warmed.” She guided him to the couch while Ivy wandered to her room to get changed. When she emerged, David was holding a steaming cup of coffee while another sat on the table waiting for her.

Her parents did not ask questions. They didn’t need to. The four of them simply sat in the living room, sipping on black coffee and listening to the rain and thunder that rattled the glass in the window panes. The wind fiddled with the door knobs and pushed its way through the smallest of cracks into the house, teasing the curtains. Even so, the house stood defiantly against the storm that battered it.

Eventually, the water finally found a hold and began to seep under the door. Nobody budged. Even after the coffee was finished, and the hail was crashing against the tin roof, and their socks were soaked with the growing pool of frigid water, none of them made a move. Not a word was spoken. They merely listened and waited in a grim silence, the silence of four people waiting to drown.


In the murky realm of the twilight hour, pulsating neon lights gnawed at the tender underbelly of the evening sky, spreading psychedelic tendrils of orange, violet, and electric blue. Their kaleidoscopic dance threw distorted reflections onto the wet asphalt, weaving a path towards a vortex of syncopated rhythms and deep beats — the club, a modern cathedral pulsing with its own synthetic heartbeat. Here I was, a dark silhouette swallowed by the gaping maw of this techno temple. A self-portrait painted in soft hues of isolation, an alien navigating through the labyrinth of pulsing lasers and prismatic strobes. Ascending the concrete stairs, my footsteps synchronized with the bass emanating from the beast's belly. The music vibrated through the soles of my shoes, vibrating along the fault lines of my reality, distorting the world around me into unrecognizable fragments. I was no longer a mundane entity trapped within societal constraints but a formless spirit on the precipice of a transcendental voyage. Once inside, a sensory overload unfolded. Bodies writhed to the hypnotic rhythm, lost in the sound, their outlines blurred by the strobe lights. The air was drenched in a cocktail of sweat, musk, and spilled alcohol — an unholy incense for the debaucherous rite about to transpire. Eager to join the spectral dance, I had approached the bar. Illuminated bottles lined the counter, filled with spirits promising liquid courage. The bartender, an oracle in this crypt of mystic energies, served me a luminescent concoction. With each sip, my consciousness began to waver, caught in the rift between the tangible world and a spectral realm. Seduced by the siren call of the music, I plunged headfirst into the rhythmic chaos, my body responding to the beats as though it were an ancient tongue. I was no longer confined by the routine banality of life. I became a cosmic nomad, a fragment of stardust caught in the swirling vortex of sonic waves. In the swirling pandemonium, I collided with her. Radiating an ethereal glow that outshone the club's throbbing strobes, she seemed plucked from a dreamscape. Her laughter cut through the spectral symphony, ringing like the precise toll of a bell. "Follow me," she voiced through the throbbing music, her hand stretching out, a beacon amidst the chaos. I latched onto her offered lifeline. Her touch was warm, an anchor grounding me within the shifting dimensions of this hallucinatory pilgrimage. We danced — two celestial bodies trapped in an otherworldly dance. The club's pulse dimmed, the crowd faded into obscurity, and all that remained was us. Her laughter became a divine mantra, her fluid movements a sacred liturgy guiding me deeper into the heart of this mystical rite. As dawn painted the sky in soft pastels, the frenetic music subsided, the neon lights dimmed, and our bodies hummed with the echoes of the night's sensory bombardment. Yet, there was no fatigue, no trace of exhaustion. Instead, an intoxicating sense of liberation infused every fibre of my being. I had ventured beyond the constraints of my existence, shedding the monotonous shell of life to embrace the realm of the extraordinary. As the remnants of the music faded into silence, she leaned closer, whispering words that rang truer than any rhythmic beat. "You're liberated," she voiced. A benediction imparted in the hushed tones of the dying night, a testament to the divine revelation I had found within the swirling chaos of the nightclub. I was no longer a mortal navigating the world but a cosmic voyager, touched by the infinite tapestry of the universe. I had danced with the surreal, sipped from the chalice of ephemeral joy, and had been bathed in the spectral glow of her presence. Her words were not merely an echo fading into the creeping dawn but a holy chant that had been etched deep into the core of my existence. Her gaze, an intense prism that refracted my newfound truths, held me captive. The world around us slowly began to stir, awakening from its nocturnal stupor, yet time seemed to stand still within the sanctity of our shared sphere. Each passing moment was an affirmation of the transcendence I had experienced, an ode to the psychedelic rhapsody that had shaken the very foundations of my understanding. We were swept up in the reluctant exodus as the club began to close its doors. The music was now a mere whisper, a ghost of the sonic tempest that had ruled the night. The psychedelic kaleidoscope of lights had given way to the austere dawn, painting everything in hues of reality. Yet, I carried the night within me, a cosmic imprint, a testament to my spiritual odyssey. As we stepped out into the dawning day, the city had already begun to shed its nocturnal skin, ready to don the mask of normality. The sidewalks were filling up with early risers, each one oblivious to the divine spectacle that had taken place within the hallowed walls of the nightclub. Her fingers gently squeezed mine, a subtle reaffirmation of our shared experience. "This is only the beginning," she whispered into the crisp morning air. It wasn't a promise but a prophecy. I had tasted the psychedelic nectar of spiritual liberation; I was initiated, transformed, and no longer a passive wanderer but an active seeker. In the harsh light of the morning sun, the nightclub appeared as an ordinary edifice, its cosmic secrets tucked away behind unassuming walls. But it stood as a beacon of revelation, a testament to the spiritual transcendence I had found in the most unlikely places. I walked away from Hades, the nightclub, the concrete cathedral, a universe of endless possibilities, carrying the sacred echo of a night steeped in psychedelic discovery. My spirit hummed with the rhythm of the universe, my eyes saw beyond the realm of the ordinary, and my heart beat in sync with the divine dance of cosmic energies. I had begun as an alien, an outsider, but emerged as a celestial voyager awakened to the infinite symphony of existence.


I always passed the house on the corner on my way to school. It stood out because no other house on our street had a fence around the entire property. The fence was made of brick and steel posts, giving everyone who passed by a glimpse of the owner’s immaculately kept front yard. For as long as I can remember, I never saw anyone in the yard tending to the flowers. Though there were different kinds of plants throughout the yard, whoever owned the house had more rose bushes than any other kind of flower, and the roses were all red. Not until I was a teenager did I know that roses came in other colors besides red, thanks to this one house. Every time I passed that house with my parents, I would ask the name of the family who lived there. Did they have any children? Not that I needed more friends, I had so many that I always had a friend or two over almost every day of the week. But I always had questions, and I wanted to know whatever my parents could tell me about the family who lived in the garden of roses.

My father would chuckle at me and say, “Sorry, Becky, I don’t know the name of the people who live there. We’ve never seen them before.” His words only made me more curious about the house on the corner. Curiosity is contagious, and soon many of my friends started asking the same questions I was. Who lived there? And why had we never seen them? We didn’t have such things as the Internet back then, and we could get no information from anything at the library, though some of us tried.

Then at a party at my house –I think it was my younger sister’s birthday—my best friend Danny came up with a great idea. He and several other of our friends had joined me in my treehouse to get away from our younger siblings as they played games for prizes and to talk privately this once. I remember we talked in hushed voices so none of the adults could hear our conversation. We thought we were being so sneaky. “I was watching this show on TV with my dad last night,” Danny began. “One of the people on the show was a private detective.” “What’s that?” asked my friend Alice. “My dad says he’s like a policeman but you pay him to find things out for you,” Danny explained. “We can hire one to find out about the people who live at that house on the corner.” “That sounds like a great idea,” our friends agreed. “We can save our allowances to pay him.” It sounded like a great idea to me, but I had one little problem: I didn’t get an allowance. And my friends knew that. But it didn’t stop them from agreeing to it. After they agreed to start saving, we all started wondering what we might learn once we hired the private detective. “A family of vampires live there,” Danny suggested. “I’ve seen their lights on, but only at night, and we all know vampires cannot come out in the daylight.” “I don’t want to live near vampires!” Alice screamed. “I think a princess lives there. Why else would someone have that beautiful of a garden? Who do you think lives there, Becky?” All eyes turned to me. Up until that moment, they had pretty much been ignoring me since I had no money to help hire the private detective. I blinked a few times. I had never thought about who I thought actually lived in that house down the street. I opened my mouth to speak, but shut it when I failed to think of anything. But they wouldn’t ask anyone else until I said something, anything. “I think an ugly beast lives there,” I finally said. It was the only thing I could think of at that moment. The previous evening my mother had recounted the story of Beauty and the Beast only the night before. It was my sister’s favorite fairy tale, and whenever she couldn’t fall asleep right away, one of my parents would tell her the story. “Why does he have the roses?” another friend asked. “He was cursed by a witch,” I replied. “There is one special one that he guards in the house. If he can find true love before the last peddle falls, he becomes a handsome prince again. But if not, he’ll stay an ugly beast forever.” “That’s a fairy tale!” Alice argued. I turned to my friend and stuck my tongue out at her. “It’s about as likely as a princess living there.” Alice snorted, crossing her arms across her chest. “Since you won’t be able to help us with the private detective, I guess we won’t tell you when he tells us who lives there.” I smiled at her and said, “Go right ahead and keep it a secret.” Little did Alice know then that Danny told me everything. Oh, he would try to keep his mouth shut, but in the end, he would tell me. Then I would promise to never tell Alice that he had told me. She stuck her tongue out at me and demanded to be let out. She wouldn’t talk to me for several days after that, I knew, claiming we weren’t friends anymore to whoever would listen. I also knew she would want to make up like she always did.

Even then I could see it all play out in my mind, so I didn’t think about it again until a few days later when Danny snuck into my backyard and climbed up into the treehouse where I often hid to do my homework when I grew tired of my sister bothering me. He had a huge frown on his face. When he sat down beside me, he sighed. “What’s wrong?” I asked. “I looked up a private detective in the phonebook,” he told me. “I called to ask how much it would cost to find out who lives in that house.” I know I asked Danny how much it would cost. I don’t remember the amount anymore, but I remember thinking at the time that no one had that kind of money. A few days after that, Alice came over to apologize and to ask if we could be friends again. We never learned who lived in that house on the corner with the garden of roses. We moved away a few years later, as did most of my friends. But sometimes, when I think of the fun times I had with my friends on that street, I will think about that house. I find that I like to think I was right, and I often hope that true love broke the witch’s curse.


She gave Ky the key and told him to go down to the shack by the beach. He did not recognize the woman. Did not know anything of her clear, pale eyes or fiery hair. She seemed to come to him out of nowhere, and then just as suddenly she was gone again, the rusted key in his hand the only proof that she had ever been there at all. Despite this, though, Ky had decided to follow her wishes, something in her voice convincing him that she must be trusted. The cool afternoon wind whipped around him as he walked along the shoreline towards the shack. People passed him without so much as a second glance, none guessing at the task he was being driven by. After nearly an hour of dragging himself over the sand, only the gulls wheeling overhead keeping him company, he rounded a headland and came upon a cluster of shacks at the base of the beach cliff. Some had been blasted to ruin by wind and sand, but the woman had promised him that the one he sought — green tin roof, crescent window, last on the left— would still be standing. Sure enough, it had escaped the fate of the others, all its weatherboard walls remaining in place. When he walked over to the shack, he noticed that its door already hung open. The cramped, dank interior beyond contained nothing but maritime junk covered by a thick coating of sand, but before Ky could think to abandon his task, he saw something sitting nestled in the corner of an old dinghy. Straining his eyes against the day’s fading light, he could see that it was a small chest, the brass of its lock gleaming in anticipation of him. With the key weighing heavily in his pocket, he pulled the chest free and began to work at unlocking it. All the while thinking constantly of her. The Pale eyes. The wild red hair. A voice like smoldering flame, that felt like it was about to burst into sudden, brilliant life. She was only a stranger, and yet, he could not deny that in the brief time they had spent together that she kindled something deep inside him, as if touching memory he had long forgotten. Or perhaps, had only ever dreamt. To feel so intensely for a person he had known for only a matter of minutes scared Ky more than he would ever admit, and he could feel his hands begin to tremble as he tried to push her out of his mind. Finally, despite his unwanted shakes, the key managed to click into place, and he lifted the lid of the chest open. Sitting inside were three small notebooks bound with string and hide. They were all old and worn, the pages long since starting to yellow, looking as if they had been forgotten by time. Ky lifted one free, turning the cover and flipping through the pages filled with fine black ink. Skimming over the text, he looked for something that would reveal why he had been sent to the shack by the woman, but none of the words he came upon seemed to hold anything of importance. There were lists of places. Scattered excerpts of poetry. Names after names that he did not have any recollection of. Standing somewhere between confusion and anger, and feeling suddenly very alone inside the shack, he tossed the book back into the chest with a shake of his head and reached for one of the others. As he did so, however, the page that the first book fell to caused his breath to catch in his throat. Carefully, as though rescuing a wounded animal, he lifted the book back out of the chest again. It was not writing that filled the open page this time, but a sketch. The picture was not just drawn in the standard black ink, either, but in blues and greens and a riot of others. More than any other color, though, Ky took notice of the red that sat upon the page; the fiery hue that painted the hair of the woman in the picture, and filled her lips as she kissed the cheek of the man who held her there. Touching his face, Ky could almost feel the warmth of her mouth pressing against him. Without having to give it any thought, he knew who the man in the picture was. He —and he alone ——knew that kiss, and he could suddenly remember it as if it had happened that morning. Feeling the warmth of a thousand memories begin to bloom inside him, he suddenly realized that he knew exactly who the red-haired woman was. Where she had come from. Why he had lost her. And what she still meant to him. Hands starting to shake once more, Ky collected all three books and held them out in front of him. Stamped in gold across their covers were the titles that she had given them: Our Story - Year I. Our Story - Year II. Our Story – Year III. He pulled them tight against his chest and breathed in their aroma, smelling not the musty damp of the paper, but the vivid scents of days gone by. Long afternoons on the water, fresh summer storms that rolled on forever, and the waning glow of candlelight. Excitement. Fear. Infatuation. He knew that it was all recorded there in the pages, taking him back to a time that he had chosen to bury for so long under the numbing safety of nothingness. Desperately, he wanted to dive into the books and unearth more of what he had forgotten, but he knew that before he could do so there was something much more important that needed his attention. With the books cradled safely under his arm, Ky closed the chest and headed for the door. After all this time, she had come and helped him to rediscover himself. Now, he had to go and re-find her.